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Archive for the ‘Slice of Life’ Category

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

I’m home. Albert is snuggling on my lap, and I am deeply satisfied from the first ever Inklings writing retreat.

Back in 2014, the Two Writing Teachers team worked to organize writing groups among the Slicers. The one I was placed into never got off the ground, but at NCTE, Melanie Meehan invited me to join her group. The only two members from the original group are me and Catherine Flynn. Catherine and I were most interested in writing poetry, so we sought out poets from the blogging world who shared our passion. Eventually we landed on a stable core of 6 poets, Linda Mitchell, Heidi Mordhorst, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Catherine and me.

As the years went on, we met twice monthly on Zoom (or whatever was working) and saw each other at NCTE or on vacation; however, we’ve never been all together in one place. We talked about it for years. This year we began planning in January when Heidi announced she was moving to London. She offered to host us all at her writing studio, WhisperShout, in Maryland.

WhisperShout studio

I’m still amazed at the logistical miracle. Accommodations from Heidi’s neighbors, food, field trips, flights (I was the only one who flew), desserts, and a colorful spreadsheet.

We took a field trip on Friday to Planet Word. If you are ever in D.C., you must go!

Inklings: Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Margaret Simon, Linda Mitchell, Heidi Mordhorst, and Catherine Flynn.

On Saturday, we joined Laura Shovan’s writing retreat in Clarksville, Maryland. I had a comfortable writing spot on her back patio.

Writing in Laura’s Secret Garden. I wish you could hear the birds singing and see the butterflies.

On Sunday, we walked to a neighborhood farm.

And in between meals and field trips, we gathered in the studio and wrote together. When you meet a group of people virtually, you never really know how face to face with each other will be. Maybe because we’ve waited for this for so long. Maybe because we are all teachers and poets. Maybe because we are all of a similar age. Who knows why and I don’t care to question it, really, but these are my peeps. I’ll love you forever!

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Black belly whistling ducks gather at the nesting box.

We’ve been waiting for a clutch of black bellied whistling ducks to hatch from our wood duck house. After the hatching in June, Jeff cleaned out the house. I requested that he leave it open in case we would get another mother. You leave it, they will come. And sure enough on June 24 or so, the new mother began sitting.

On Sunday, I noticed the little bee patterned babies hatching in the house. (We use a Ring doorbell camera, so we can watch from the phone.) On Monday morning, I opened the app to watch the baby ducklings climb up and jump out. Similar to wood ducks, the whistlers also jump 24 hours after hatching.

Unfortunately, the camera stopped recording. Low battery. We have a solar panel that charges the battery and Jeff supposed that since the trees are full, the panel doesn’t get as much light. What a time for the battery to fail!

After my coffee, I perched outside to watch the Jump Day festivities.

The whistlers gather around. There were four of them whistling and carrying on. I waited.

While I waited a beautiful blue heron flew by.

Great blue heron flying over the bayou.

Finally, one of the ducklings jumped out. Let’s call him Eager. The mother soon followed and more babies jumped. I counted seven total.

Interestingly, the mother and father ducks chased off the other whistlers that had gathered. The couple alone led the ducklings.

Mother and Father whistling ducks look for safety for their brood.

Eager, the little rogue, jumped in and paddled off on his own. Father went after him.

Eager duckling swims away from his family.

I’m afraid that was my signal to go inside and let nature do as nature does. I don’t know if Eager was reunited with his family, but for the sake of a happy ending, let’s say he was.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

I’m not usually a snarky poet, so I surprised myself with my response to Glenda’s prompt on Ethical ELA Open Write: Double Consciousness American Sonnet.

Glenda took inspiration from Terrence Hayes’ book American Sonnet for my Past and Future Assassin. “I lock you in an American sonnet that is part prison,
Part panic closet, a little room in a house set aflame.”

I borrowed the opening line to write about a parking lot annoyance of mine, backing in. The title is a play on words. My grandson asked me if “pissed” was a bad word. Then he playfully asked about “piston”.

Parking Lot Piston

I lock you in your white Ford truck backed in over the yellow line.
You are not my kind, hefty and trumped
on four jacked-up off-road tires
designed to crush little people like me
with your oversized parts.

I won’t hitch up my skirt to take a ride.
I park nose-front & take my time
not to cross the line. I return
the wire buggy to the cart-horse paddock,
flash a fake smile to the sweaty boy
maneuvering the train.

I hold my superiority under my side slung purse
where my soft belly holds verses of quiet fortitude.

Margaret Simon, draft

Free photo

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Today, I am featured in an interview with picture book author Joyce Uglow on her Substack series uGROnews. Please skip over to learn more about my process in writing What’s That Sound? Birds of the Bayou.

Our bayou life has slowed to the rhythm of summer. Because of the longer days, we were able to feed our hungry grandchildren, then head out for a jaunt on the bayou. Stella at age 5.5 likes to say she’s scared, but we encourage her with reminders like “Once you’re in the boat, you will have fun!” She doesn’t like the process of getting in. The canoe wobbles. Each time gets a little easier. This Sunday evening, she climbed in without crying. Her older brother Leo acts as an expert.

Loading up the canoe for a summer evening paddle.

I followed in my kayak. I am no expert at kayaking. I go slow, slow, back and forth. My arms tire out pretty quickly. Apparently Leo got worried about me. He said, “I want to go back to get Mamére.”

Kayak selfie with Leo, Stella, and Papére in the canoe.

That was sweet, but I was fine drifting about and enjoying the scenery. Later I showed Stella this photo and she said, “I didn’t see that!”

Reflections on the Bayou Teche

Perspectives are different. They were probably most concerned about seeing the alligator that our neighbor said was lurking about.

I’m happy we can play on God’s playground in a boat on the bayou.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

While most people were celebrating the nation’s 250th birthday, our family was tucked away at Minga’s pool. Minga is my mother-in-law and her birthday is July 3rd. She turned 95! Certainly a momentous occasion, but we also celebrated my youngest grandson Sam’s first birthday.

Stella, 5, Leo, 7, June, 3, Minga, 95, Martha with Sam, 1, and Thomas, 6.

All three of my daughters and their families gathered with us. We ate burgers and sausage prepared on the grill. There was a smash cake for Sammy and a creamy chantilly cake for my mother-in-law. My oldest daughter passed out Minga tattoos.

Sammy digs into his birthday cake.
Minga tattoos

I stayed in the pool most of the time and watched the grandchildren. It was fun to invent pool games like mermaid poses with the girls and throwing-the-ball-while-jumping-in with the boys. We had a few bonks and dunks that led to crying, but for the most part, the day was joyous. At one point all three of my daughters were gathered around a small splash pool watching Sam play. Looking at him never gets old. We all agree he is the cutest.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

The heat is rising daily here in the Deep South. And along with it…humidity…that makes for a high heat index.

Today I want to forget about the heat that keeps me indoors and share some of the positive things about summer.

Butterflies!

I currently have 6 Gulf Fritillary chrysalises and at least 3 more caterpillars in enclosures, but the other day when I headed out for my walk, I saw a butterfly hanging on its chrysalis in the wild, on my potting table. I felt such joy to know that one had survived the birds and lizards and made it to adulthood (without my help).

Gulf Fritillary in the wild.


Speaking of caterpillars, I found some beautiful black swallowtail cats. I’ve brought them into a porch and hope they will hang out there, literally.

Swallowtail caterpillar

My friend from Iowa brought back some flower seeds and gifted me a small pot with these sweet flowers that are new to me, lizzianthus.

Lizzianthus

And I was surprised by a second poetry exchange postcard from Colette. She remembers Sol Duc which is a place we visited while in Washington.

By Colette
By Colette Dutton

All these things help me escape the oppression of the heat (and the world).

What is helping you through?

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Please check out my post on Substack.

https://substack.com/@margaretsimon416644/note/p-203234235?r=k9y83&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

“I mean hate and love and fear and wanting to live and wanting to see your children live,” she said. “Those are the things that shape our consciousness, not the material goods, not whether the tables are made of oak or synthetic plastic … The thing isn’t important. It’s the human emotion — and that, I believe, doesn’t change.” Geraldine Brooks

For a week, I had the privilege of watching my children and their children live and love and play. My son-in-law loves the Pacific Northwest. He and my daughter have been vacationing there each year for 5 years. This year, we were invited to tag along. Then my middle daughter Katherine decided to come along with her son, Thomas. We were missing my youngest daughter’s family so much that we are talking about making next year’s trip a full family one.

Highlights include short hikes to waterfalls…

Marymere Falls, Olympic National Park

Tidal pools…

Watching eagles, fire pit, views of Olympic mountains…

Morning coffee in Port Angeles

Watercolor painting with Stella…

In the airport waiting for our flight home

Throwing rocks…

Leo, Stella, Thomas in the cool water, stop for a photo while throwing rocks.

And playgrounds…

Playground in Port Townsend, Washington
New squid-themed playground at the Waterfront, Seattle.

At the end of our trip, we stayed a few nights in Seattle and met up with my husband’s brother and his family which includes a new great niece.

I’m happy to be home to my dog, my bird feeders, flowers, walks with friends, but I will carry the love and life and memories with me.

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Liz invited me to lunch. She is a poet. My husband and I have met her and her husband on the dance floor. I was “tickled pink”, as my southern mother would say, that she asked me to lunch. We talked for hours. While the restaurant got quieter and quieter, we got louder. When she told me she was an Enneagram four, I jumped up and squealed! No wonder we have a connection.

Liz asked me a question, author to author, “What do you most identify yourself as?”

For a long time, I was a teacher. In retirement, I’ve become a teaching artist. In March, I released my first baby board book. But my answer to her question was “Poet!”

And it felt good to say it out loud.

Identity is a tricky thing. Of course, our vocation dictates our identity. I will never not be a teacher. Now that I have 5 grandchildren, I will forever be Mamére.

Claiming the title poet feels vulnerable. Am I worthy of this title?

What do you claim as your identity?

In church on Sunday, listening from the choir loft, I found a poem in the Psalm. May we all find the bravery to be who we are called to be.

A Poet Listens to the Psalm and Hears

You marched—
skies poured
gracious rain,
refreshed goodness.

Sing, mighty voice,
to holy places!

Blessed be!

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Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

On Saturday, I went to Moncus Park for the Lafayette Farmer’s Market to sell books. I definitely spent more money on food than I made in book sales, but the spring day was breezy and the park was full of people. A former neighbor stopped by, all grown up and married, hoping for a baby someday, so he bought a book.

Garrett and me in the UL Press booth.

A nearby booth had these exotic birds that were pets. They were bright and beautiful, but I don’t remember their breed. I was struck by how they perched and begged for petting.

On the way to my car which was parked a long way from the market, I noticed the new walking path my friend had told me about.

The developers of Moncus Park have been intentional about planting only native Louisiana plants. The reclaimed prairie was full of life.

Moncus Park Prairie, Lafayette, LA

On my walk I found a sign dedicated to a family that included a beautiful painting and poem by my friend, artist Melissa Bonin. I took a picture of it, then used the image and words in a found poem, prompted by Jessica Wiley and Erica Johnson on Ethical ELA.

Garden Amorphous by Melissa Bonin

Moncus Park Prairie
after Melissa Bonin

sugar harvest sky 
lights speckles of goldenrod, cotton weed
tucked inside a worn pocket.
A dragonfly wraps its wispy-thin legs
atop black-eyed Susan’s eye.

Your place is on the gravel path
listening to red-winged blackbirds,
catching buttercup pollen
on the tip of your nose.

Stories smudged on rock
gather for the retelling,
soft laughter of prairie grass
speaking to the wind.

Margaret Simon, draft

Here are more Moncus Park photos:

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