Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I started this 2024 year off as I’ve always wanted to, by writing every day. I haven’t missed a day yet. And I’m saying to my self, “This is easy.” I receive a newsletter each week from poet Maggie Smith. Hers is the only Substack I actually subscribe to. Her letter this week encouraged us to keep going. She has a just do it attitude about writing. It doesn’t matter if it’s any good. Just keep doing it, every day.
“If anyone has tried to stop me, it’s been that little voice in my head that says I’m not good enough, or no one will care what I have to say, or my idea isn’t very interesting. And my job is to turn down the volume of that little voice—the ‘inner critic’ we sometimes call it—and believe in myself and keep going. And I hope you do that, too.”
I’ve tried The Artist’s Way morning pages, but there are too many page requirements (3). I’m doing only one page. That’s it. That’s enough.
Keeping a notebook nearby is important to this practice. That and a good pen that feels smooth, flows easily. I’m not a brand snob about it. Sometimes the best pens are ones I’ve found at a doctor’s office.
To be writers, we have to give ourselves permission to write badly. Revision is our friend. I hold my breath whenever I send a poem or two to my writing group. How can I be so tender after all these years? I’ll always be vulnerable when it comes to writing, but that shouldn’t stop me.
Are you writing every day? If you’re not, are you feeling guilty about it? What would help? A new pen? A new notebook? Indulge in those things, but don’t wait for ideas. Ideas are those sparks that happen only if you ARE writing. They don’t happen unless you open the clean page and scribble a bit. Maybe one day what you scribble will look like a poem. Maybe one day your scribbles will speak to others. But today, scribble, play, bounce words around.
I am participating in Laura Shovan’s February Challenge on Facebook. It’s a small community of people like me. Some are more published. Some are not. We are all throwing words out and looking at how they land. I can write long or short. This year the topic is games, but I’m enjoying how loosely this topic has been interpreted. Today’s prompt was “games animals play” and I couldn’t help but think of my dog Charlie and his faithfulness to the tennis ball.
Charlie the schnoodle learned early in his life to relate to strangers with the toss of a ball. Anyone would throw it; he would retrieve again and again–offering his love & attention by way of a yellow tennis ball.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.
H. D. Thoreau from 365 Days of Wonder: Mr. Browne’s Precepts
Notebook Musings:
Can kindness be taught? How does someone reach out in kindness? We worry so much about impressions. Small talk drives our relationships: How are you doing? We don’t stand still long enough to hear, really hear the answer.
Naomi Shihab Nye wrote, “Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,/ you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.” I believe this, yes. I also believe that if you want a child to be kind, you must practice kindness. I hope my grandchildren learn this from me.
I received two messages yesterday that warmed my heart. My middle daughter wrote, “Thomas said, ‘I love baking with my grandma. Do you know who that is? It’s Mamère!”
The second came from my oldest daughter. “I really want him (her son) to have his own relationship with y’all like I did with my grandparents. Makes life more meaningful for all involved. He is a little secret sweetie.” She texted me that Leo had left his two stuffed animals, Bunny and Bear, at my house. I imagined how sad he was without them in his bed.
Secret soft stuffy missing beside boy catching silent tears of Loss
Margaret Simon, daily elfchen
I found the stuffies and they are waiting to be returned to their boy.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
We officially went back to school on Monday after a full two-week break, but because of an unpredictable weather system, we dismissed early, so I did not see all of my students. In a way I wasn’t ready for a full day. The early release helped me get a grip on what I need to get done this week. It was as though the train I was on came to a full stop in the middle of the journey. Pause. Think. Plan.
I made the decision to lean back on a reliable and time proven way to start our class: 100 Days of Notebooking. I recall a few years ago after attending NCTE, I received the gift of this idea from Michelle Haseltine. I still follow her on Instagram, and she is still notebooking. With my first group of kids on Monday, I introduced the idea.
I leaned back on William Stafford’s writing habit with these 4 steps:
Date
Quote of the Day
What’s up?
Poem-ish
That’s it, a simple format that seems to work every time. I set the timer for 10 minutes and we write…together. Creative freedom is my only goal. I hope getting back to this practice gives me, as well as my students, time to express themselves, a time for pause and peace (my OLW).
For my poem-ish, I wrote an elfchen. These are so fun to write. See the process here.
“When you say ‘yes’ to others, make sure you are not saying ‘no’ to yourself.” Paulo Coelho
Yes makes sound like the ocean drawing me to love Myself.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This new year has come in quiet, restful, on tender feet. Twenty Twenty Four has a nice sound to it.
My family has been talking a lot about the Enneagram. On the long drive to and from North Georgia, we listened to The Enneagram Journey with Suzanne Stabile. My husband and I were riding with our middle daughter and her 4 year old son. Enneagram language has now entered our family talk. It has transformed the way I speak to and about my daughters. And now, after 12 or so hours of instruction, my husband and I speak about it as well. It is an amazing tool toward empathy and understanding.
I subscribe to an Enneathought of the Day. This little short piece of advice is helpful in keeping me healthy in my ever present mind. I am a four which means my orientation to time is the past. I can get stuck in my feelings about things. My work toward a more healthy way of being is to be present.
I am still working on my One Little Word for this year. Come back on Spiritual Thursday for that post. (And certainly if you are a blogger and want to write with us, you can join with Inlinkz on Thursday.)
Today’s Enneathought teaching “Health is a measure of our capacity to be present.” I think this teaching is valuable to all of us. Here is my reflection:
Health is the Measure of our Capacity to be Present
Present to the muse inside. Waiting with stillness. Open to longing all the while content with its Begging of me To do something courageous. Get out of my head. Put on my walking shoes. Say hello to the morning light. That is all that is required.
Margaret Simon
Amicalola Falls, Georgia (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.
Georgia Heard won the NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry. She and Rebecca Kai Dotlich wrote Welcome to the Wonder House, an anthology of poems of wonder. At NCTE in November, I attended Georgia’s workshop. She had us group together to write a collaborative poem based on the question, “What does wonder mean to you?” I shared that workshop here.
I took this question and created a door decoration for my classroom at Coteau (one of my two schools) inviting teachers and students to add a star. My student John-Robert presented the idea to his classmates, and they added stars to the door. On Friday, our last day before winter break, John-Robert gathered all the stars and create a found poem.
The Word Wonder
Could it mean dreams? Could it mean eternity? Could it mean imagination? Could it mean caring? Could it mean hope? Could it mean earth? Could it mean sight? Could it mean beyond? Could it mean love?
What could wonder mean?
If it could talk, what would it say? Would it wonder things ? Would it have dreams ? And would it be like you and me?
The word wonder
Could it mean heart? Could it mean curious? Could it mean beginning? Could it mean endless? Could it mean questions? Could it mean change? Could it mean wonder? Could it mean me? Could it mean brightness?
What could wonder mean?
Could it mean all these things? Wonder would be me and you, wouldn’t it? It would truly be and belong to you and me While it makes all our dreams come true.
Wonder–the hope of something new, the feeling of awe and curiosity like seeing a breath-taking sunset. I find wonder in the depths of the ocean and in my imagination and fantasies.
Collaborative-found poem by Coteau Elementary (compiled by John-Robert, 6th grade)
After John-Robert wrote the poem, he clustered all the responses together into a new design, a new poem, a poem of Wonder.
I hope your winter holidays are filled with joy and wonder.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I have a morning routine as most people do. I wish I could just sit down with my coffee to write for a while, but my time is limited before I get out of for a walk and then get ready for my school day. Usually I read the New York Times newsletter from my email. I don’t always read all of it because news is generally not good and could start my day with a somber tone. I skip and skim down to the links to the games of the day; my favorites are Wordle and Connections.
A few weeks ago my skimming began to sound in my mind’s ear like a found poem. This poem was created by lines from the December 3rd newsletter. I did not change any of the words or the order they appeared.
News Flash Found Poem (December 3, 2023)
Mothers are grappling with anxiety after watching 10 migrants die at sea, a man in Paris with a knife and a hammer.
Kill all the deer; A great step toward survival.
Scholars want to show society there is value in the humanities.
Will it be a permanent cease fire or AI or fertility that saves us?
Magicians see thousands of donuts, an exuberant document of the human condition.
We have become our data simultaneously loading more and more of our lives into systems with little control over the outcome.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Maybe there comes a point in the Alzheimer’s journey as in any journey of life, a time when we have accepted the new normal. I thought I had accepted it, come to an unemotional understanding of who my mother is now. We made the 4+ hour trip on Saturday. My brother, a saint in my book, brought Mom to lunch with all of us, my husband and me, my daughter and her 3 year-old daughter, and my sister. The table was alive with conversation, all except Mom who sat patiently as Hunter ordered for her, cut her food, and asked her if she liked it. She was content. But she never spoke.
There was a time not too long ago when she would try to be a part of the conversation. Her words would come in and leave off. Like the thought that created them had shorted out, the energy waned. This time, only a month or so later, she doesn’t even try anymore. Her silence was loud to me.
On Sunday morning, my husband helped me get her to church. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. I sat holding Mom for the service. She fell asleep a few times, but when the organ played, she jerked awake and listened, sometimes singing along. She can still read the hymns and her voice is as beautiful as ever. I told her so in her ear, and she turned and smiled, “Thank you.”
Another time during the service, she turned to me and said, “I miss…” I’m not sure who she was missing, my father, my brother, or one of her favorite priests. For a moment, she was present and missing someone.
We brought her back to her memory care home. She was whisked away by the kind receptionist. I turned away in tears. Every time I visit, it gets harder to leave.
Here is a photo of her holding up a tacky Christmas sweater that my daughter gave to her. She follows directions well, “Hold it up and smile.”
I am grateful for so many things: My brother who deals with all of my mother’s needs, my mother’s contentedness, her amazing care, and the sparkle in her blue eyes. Grief is with me always. I will learn to hold its hand and feel its softness. Someone once said that deep grief comes from deep love.
My mother, Dot Gibson, with her tacky Christmas sweater. “It’s pretty.”
It is time to sign up for hosting Spiritual Journey in 2024. We post on the first Thursday of the month. If you would like to host our round-up one month, please fill in this Google Sheet. Email me if you would like more information before signing up. (margaretsmn at gmail.com)
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
On Sunday afternoon, the rain had stopped, the air was a perfect 70 degrees, and my house was full. Full of people with great admiration for my mother-in-law, Anne Simon, who once served as a district judge in a three parish area of Louisiana. She was not holding court, but the respect and honor was present. Minga (her grandmother name given by my oldest daughter) was signing her 5th book. Her first book Blood in the Cane Field came out in 2014. She has only been a writer for 10 years. She is 92 years old.
Actually, Anne has been working on being an author for a long time. She graduated from Wellesley and was the token woman chosen from her class to attend Yale Law School. Mona Lisa Smile was a movie based on her Wellesley class. At Yale, “They didn’t even have female bathrooms,” she told me. At Yale, she met Jerry Simon, a young man from an exotic place, New Iberia, Louisiana. In 1956, she was the only woman law school graduate in her class at LSU Law School. Jerry had swept her away from Yale to plant her firmly in Louisiana soil. From 1956-1984, Anne and Jerry practiced together as partners in a law firm. My husband Jeff joined the practice in 1981. In 1985, Anne ran for District Judge and became the first woman to hold that office. In her retirement, she served as an ad hoc judge for the Louisiana Supreme Court. All that time, she collected stories.
On Sunday, Anne told the group gathered in our home about how she came to write this latest novel, Blue, Gray, and Black Blood: The Civil War in the Bayou Country. She was interested in Civil War history. In her studies, she found that farm boys from western Massachusetts volunteered for the Union Army. She knew this area of the country well (Wellesley is located in Massachusetts) and imagined that they might have crossed paths with French speaking African Americans in Acadiana.
This photo shows Anne talking with Phebe Hayes, a historian and founder of the Iberia African American Society. Phebe was studying her family’s genealogy when she had lunch with me and Anne on the back porch of Anne’s house. I was there when the two discussed Phebe’s discoveries about her ancestry. Her ancestors were French speaking Creoles who joined the 52nd Massachusetts volunteers heading west. Through Anne’s thorough research, she wrote a historical fiction book “so you could imagine what it would have been like to live during that time.”
Phebe Hayes, left, and Anne Simon, right, celebrate the publication of a book that shares their history.
“We need to know every group’s history, not just our own. They intersect and we understand more when we know more,” said Anne to the crowd gathered. I was honored to be able to provide my home for the book signing. And many thanks to the people who helped with the event.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Poetry is a tool to unlock magic in the ordinary.
I spent the weekend in Columbus, Ohio at the NCTE conference. What a whirlwind of feelings! Anxiety over my presentation, awe when seeing and hearing Jacqueline Woodson and Tom Hanks, and pure joy hobnobbing with my fellow wizards. Now that I’ve had a few days to download and process the experience, I am feeling gratitude and inspiration.
The sessions I enjoyed the most were those in which an invitation to writing was given. Georgia Heard, the 2023 winner of the Award for Excellence in Poetry, led us into a community writing about wonder. She asked, “What does wonder mean to you?” and “Where do you find wonder?” Each of us wrote our response on a sentence strip and then gathered together to make a group poem. I want to take this idea to my schools. I imagine strips flowing down the hall creating a community poem.
Simon Simon, the sloth helped me write my line. I find wonder “in the voices of children.”
I find wonder in the ephemeral bloodroot that peppers the forest floor with white blossoms. The coyote who crossed my path In an egg in a nest in a quiet place In the voices of children In the depth of memory that pop like champagne bubbles on my heart’s surface. Wonder leads me down the rabbit hole in search of more.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Nature art by Marifaye
Write Out is a National Writing Project event that takes place for 2 weeks in October. Using the concept of getting kids out in nature and writing, I planned a field trip for our district’s gifted students to Palmetto Island State Park in Vermillion Parish. We arranged for a park ranger to lead the kids on a hike, but we wanted to do something creative.
Prior to the field trip my colleague and friend Beth called with an idea–Andy Goldsworthy art. Andy Goldsworthy creates designs with things he finds in nature. His idea is don’t take anything in and don’t take anything out. Whatever he creates, he photographs and leaves it to melt, decay, fly away, whatever may be. A wonderful teaching video can be found here.
The park worked out perfectly for this project. Our students, as well as the parent chaperones, spent time looking at fallen leaves, seed pods, acorns, etc. through a creative lens. Every child that I talked to was proud of the artwork they created.
Back at school on Monday, my students turned to poetry to express their thoughts about their creations.
Green and brown leaves
With a yellow leaf on top
And little red leaves and a very tiny fern
Shaped so perfect
To make the right art
Everything in nature is beautiful
Marifaye, 4th grade
Creating something, looks like a portal,
Even if destroyed, it remains immortal,
Standing strong through the test of time,
Eventually destroyed, fell out of its prime.
Max, 5th grade
Working with Georgia Heard’s idea of messages to the earth, each student wrote a 6 word message on seed paper. They took these hearts home to plant.
In my humble opinion, I think these kids will look at nature as art, a palette for creativity. They will see with artists’ eyes, finding an arm in a seed pod, a mirror in a leaf, and a kingdom in a circle of sand.
This week I am heading to Columbus, Ohio for NCTE. I hope I see you there!
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 