Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
In my retirement, I want to be a better gardener. I envy people who seem to be natural gardeners. Rather than pine over other people’s gardens, I decided I needed to be proactive, so I attended a Acadiana Native Plant Project event last week at the Louisiana Wetlands Center.
Leaning over the purple coneflower is Monica, who I discovered later on, I had taught with 20 years ago.
As we toured the grounds, the members of the native plant project talked with us about the plants that had gone to seed. We were given paper bags to collects seeds in. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into, but I opened my hand to free seeds.
The miracle of seed pods!
I became enthralled by the miracle of seeds.
Beauty Berry!
One of our leaders sent me home with a cutting of Beauty Berry and a seedling of tropical sage.
My home lab
I spent some time googling each seed and figuring out the best way to propagate them. If I’m 20% successful, that is better than nothing. Some of the seeds are in wet paper towels in the fridge to experience fake cold weather. Some I sprinkled right into a pot.
As the temperatures cool off, I hope to feel more motivation for working outside in the yard. And I will be watching for baby plants, and feeling wonder and awe of it all.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The TECHE Project with a grant managed by the Center for Louisiana Studies from the William C. Pomeroy Foundation placed a Legends and Lore marker about the Teche Tunnel.
Last Friday was “Talk Like A Pirate Day” and what better day to celebrate a new historical marker in town. The Legends & Lore marker was placed on the grounds of one of the oldest homes in town. This property originally belonged to the Duperier family, a founding family of New Iberia. The building was a school for many years, Mt. Carmel Catholic Academy for girls.
At the ceremony, people spoke about the different stories that have been passed down for generations about the tunnel. The tunnel is no longer safe to access, but it is there.
Some say that Jean LaFitte, a famous pirate of the 19th century visited the Duperier family and used the tunnel as an escape route. There are still tales of buried treasure in the area.
Paul Schexnayder, an artist, educator, and picture book author, created a whimsical painting about the legends.
The legends of the tunnel by Paul Schexnayder
Paul explained his imaginings about the tunnel: a place where the sisters gambled, where they hid the pregnant girls, where slaves escaped, where prisoners were jailed and Jean LaFitte escaped, and even a story from the 80’s where a Satanic group worshipped.
Whether or not any of these stories are true is beside the point. The point is history gives us stories and stories connect and entertain people. The marker adds one more spot on the map of our little quirky town of New Iberia.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I retired at the end of the 2025 school year. I’m still finding my way.
Check off travel: We spent a week in Scotland over the Labor Day weekend. (It seems like a dream now.)
My husband Jeff and I on the Britannia in Edinburgh.
Daily walks with my dog, Albert: We did this earlier on school days. Now I get to stop and chat with neighbors along the way.
Time with grandchildren: I’m driving to New Orleans this afternoon for another few days with Thomas. I hope to get in some Sam snuggles, too.
Grandparents’ Day in kindergarten with Thomas!
Domestic stuff: Watering the grass, doing the laundry, cooking (wait! I haven’t done much of that), financials, cleaning…There is always a list of chores.
On Monday, I told Jeff I was finally going to have a real retirement day. I had a massage and lunch with a friend (also retired). Taking care of myself in this way makes me feel guilty. Isn’t there something more productive I “should” be doing?
I had to buy a paper calendar, no free one from the school photo company. It’s mostly full, but I find myself with pockets of time rather than a whole day. So what do you do with an hour here or there?
People say I will get into a rhythm, a routine, settle in to retirement. It’s only September.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
A week ago, I was on a tour of Edinburgh Castle, the heart of the UNESCO preserved area of Edinburgh, Scotland. During the reign of Robert the Bruce, the whole castle was destroyed except St. Margaret’s Chapel. I was drawn in to the history of Margaret, Queen of Scots, and want to claim her for an ancestor. Her life was from 1047 to 1093. She was an unusual saint because she had eight children and was not a virgin or a martyr. Yet she followed the teachings of St. Benedict and was pious and generous.
Yesterday I read a “poem a day” by Damir Soden found here. The commentary included this quote about poetry, “Poetry being the most sophisticated way of dealing with language is therefore of utmost importance when it comes to preservation of one’s identity.”
I want to preserve memories of my trip to Scotland. Preserve the feeling of being taken back in time. Preserve my connection to my name.
Edinburgh Castle, Scotland
Is like a time capsule toured daily by thousands walking back through time’s doorway into St. Margaret’s small chapel finding a sanctuary most sacred place in Scotland atop the highest point of Castle Rock spared by Robert the Bruce— a resting place.
How her spirit caused his pause… We pause to imagine to inhale the soft scent of gunpowder to rediscover holiness in a place of violence.
Can you feel the longing?
St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest preserved building at Edinburgh Castle.Simple adornments in St. Margaret’s Chapel.Stained glass window of St. Margaret by Dr. Douglas Strachan in 1922.
There is a guild of St. Margaret that keeps the flowers in the chapel. Anyone with the name Margaret can be a part of this guild. We are encouraged to place flowers in our own churches on St. Margaret’s Day, November 16th. Here is a prayer from the booklet I bought (charitable donation).
O God our Father, who didst kindle a flame of divine love in the heart of thy servant Queen Margaret and didst by her humility and kindness show forth the way of royal service: grant that, encouraged by her example and strengthened by her fellowship, we who bear her name may follow her in the joyful spending of ourselves for others; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The altar flowers were purple and gold, a nod to LSU where my parents met.
This weekend my family and I celebrated the life of my mother, Dot Gibson. The funeral service was held at the church where I was baptized, where my parents were married, where my mother’s ashes are placed next to my father’s in the columbarium, St. James Episcopal Church in Jackson, MS.
The musical prelude was sung by my brother. He is a musician, and the song he sang was an original one he wrote about our parents. We were blessed to be raised by loving parents. They supported Hunter’s aspirations to be a performer, even when it didn’t seem like a practical vocation. In more recent years, Hunter has been performing at senior living places. My parents found their independent living apartment because Hunter had played there many times, and he felt it was a safe place for them.
Music has always been an integral part of my family’s life. Mom taught piano lessons and studied piano, receiving her masters and performing with the Chaminade Club of Jackson. She was on the founding board for the Music Forum of Jackson. Her legacy lives on in my brother.
Here are the words to his song, followed by a link to it on YouTube.
Reason That I Am
When I was just a boy, time went by in such a hurry.
Carefree days and tender nights, growing up without a worry.
Mother, Father, reasons for the man I am.
Don’t let go of the memory. Let it guide you to the truth. Don’t let go of the memories of the ones who tried to pave the way for you.
Even through the troubled years, love was always there to guide me. Not afraid to chase a dream. Knowing that you’d be there beside me.
Mother, Father, you’re the reason that I am.
Don’t let go of the memory. Let it guide you to the truth. Don’t let go of the memories of the ones who paved the way for you. The ones who never strayed from you. The ones who let you be just you.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
The old adage “Build it and they will come” has certainly worked for me this year. Instead of planting milkweed outside in my butterfly garden, I planted two varieties in pots. This was due to a discovery that milkweed is poisonous to dogs. And our dog loves to romp in the butterfly garden.
In the spring, I found monarch caterpillars on the swamp milkweed. A few weeks ago I found two tiny ones on the tropical milkweed. Because of all the predators (lizards, birds, etc.), I decided to put the two babies in an enclosure. What I thought was two became 6 very healthy caterpillars munching away on both varieties. I was hoping I could keep them fed for the growth period.
Healthy monarch caterpillars
All six made chrysalises. Four of them had moved appropriately to the top, but one made its chrysalis on a stem and another on the side of the cup holding the demolished milkweed.
Over the past two days they all emerged, two on one day and the other four the next.
Beautiful monarch!
I feel a sense of accomplishment that I successfully raised 6 new monarchs to fly free into the world.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Have you seen Matilda, the Musical? I’ll take any excuse to see a musical. Our local performing arts league, IPAL, does a musical every summer with kids under the age of 18. I am always impressed with the skills of these young people and their directors. Matilda was no exception.
Last summer I took Leo to Beauty and the Beast. We weren’t sure how he would like it, but he sat in his seat mesmerized for the whole play. We took a picture with Gaston.
Leo, age 5, with Gaston from Beauty and the Beast (IPAL, 2024)
This year Leo is 6, which means he’s all grown up and knows about musicals.
Sister Stella is four. So it was a long shot to try to take her to the show. My daughter decided to go with us because two kids are harder than one.
Stella was not as mesmerized as Leo. She asked a lot of questions.
“Why is Miss Trunchbull a boy?!”
I explained the beauty of theater is that boys can be girls and girls can be boys.
Stella also had a little trouble suspending belief.
“Her father is so mean!”
“He’s just pretending, remember?”
Leo and Stella both enjoyed the time called “Intermission” when they could get treats.
While Stella lost her patience about a half hour before the play was over, “Is it over yet?”, she can’t wait to go to another musical.
Stella with Miss (or Mr?) Trunchbull.Intermission snacks!
Twelve days ago, this beautiful boy came into my world. Wrapped in the stitches I crocheted for him, he sleeps. While he sleeps, I breathe his newness and want to hold onto that feeling that all is well with the world.
Six days ago my mother, Sam’s great grandmother, died. She slipped out of this world that had been her home into a new one, where we will all be someday. I like to think it’s a better place, a warm welcoming embrace.
I got a phone call message from my aunt, Alabel. She was once married to my mother’s brother, and she has remained a part of our family. Her message said, “I have been so privileged to be a part of your family. I’m glad your mother is now free and happy and seeing Johnny (my father)…I hear you have a new grandchild. That’s how it works, the saints are leaving and the saints are coming.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I am spending some time in New Orleans with my daughters and grandchildren. Soon a new grandson will be here. But in the meantime, I took a walk in the neighborhood. A city walk is different from my small hometown walk, so I took some pictures to set the scene. (Don’t forget to add 80+ temps and 60% humidity to your imagination.)
We took grandson Thomas to City Park and walked around the gardens.
Thomas, 5, looks for turtles in the pond. Turtles, turtles…all around…City Park stone bridge
My One Little Word for 2025 is Still. Even in the midst of city traffic and busyness, a moment of stillness can be found.
City Park Haiku
Turtles sun-basking While heat rises from old stone Bridges to stillness
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This past weekend was the Open Write at Ethical ELA. I am trying to write a poem every day, but it sure helps to have a good prompt. On Sunday, Tammi Belko led us to write in response to the question “What is normal?” You can see her full prompt here.
I was spending the morning with two of my grandchildren. As I sat with my tablet and notebook pondering her prompt, my grands Leo and Stella were drawing. Leo, age 6, has always loved drawing. Now he is old enough to add words to his drawings. Stella, his sister age 4, is following in his footsteps. Her drawings tell stories.
Super Dino-Force by Leo“The monster was walking in the forest. In the ocean, the whale was splashing.” By Stella
Kid-Time Normal
All they need is a marker and paper— Imagination soars… Dinosaurs with super powers, Bad guys with two robot arms, Magical crystal charms… Transformed Transfixed Time stops on paper.
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 