Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Sneeze! Sneeze! Sneeze! The price my body paid for a fabulous weekend at Lake Lanier in Georgia. Between sneezes, I want to tell you about the weekend.
The retreat, “New Year, Renewed Writing”, was put together by Lola Schaefer. She is a powerhouse! She organized a fabulous three days of workshops and critiques with picture book authors, illustrators, agents, and editors. Imagine an immersion into what you love and feel passionate about. Everybody there felt the same way. The atmosphere was one of togetherness and networking and kindness. Also there were many serious side conversations about real life stuff and the difficult world of publishing.
I feel a renewed sense of purpose and commitment to this journey of writing.
Not to mention the retreat took place in a beautiful setting. My friend Mary Beth and I took a walk each day except Sunday when it was frankly just too cold.
The view from our balcony
One of the serendipitous things was getting to meet Robyn Hood Black in real time. She and I have blogged on Poetry Friday for years. I’ve ordered jewelry from her Etsy shop. We had dinner Saturday night and talked for hours. Such a delight to be with her!
Me with Robyn Hood Black face to face!
I am home sneezing and tired, but rejuvenated and feeling hopeful that this writing journey I’m on will continue to move forward.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Last week when I wrote about my one little word for 2026, I was teetering between sacred and simplicity, and someone wrote in the comments “sacred simplicity”. Of course!
Often the two walk hand in hand, sacred and simplicity.
On Sunday we said goodbye to our church choir director. Leon has been with us for more than 12 years. This past year he decided to get confirmed into the Episcopal church. I thought that meant he would stay; however, a chance to travel to California for 6 months changed his life trajectory. Sunday was his last Sunday as our director. I shed many tears between hymns and our anthem, trying to stay strong when it mattered.
After the closing hymn, our priest asked Leon to come down from the loft. She directed us to gather around him for a blessing, each placing a hand on him or on someone near him. It was a truly magical moment of grace, shared community, and love.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A few months ago, I wrote a post “For the trees” about a nearby empty lot that was sold, and the new owners took out a few of the trees. Well, now, they’ve completely blocked the space as they build their new house.
This weekend when we had the grandkids, I accepted an invitation from a neighbor to walk to her grove of oak trees. She lives on the highway, but as long as we stayed in the yards along the way, I felt it was safe to walk over.
Leo and Alden next to the oldest oak in New Iberia, The Sylvia Oak, named for Beanie’s aunt who once lived on the property.
Her grove became a new forest of wonder. Leo climbed and explored. Along with my neighbor’s 5 year old grandson Alden, he found an old dock with fishing nets tethered to it. The boys tossed those nets in and drug them out over and over again until Alden pointed out that the fish might be getting wise to them because the nets were moving.
Throwing seed to the ducks on the bayou.
Miss Beanie brought out some bird seed for Stella to spread along the bayou banks. A flock of ducks came by, but the boys quickly frightened them by throwing sticks into the water.
Albert (my doodle-dog) and I enjoyed watching their antics and adventures. Every once in a while, a gasp caught in my throat as I considered the dangers. Luckily all was well and they came home safely with only a little bleeding.
Beanie’s yard along the bayou holds the oldest tree in New Iberia. She told the kids it was 450 years old. She showed them how it was struck by lightning and had been held together by thick wires. Those wires have now become embedded into the tree. The kids especially liked her tale about the elephant skin of the tree. “See the elephant’s eye and its trunk?”
Tree climbing!
The new forest is a place we will visit again and again. I am grateful to Beanie for offering the space for us to explore.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This weekend was Ethical ELA’s Open Write. On Monday, Gayle Sands led us to use the ever-faithful Where I’m From form to write about holiday traditions. This prompt took me far back into my childhood neighborhood and our Christmas traditions.
I am from the scent of Douglas fir on a frosty morning, Mom on piano playing ”Oh Holy Night” while Uncle Stu sings in perfect tenor tone.
I am from hanging long wool socks for Santa to fill with oranges, chocolates, and candy canes. I sat “Thank you” with a knowing nod to Mom.
I am from an Advent wreath of purple and pink candles we argued over whose turn it was to snuff, watching the miraculous steam rise.
I am from Aunt Alabel’s Charlotte Russe on Christmas Eve, her cheerful voice talking nonstop, whispered giggles and stolen crescent rolls.
I am from bright lights in our eyes on Christmas morning. Mom held the light bar while Dad rolled the movie camera. Our silent Oohs and Aahs as the three of us explored the land of toys. Chatty Cathy waited quietly on the couch.
I am from rising at dawn, Mannheim Steamroller on the record player, comparing gifts with the neighbors, all of us outside on new bikes, roller skates, a bouncy basketball. Middle America on Beechcrest Drive.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
At the beginning of November, our local Bayou Teche Museum hosted Allan Wolf who wrote two books based on a disaster that happened on Jefferson Island in 1980. I posted about his presentation and books here.
Allan had school visits planned for New Orleans and Lafayette, so he worked into his schedule another day. He wanted to further interview people concerning the disaster. He stayed with us on Friday night.
Early Saturday morning I woke up to a text from Allan that he was staying through lunch to be able to meet once again with Mike Richard, the owner of Rip Van Winkle Gardens at Jefferson Island. I joined him on this venture.
When we walked into the gift shop, we were struck by a display of Allan’s graphic novel. While there a woman walked up and bought the book, an impromptu signing.
Allan Wolf signs “The Vanishing of Lake Peigneur” for Mona in the gift shop of Rip Van Winkle Gardens.
Mike led us out to view the lake and then into the bustling restaurant. We had gumbo and enjoyed hearing Mike’s stories about the geography of the lake and salt mine that is still bubbling in places due to trapped gases.
It was fun to be a bystander listening to Allan and Mike talk and talk. I am fascinated by their fascination. Even though the books are published, Allan can’t stop digging into the story.
Mike Richard, owner of Rip Van Winkle Gardens, and Allan Wolf, author of The Vanishing of Lake Peigneur.
On the 45th anniversary of the mine disaster, Myrna Romero was interviewed by a local TV station, KATC. Here is that quick interview.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Dear Readers,
I am writing this post from a historical B&B in downtown Denver. I’m still here after a whirlwind weekend at NCTE. Have you ever gone to a conference in a new-to-you city and never had the chance to see the city?
On Sunday Jeff flew in, and I switched from conference mode to vacation mode. Yesterday we walked over 20,000 steps in Denver, an exploration that included murals, food, coffee shops, a bookstore, and a Japanese knife store. The weather was perfect for walking.
While I was attending NCTE “Dream Boldly”, I was worried that I wouldn’t find sessions that spoke to me as a retired teacher; however, I look back in my notebook and realize that I am still a Writer.
In a session with wonderful poets Georgia Heard, Joyce Sidman, and Rebecca Kai Dotlich, we were given prompts and time to write.
Joyce Sidman has an amazing new book, “Dear Acorn, Love Oak”, and she used a simple formula from her book to lead us into writing our own letter poem: Write to an inanimate object, Dear ____, including a compliment, a question, and a wish.
I loved how this prompt could work with any age group, and the participants shared some wonderful responses. Here’s mine:
Dear Black Bic Pen, Your ink is flowing nicely today, with only a few blotches here and there. Do you like writing poems, being my muse? I wonder if you’d rather be pink and scented like a rose. I wish I could write poems with you. Can you whisper a line or two? Love, Writer’s Block
Not only did NCTE fill my writer’s cup, it also filled my soul. My husband calls it “hobnobbing with my fellow wizards”. I was in the company of many wizards who, after 20 years of attending this conference, are now friends. Lots of hugs, conversations, and laughs.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The December Open Write at Ethical ELA was hosted by Mo Daley. She introduced me to a new poem form that was really fun to write, a kenning. A kenning uses two word phrases to describe someone or something. Mo asked us to think of gratitude at this time of year. Her post (with lots of fun response poems) is here.
The kenning is supposed to be a riddle, so the title should not give away the topic. But I am giving it away with the title of my post as well as a photo of the cutest baby ever. Sam’s sister has nicknamed him “Lammy” which is short for “Sammy-Lamby-Ding-Dong.”
Number 5 Caboose
He’s a toothless grinner sniff-snorter milk-spitter diaper-wetter perfume magnet pumpkin-carrot Lambi-lambi Ding-Dong cuddle-coaxing daytime napping love absorbing new cousin
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This one is dedicated to my father, who would be 92 today. He died at 88 on 4/22/22. He loved double numbers. He was born on 11/11/33 before this day became Veterans Day, but he loved that his birthday became such an important holiday. He was proud to be a veteran, but more than that, he was proud of his two older brothers who fought in WWII and Vietnam. My father never had to go into war.
I imagine him today, not in the deathbed (that memory lasted too long in my brain), but as he would sit in his chair every morning and read the paper, exclaiming every few minutes or so about some injustice that he would read aloud to my mother. He loved to hate politics.
My husband Jeff is like him in this. Jeff reads news on a tablet and laughs out loud until I ask him what’s so funny. He enjoys modern day memes and comics that play on human idiosyncrasies. He also reads aloud other news that he feels may interest me. “You may be interested to know…”
I have my father with me always in his artwork. He was a black and white pointillist artist. I look at his drawings and swoon at the idea that his fingers touched each dot on the paper.
Heron, pen and ink pointillism by John Gibson.
There is a progress/pattern to grief. At first, it was soul gripping and traumatic. Now that Mom is gone, too, I feel more at peace and filled with a kind of longing for them that is nostalgic. Dad in his chair reading the news. Mom with her coffee (always black) doing a crossword.
Today on Dad’s birthday and Veterans Day, I am warm and happy that I had a loving home.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
When I heard from Allan Wolf by email that he had been invited to the Louisiana Book Festival, I grabbed at the chance to have him come to our Bayou Teche home.
Allan started coming to South Louisiana in 2007, performing at schools and libraries and leading teacher workshops at the Acadiana Center for the Arts. I became a fan. The first time he visited Jefferson Island and saw a chimney in the lake, he became intrigued by the disaster in Lake Peigneur of 1980.
A brief summary of that disaster: An exploratory drilling rig from Texaco accidentally punctured a salt mine and set off a harrowing series of events. The miraculous thing is all the miners, fishermen, and tug boats escaped and there was no loss of human life. The lake turned into a whirlpool and the Delcambre Canal flowed backward.
This historical disaster happened 45 years ago in my home town of New Iberia, Louisiana. Allan wrote two books based on the event, and no one in my town knew about these books. I set out to change that.
It became my mission to get him here and to organize a book talk at our local Bayou Teche Museum. With the way news media works these days, I advertised mostly by word of mouth (The “Teche Telegraph”) and by email and social media. Allan and I were hopeful that 20 people would show up, even though I ordered 50 chairs.
Allan was hoping people who had been there that fateful day (Nov. 20, 1980) would come and share their stories.
We had an overflowing crowd of 65 people. Allan paid tribute to the tug boat captain, Ores Menard (age 95), who sat on the front row with his wife and daughter. Allan had interviewed Mr. Menard for hours.
A woman walked in early and shared that she was one of two women in the mine. Allan brightened up. “I knew there had to be women in the mine. I knew about one, but I didn’t know about you!”
Allan Wolf and Myrna Romero, survivor of the 1980 Lake Peigneur disaster.
Myrna brought him her typed story and showed him the jumpsuit that she wore. Allan told her on one of his last interviews, he discovered there was a woman, so he had the artist place her into the graphic novel.
The thing about research that Allan has learned (and I have as well with my biography of Emma Wakefield Paillet) is it’s never finished. Once a story is told, it becomes a living document.
In his presentation, Allan explained that some of the characters in his book are composite characters, more than one person rolled into one. Three dogs became one. Two boats became one. However, the gist of truth is there.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Text from my daughter: “Family picnic at Myrtle on Oct. 3rd. Can you go?”
“Yes! I’m in.”
Mamére with Stella at the family picnic.
The family picnic coincided with the Scholastic Book Fair.
I’m usually on the other side of the book fair. Now I never did have to run it. Hats off to the school librarian. And I did not volunteer. But it was always an exciting week at school. The librarian had coffee and pastries every day. There were quiet times when I could go in, and I always bought books for my classroom or for my grandchildren. One of the things that bugged me were the toys and trinkets. I suppose these are there for kids who didn’t have enough money to buy a book, but as a teacher, I inevitably was taking away one of the treasures from distractible kids.
I set up a rule before we even walked into the book fair. Mamére doesn’t buy toys, only books.
Stella’s pre-k 4 class was the first group at the picnic. (They had a rolling schedule.) So Stella and I went through the book fair with ease. She picked out two books and a diary with keys. I decided the diary was not a toy. I want to encourage any kind of writing, even pre-k scribble and drawing. There wasn’t a huge crowd, either.
However by the time the first graders made it into the book fair, the line was a swirl and the library was full of parents, kids, teachers, and noise! Again, I didn’t mind. I enjoyed visiting with a mother in line with me. We both have Leos. Hers is Leo Fox and mine is Leo Wolf. I recalled when they were born around the same time. Her sister-in-law is a friend of mine.
Scholastic books are sneaky about the toy thing. Leo picked out a book about snakes that had a plastic snake skull with it, a book about sharks that included shark teeth, and a book about making Play-Doh sea animals that, of course, came with Play-Doh.
Stella was a little bit upset that Leo got toys. But they were excited that I checked them out of school, and we had an afternoon of playtime at Mamére’s house. I think I like this side of book fair madness.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She is a retired elementary gifted teacher who writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 