Reflections on the Teche

Spice (Slice) of Life: A Handmade Journal

July 25, 2023 by margaretsmn

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

I have made so many true and talented friends in this world of blogging. In 2014, I met up with our Slice of Life bloggers for a face to face dinner at NCTE. There I met Melanie Meehan who bought a copy of my first ever middle grade novel Blessen and read it on her plane ride home. She wrote an email inviting me to join her writing group, and the rest is history, as they say. But Melanie is not in our group any more. (She is an active contributor to Two Writing Teachers.) Even though the writing group has changed faces, our bonds are strong. One of those 2014 members was Julie Burchstead. Julie and I have never met face to face. She lived in Vermont and then retired to Oregon, but we keep in touch through Facebook.

I kept seeing posts from Julie of beautiful handmade journals. I sent her a Direct Message, and she offered to make me one. (I did pay her.) The book is lovely, made of soft leather with a handmade butterfly button closure. vintage paper, spring flower binding, and 3 signatures of 98 lb. multi-media paper. (Yes, she wrote it all out on a notecard.) The braided thread wraps around and tucks into the button with a variety of beads, among them a silver bee and butterfly. She wrote, “May this journal always call your muse.”

So far I haven’t brought myself to scratch out a rough draft poem inside, but I am collecting quotes.

Thank you, Julie, for giving me something to comfort and inspire me.

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged handmade journal, Julie Burchstead, quotes | 8 Comments »

Poetry Friday: Ode to Molly’s Strawberry Jam

July 20, 2023 by margaretsmn

Poetry Friday Round up is Here!
Scroll down to add your link.

One of the pleasures of summer is fruit in abundance. My fridge is full of strawberries, blueberries, apples, watermelon, and more. Fruit is how I satisfy my sweet tooth.

I had surgery three weeks ago. My friend and fellow Inkling Molly Hogan sent me some strawberry jam with strawberries she picked herself on a farm in Maine. I have been so touched by how wide my circle of friends reaches.

I subscribe to a lot of poetry emails. The Poetry Foundation featured an ode by infamous Pablo Neruda praising tuna, Ode to a Large Tuna in the Market. I noted “write an ode about food.” Then I received News from the Fishbowl newsletter and Poets & Writers The Time is Now. Both of these prompts came from Neruda’s tuna poem. The universe was telling me to write an ode.

Looking at this poem again, I want to adjust that last line. Maybe delete it altogether. My thought was to have color in my face, but it could be associated with blood (yuck!). My grandson Leo loves to talk about bleeding. He wanted to see my belly button scar. Maybe he will grow up to be a surgeon.

But I digress. Friends, please put your links in the Inlinz below. Thanks.

Posted in Gratitude, Poetry Friday, Writing | Tagged Molly Hogan, Neruda, ode, strawberry jam | 27 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Africa

July 19, 2023 by margaretsmn

Travel has not been on my summer agenda, but I have been enjoying travels of my friends by scrolling social media. Recently Mo Daley experienced an amazing trip to Kenya with infamous Kwame Alexander. I held down my jealousy and let her photographs take me back to a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Tanzania in 2016. Mo’s photos taken from her iPhone were incredible. You should check them out on Facebook.

I was drawn to the zebras. On my trip with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, we often talked about which animal was our favorite. It was so hard to choose. The tall majesty of the giraffe. The fierce calm of the lions. The gentleness of the elephants. But the zebras! Zebras feel like a joke from God. The contrast of black and white reflects our natural day to night rhythm. They were always seen in herds, with their friends.

I played around with the monotetra form this morning. Each stanza includes 4 rhymed lines, each line with 8 syllables, and the last line repeats the same 4-syllables. I took liberty to slightly change the repeated line. I think it adds more interest to the poem.

Monotetra for Zebras

For its black-white striped attitude,
God is laughing a beatitude.
I speak prayerful gratitude.
Erase bad mood. Embrace calm mood.
Margaret Simon, draft

Please play with words today and leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with your responses.

Posted in This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Travel, Writing | Tagged Africa, Kenya, Mo Daley, monotetra, zebras | 8 Comments »

Slice of Life: Good Neighbors

July 18, 2023 by margaretsmn

When I was a little girl, I remember walking door to door to show my neighbors my skinned knee from a bike accident. You may have called me a “Boo Boo Queen.” I lived in Mississippi in the 70’s. We knew our neighbors. They all had kids around our ages. We played outside, ran through the water of the creek, chased fireflies, and rode our bikes from house to house putting on plays. Those were the days, or do they still exist?

These last few weeks I’ve been the ultimate Boo-Boo Queen following a major surgery, a hysterectomy. Recovery has been slower than I was led to believe, not because of anything more serious than basic body plumbing. It amazes me how all of that digestive stuff, gut health is so important to healing.

This recovery, however, has had some bright spots in it as I take a daily walk on my street. I feel closer than ever to my neighbors. I have come to understand that you have to let people help you. I know there will be a time when I will need to return the favor, so when next door Theresa asked if she could do anything, I sent her to the vet to pick up Charlie’s meds. Of course, when she returned, we got in a nice visit.

James picks up penny nails on the road. Later he counted more than 70 of them.

Yesterday I was walking and spotted a number of penny nails on the road. Perhaps some working crew had dropped them. I knew I couldn’t bend over for any length of time and pick them up, so I texted Jen and asked for one of her boys to come out with a ziplock bag. A simple act of citizenship turned into a math lesson for 9 year old James, a zine lesson for 5 year old Jerry (we wrote a story together), and an inspiring conversation with their young parents. God bless them. They are here from Indiana helping Jen’s mother cope with her father’s illness. Before my surgery, I took the three boys to a splash pad for some summer fun. After, they showed up at my door with fresh picked cucumber and a cake James made “by himself.”

Summer salad: Cucumber, watermelon, basil, mint, feta cheese.

With another cucumber from the neighbor’s garden, my husband suggested a watermelon and cucumber salad with dinner. I haven’t been eating much, but this idea made my mouth water. I texted another neighbor, Ric, to see if he had some basil and mint in his wife’s garden. In the late afternoon, I took another walk (figuring out that two walks a day are better than one for my recovery) and stopped at Ric’s. I came home with basil, mint, parsley, and some left over tabouli that another neighbor had made for Ric.

The list could go on. I am so blessed to live near friendly people who care about me, watch over me, and feed me. Do you have kind neighbors that sustain you?

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life | Tagged #healing, cucumbers and watermelon, kindness, neighbors | 12 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Volunteer Zinnia

July 12, 2023 by margaretsmn

Have you ever really focused on a zinnia? They are one of the few flowers that can be grown by seed and withstand high heat. My neighbor, James Edmunds, posted the above photo of a volunteer zinnia. Volunteer means it was not planted by people. It just shows up, and usually in an odd location. I found the one below growing from a crack in a sidewalk.

Zinnia in the sidewalk by Margaret Simon

Reminds me of the Leonard Cohen lyric, “There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”

I’m also drawn to the flower in a flower of a zinnia’s center. There are multiple florets. These are important to the reproduction of the flower and most likely the cause of volunteers.

Please join me today in musing on zinnias and cracks and light and anything else that is on your mind. Leave a small poem in the comments. Encourage other writers with response comments. Thanks for being here.

Patience

Focus on the crack
Feel the throb of pain
Plant a tiny seed

Believe
someday… light
will reach… in

something… new
will grow.
Margaret Simon, draft

Posted in Photography, Poetry, Spiritual Growth, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing | Tagged #poemsofpresence, #smallpoems, Leonard Cohen, zinnias | 35 Comments »

Spice of Life: Eulogy for a Uterus

July 11, 2023 by margaretsmn

The title is not a typo. I saw Wilson yesterday. He had figs to offer. No better summer treat than fresh figs. And he thanked me for writing a “Spice of Life” about him last week. So I decided to make Slice of Life into Spice of Life in honor of his good mistake.

Two weeks ago today I had a hysterectomy. I’ve been amazed by the kindness of my circle. I’ve received flowers, cards, cakes, food, figs, and numerous other ways people have shown gratitude to me. There’s this interesting twist of things when one who is a caretaker becomes the cared for. I’ve had to loosen some control and let people help. I called my neighbor to pick up my dog’s meds at the vet. I allowed my daughter’s father-in-law to sweep my kitchen floor. It’s a weird space to be in. Needy. Grateful. Humble.

Last week, on the day of the surgery, I got an email writing prompt from The Fishbowl. Children’s author Kelly Bennet sends a 7 minute quick write each week. You can see the prompt here.

In my 7 minute writing response, I wrote a eulogy for my uterus. Each stanza is homage to each of my three daughters’ births.

Betty, Wilson’s wife, says I need to breathe in green gratitude to replace my uterus. I’m honestly not there yet. My body is still quite angry about the whole thing. Maybe next week, Betty? But I did, after a few critiques, take out the slaughtered pig reference.

My uterus was a vibrant thing
after Lucille Clifton

was an egg in a nest
of brambles and moss holding
a suckling embryo

was a vase for spring flowers
bursting forth in April
shouting to the sky

was a silk blanket
wrapped around the soul
of the wrongs of the world

did not walk out on me,
was taken for its uselessness
a holy sacrifice

I groan for all it’s grown
and known–
blessed womb.

Margaret Simon, June 27, 2023

Posted in Poetry, Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged gratitude, Lucille Clifton | 11 Comments »

Poetry Friday: Sudoku Poem

July 7, 2023 by margaretsmn

Poetry Friday is being gathered by Marcie Flinchum Atkins.

For years I tried sudoku and failed over and over. I left a whole puzzle book halfway completed. As the puzzles advanced in difficulty, I gave up. I find comfort in words. I find confusion in numbers. It’s just how my brain works. So when Heidi challenged the Inklings to write a Sudoku poem, I put it off. Heidi was inspired by Mary Lee who was inspired by a Rattle poem.

My inspiration came from these things in my life:

My daughter in New Orleans wants to grow things. She planted wildflowers and she was so proud of how they bloomed, but now the heat is killing them.
Molly Hogan, an Inkling and friend, sent me some strawberry jam. She posted about strawberry picking on her Slice of Life post this week.
My husband and I went dancing. We love dancing. I wore a flowing colorful dress.

How do you fit all of those experiences of delight into one grid? I tried. Here is my experiment. I think it’s important to remember this is a puzzle, so some of the lines will puzzle the reader. I think that’s okay. Let me know if you try out this form.

The Garden Gate: A Sudoku Poem

Check out the other Inklings poems:

Linda Mitchell
Molly Hogan
Heidi Mordhorst
MaryLee Hahn
Catherine Flynn

Posted in Poetry Friday | Tagged garden poem, Inklings challenge, sudoku poem | 14 Comments »

Spiritual Thursday: Rain-kissed Walk

July 6, 2023 by margaretsmn

Carol Varsalona is hosting Spiritual Journey First Thursday this month. She chose the title: Rejoice in a Sunkissed Summer Season.

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”— Ralph Waldo Emerson

I am rebelling a bit against the sunkissed summer. I’ve had enough of the sun. Here in the deep south of Louisiana, the sun has been incessant. On my walk this past weekend, I had to walk from tree shade to tree shade to escape the strong beams of heat. Heat index was over 100 degrees.

Finally, relief came in rain through the night last night. The sound of the rain settled me to sleep. This morning’s walk was shaded by cloud cover. I couldn’t help but sigh a thanks-be-to-God.

I feel powerless against the endlessness of climate change. I could dive into a rant, but I won’t. I’ll just leave these refreshing photos here for a respite and the thought that life will find a way. These photos are a poem. Poems are prayers. God answers prayers.

Posted in Gratitude, Photography, Spiritual Growth | Tagged spiritual journey | 10 Comments »

This Photo Wants to be a Poem: Fort Pigeon

July 5, 2023 by margaretsmn

Molly Hogan posted this wonderful photo of a pigeon hanging out at Fort Popham in Phippsburg, Maine. Molly finds a variety of places to practice her photography in her place on the earth. Birds are often her subject. You can see more photos on her Instagram and Facebook pages.

When I first looked at this photo, I thought (assumed) the yellow spots were wildflowers, but on closer inspection, they are stains on the stone wall. I did a quick Google and found that it’s maritime sunburst lichen, nurtured by the droppings of birds. So, in essence there is a symbiotic relationship here between bird and wall, pigeon and lichen. Isn’t the natural world fascinating?

Consider joining me in musing today about this photo. Leave a small poem (or even random thoughts) in the comments. Encourage other writers with your comments.

On the rock of my past,
a pigeon perches on my soul
filling me with a sunburst
of your love.
Margaret Simon, draft

A little note of connection: Molly and I both lost our fathers in 2022. We have shared lots of grief poems. When I was deep in my grief last May, a prothonotary warbler came to my window. I had never seen one close up. I gasped and thought immediately of Dad. Of course, every thought was of him, but I latched onto yellow as the color for him.

Posted in Photography, Poetry, This Photo Wants to be a Poem, Writing | Tagged grief poems, maritime sunburst lichen, Molly Hogan | 19 Comments »

Slice of Life: Meet Wilson

July 4, 2023 by margaretsmn

Wilson goes to my church, lives in my neighborhood, and is the father of my gynecologist. He’s a retired engineer from the sugarcane industry. A few years ago he gave me a bleeding heart plant that he had cultivated. I thought it had frozen this winter (sadly due to my neglect to bring it in for the freeze), but it is flourishing back. It seems to love the heat. Nevertheless, Wilson won my heart through this small gesture.

A few weeks ago, I was out on a morning walk, so I stopped by his house. He had promised to show me around his yard-nursery. I was immediately taking photos with my phone. Look at this gorgeous lotus blossom in a tiered fountain.

On a tour of Wilson’s backyard, he showed me a spot where he plants cuttings and plant pups. His wife Betty says, “These are his babies.” Then he showed me a young fig tree. He said it could be mine. The best time to plant them is in the fall, so I will be back to pick it up when the air turns cool.

The photo to the right is a grassy plant that produces little seeds called Job’s tears. Wilson picks the seeds and takes out the center which leaves a perfect hole for making beaded bracelets. I was honored to receive one of his bracelets.

Wilson makes beaded bracelets from multi-colored Job’s tears.

Wilson and Betty have transformed a backyard shed into a “winery” where Wilson experiments with different fruits for making wine. Betty said the hardest part is the waiting.

Wilson shines a flashlight and says, “This one’s close. Look at this color.”

Wilson reminds me that we should do the things we love. Grow and cultivate plants, make bracelets, create a new wine. Wilson has to be careful because of a back injury, but not long after his surgery, I saw him biking in the neighborhood. Keep moving. Be like Wilson.

Posted in Slice of Life, Writing | Tagged Job's tears, Wilson LeBlanc | 9 Comments »

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