Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This is the week of Open Write at Ethical ELA. I love these monthly exercises in writing poetry. They keep my notebook going as a working document, and it’s a wonderful, kind, and inspiring group to be a part of. Earlier in the week, Kim Johnson left me a comment stating she hoped I would write a puppy poem this week. Today’s prompt worked for a puppy poem.
You may be familiar with the children’s book The Important Book by Margaret Wise Brown. Gayle leads us through the prompt to discovery the essence of the thing we choose to write about. As I write this post, my new puppy Albert “Albear” is curled up on my lap after his vaccinations. I’m breathing in the puppy smell. He’s 5 months old. I’m not sure when that scent goes away, but for now, I’m loving it.
The important thing about a new puppy is that he loves you without conditions. He will also jump on you and joyfully chase a tennis ball. Sometimes he poops on the floor, but he’s “just a puppy.” Always cute. Intoxicating smell. Barks at new bowls, trash bins, and the noise of the printer. Curiously nibbles on weeds, follows butterflies, sniffs at kittens. But the most important thing about a new puppy is he loves you, no matter what.
Five month old Albert with his favorite tennis ball.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Once you’ve had the perfect dog, it’s hard to decide to do it all again. We lost Charlie in September. He was 16 years old. He had been the best dog ever. And we’ve had our share. Charlie was a mix of schnauzer and poodle, a schnoodle. One thing we knew for sure is that we wanted a poodle mix.
We started looking at rescue sites, but my husband thought it best to get a puppy that you knew the history of. We found a breeder of miniature golden doodles within driving distance and set out two weeks ago on an adventure. The girl with the auburn fur was the one we thought we wanted, but, of course, our qualifications for a calm puppy were utmost. She was a wild child. We asked about other pups from the litter. When we held the little black male, we knew he was the one.
Finding a name was another matter altogether. We each had our own ideas. I made a list of P-names: Prince, Pippin, Paco, Pax, Puck, Pepper, Pablo. Nothing felt quite right. I posted a photo on Facebook with the message that we were still trying to name him. My friend Mary wrote “He’s got that Albert (Einstein) look. You could call him Al.” Then Susan responded, “if you’ll be my bodyguard…you can call me Al. Total Jeff Simon vibe.” It made me laugh like this new puppy has made me laugh. So we landed on Albert, but we are using the French pronunciation “Al-Bear”.
Albert is asleep on my lap as I write this post, exactly as he should be.
Albert looks out toward the bayou contemplating the buzzing of cicadas.
Of course, a new puppy has its moments of frustration. Potty training is at the top of that list right now. But this will come with time and consistency on our part. Today will be his first grooming. I wish I could bottle the puppy smell for you. There is nothing quite like it.
Albert with a pacifier chew toy he loves because it squeaks and bounces.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Saturday morning, my husband and I set out on an adventure to buy a puppy. The previous day, Friday, the eggs in our wood duck house began to hatch. This year we did not have a wood duck, though. The sitting mother hen was a black-bellied whistling duck. We have a Ring doorbell camera mounted in the nesting box near the bayou. We’d been watching the comings and goings of this hen for 30+ days.
Black-bellied whistling duck from Creative Commons
Wood ducks hatch on one day and jump from the nesting box on the next day, Jump Day. So do whistlers. Because we were on the road, we were watching the jump from my phone. I became distressed when I realized one of the babies had not jumped. He was jumping and flipping, but not toward the metal mesh that serves as a ladder. Time passed, so I was convinced the mother and the other 14 babies were well on their way down the bayou. What should we do?
Call Ric, of course. I tried Ric and his wife as well as my neighbor Shirley. All became concerned. And the next time I checked the camera, the baby was gone. At first I assumed he had finally made the leap. Then I got a call from Ric’s wife, Svitlana. She is well known for rescuing animals, cats, dogs, and owls. (Here is a link to the owl story.) She had the baby duck and was researching what to feed it.
On Saturday, we successfully found a new puppy. He is settling in and bringing us joy. We walked over to visit the baby duckling. He is also settling in and bringing joy. His (or her) little life was saved. Ric and Svitlana will keep him safe until he’s big enough to fly. Whistlers are migratory birds, so they have an instinct to leave. The owl has not left the area. He still calls across the bayou every evening to remind us that wild animals can be saved.
“Utochka” Ukranian for little duck. Baby Black-bellied whistling duckling- take a look at those big feet!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Friday evening, Francisco invited me to dinner. At the time, I didn’t know who would be attending. Fran has been visiting from Argentina, and we’ve been meeting weekly for a few months now. We usually meet in a coffee shop with one of my former students to read and write poetry. Corrine is hosting Fran and suggested that they cook a meal for a few friends. I was delighted to see Carolyn was there.
Carolyn and I taught together years ago and have stayed friends, but we don’t see each other often, especially during the busy school year. We are on summer break and maybe that made us giddy, or maybe it was the wine, but we were laughing a lot.
Fran suggested we play “Exquisite Corpse.” I kind of knew what it was; I think I’ve done it with students, but I didn’t think of it as a common party game or a very reliable way to write a poem. Fran insisted this would be good. “It’s making new art–authentic,” he said.
I didn’t take it as seriously. Especially when Carolyn added the line “two left feet.” I laughed so hard.
Exquisite Corpse is a game that inspires creativity. As a sheet of paper is passed around, each person writes a line and folds the paper so the line is hidden for the next writer. After we wrote a few very rough verses, Fran and Daniel put the words to music. I believe good musicians can make anything sound good, even the words, “two left feet.”
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
When something bad happens, something that brings you harshly back to reality, letting you know one day you will lose the life you have now, look for butterflies.
Two weeks before, when all was blooming and life was full of daily walks among wildflowers, we took into our classroom black swallowtail larvae.
This is a dependable cycle, metamorphosis, changing, eating itself into a chrysalis, camouflaged, unrecognizable.
Then like a miracle, beauty breaks free out of nature’s cage reminding us we long for flight.
Black Swallowtail Butterfly released into our school garden. photo by Margaret Simon
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Mother’s Day is a hard day for many women. My Mother’s Day was hard this year. That hard was unexpected. I have three daughters who are each mothers now. Isn’t that something to celebrate? Yes, of course. Not to mention my beautiful grandchildren! My husband and I made a small effort to celebrate his mother with lunch and gifts of plants. I am in the middle, not really a mother anymore. Not mothered anymore. The above quote talks about this shift. It’s big and hard.
Elizabeth Gilbert sent a prompt for her followers to write from: “Dear Love: What would you have me know about mothers today?” Here is a portion of my letter from Love.
You want to keep your arms wide for them, but you can close them around yourself. You have to become lovable only to yourself now. There is freedom and grace in this stage. You did your best. You left your loveseed and fertilized it to grow in them as mothers. Turn your loving toward home, dear one. Open arms are there for you.
My own mother, as many of you know, is living with Alzheimer’s. I have opened a fundraiser page for The Longest Day, an event for the Alzheimer’s Association. I think all of us have been touched by Alzheimer’s. You can donate at my personal page here. For a $50 donation, my ADK sisters and I have made purple beaded bracelets.
Here is a photo my brother sent of my mother from Mother’s Day at her memory care home.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
We are nearing the end of the school year, so last week I panicked. I have to get the end-of-the-year narrative writing done for my SLT (Student Learning Target). I’m calmer now because yesterday I realized while working with my second grader that there has been growth, even while I wasn’t really paying attention. He completely filled one page and has more to say.
My students write a Slice of Life every week. They post on a blog site formerly known as Kidblog, now Fanschool. This weekly practice is graded, but the rubric is rather basic. More of a get-‘er-done checklist rather than anything meticulous. I forgot that the practice of writing weekly creates improvement.
Yesterday I heard my older students claiming word counts.
“I wrote 500 words!”
“I can top that easily!”
These claims were not so much competitive as they were evidence that I had nothing to worry about. They’ve learned to elaborate, to use transitions, to add dialogue, to end with a satisfying conclusion, not because I have told them to, but because that is what writers do.
Like the gladiolus my friend dropped off at my back door, their long stem of learning has blossomed and continues to grow. I am proud to be the holder of the blooming flowers. I must’ve done something good.
Glad Elfchen Students bloom when you let them be the flowers they Choose.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A piece of paper can be history. When our girls were growing up, we taught them to write thank you notes by doing them regularly. And we usually made them by hand. My oldest daughter continues that tradition with her children, especially Leo who is five now. He can draw well and can spell his own name. A handmade card can become a piece of history.
Last week my friend Jim was texting me about Maggie, my oldest daughter, asking for her contact and when she would be at her office in town. I had no idea what this was about. Later Maggie texted me for Jim’s address. I still was not sure what was going on, but I figured Maggie was writing him a note.
Then I received two pictures from her in our sisters group text.
Maggie sent photos of the relic from 1993. Our family had attended the first Live Oak Tree Festival, which was held again this weekend. It’s now a part of our city’s long list of spring festivals. Jim created it after Hurricane Andrew (circa 1992) had taken many of our precious live oak trees. The live oaks saved New Iberia from the complete devastation of that category 5 storm. We owed them a festival. Now in its 31st year, it’s grown to more than a petting zoo, donkey rides, and paper making crafts. I was touched by Jim’s gesture. I wouldn’t be surprised if Maggie frames the handmade thank you note.
Maggie at age 8 composed the note.Martha was only 3, so Katherine likely signed her name.
Dear Mr. Jim,
Thank you for the tree festival. My favorite part was the papermakeing and Katherine liked the African dancers in the mud. Martha’s favorate thing was the glueing fabrik leaves on trees and the music. We hope you do it again next year!
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Monday was Earth Day and the weather could not have been more perfect. A cool front came through, so our temps were in the 60’s. I took each group of students outside for writing time. I opened the Merlin app and we talked about the birds’ songs we heard. It was a good day for listening, teaching, and writing. State testing starts Wednesday, so I was happy for the opportunity to sit outside and forget our worries.
Kailyn’s notebook page
Earth Day is also my father’s death day. He loved double numbers; his birthday was 11/11/33. He passed away on 4/22/22. Ethical ELA’s prompt gave me the space I needed to write about him and his love of trees.
Dark Clouds by John Gibson
Earth Day Dedication
My father’s compass pointed to the trees, how the branches bent and blocked light shadows dotting landscape.
Once he told me trees grounded him in the present, reliable– long standing safety for Mother Earth’s children.
Yesterday I heard the “kow-kow-kow” of a yellow-billed cuckoo stopping in our tree from its journey across the Gulf.
The journey of life, as the cuckoo calls, is hard and easy. Some days you find rest, take a breath, sigh for Mother Earth and sing loud. (Margaret Simon, draft)
Fifth grader Kailyn blows India ink into a mysterious shape.
Thanks to a grant from Alpha Delta Kappa educational sorority, I funded a field trip for the elementary gifted students in Iberia Parish. The purpose of the field trip was to expose our students to the mystery and magic of art.
The students were able to tour an exhibit at The Hilliard Museum in Lafayette, LA. They saw the art of George Rodrigue, who was born in New Iberia and became world famous with the creation of his Blue Dog series. The students were fascinated to learn of Rodrigue’s origins and how he created amazing paintings throughout his life until his death in 2013. They recognized the iconic Blue Dog from a sculpture that we have in a downtown park dedicated to his memory.
They also viewed the art of Beili Liu who used the element of water to create an abstract hanging of paper above their heads. She also made blue cyanotype prints of objects from the ocean to draw attention to the problems of pollution.
Denise Gallagher, a local author, illustrator, and graphic artist led the students in an abstract activity using small straws and India ink on paper. Enjoy the gallery of art. Some students wrote poems to accompany their creations.
I believe that children should be exposed to art and learn that they are creators. Denise and Callie, the educational docent at The Hilliard, helped our students feel comfortable and inspired by art. The students were pleasantly surprised and proud of their creations.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
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 