Of Walking and Writing

 

We are supposed to talk about Our Best Day Ever. To be honest, I’m having a hard time coming up with something to say. I’m in the middle of grading final projects, then there’s all the other stuff. You know what I mean.

So I went for a walk, needing a break from the grind. Along the way, I met First Guy. I met him seven years ago, when I first started this route. He was a robust republican in every way back then. He’s five years older than I am. Haven’t seen him for a while. He’s recovering from yet another surgery, after surviving cancer in his prostrate and lungs. He’s riddled with tumors.

His wife, whom he always called the love of his life, is ten years younger than him (and five years younger than me). They met decades ago, when she was the first lady supervisor of his company. She has Alzheimer’s on the level of Gene Hackman, and no longer recognizes First Guy. She also has Parkinson’s and can barely move.  Turns out, the two of them worked for decades for a company that extracted asbestos from buildings. Even his hazard suit and mask had asbestos in it. Only now did he discover – and not through his company – that it was probably the asbestos that did this to him and his wife.

Also on my walk, I met Second Guy, another robust republican in his day. He’s my age, a retired marine who suffered a traumatic brain injury while on duty some time back. He was also exposed to burn pit environs. He was part of a lawsuit for compensation, until abruptly that lawsuit was dropped. Also, his vet office was recently closed, and he no longer has access to mental health offices. He compensates by drinking, and brags about what he gets away with.  There’s a gash on his head that I suspect is only the beginning.

Listening to First and Second Guy talk, it was beyond any judgment toward them. The hard reality is, between the three of them, they probably don’t have five years left. As First Guy said, a hundred years ago, he would have just died. And he added, maybe that was for the better.

 No judgement. But there's something deeper that touches the core fabric of who we are, and the consequences of our votes.

I am reminded of a poem by Carl Sandburg, The Long Shadow of Lincoln: A Litany (from The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg. Copyright © 1970 by Carl Sandburg.): 

 

Be sad, be cool, be kind,

remembering those now dreamdust

hallowed in the ruts and gullies,

solemn bones under the smooth blue sea,

faces warblown in a falling rain.

 

Be a brother, if so can be,

to those beyond battle fatigue

each in his own corner of earth

      or forty fathoms undersea

      beyond all boom of guns,

      beyond any bong of a great bell,

      each with a bosom and number,

      each with a pack of secrets,

each with a personal dream and doorway

and over them now the long endless winds

      with the low healing song of time,

      the hush and sleep murmur of time.

 

 Too much thinking, I decided.  I walked for six miles. Not bad for having a hip replacement not 18 months ago. Daffodils are all abloom, as are the crocus, the violets and dogwood. And the forsythia is burning bright! Robins are up for the early worms. Crows are arguing with each other, as always. A woodpecker is working a bit too hard. It was a good day for a walk.

Rather than grading, I decided to work on this Big Project. I’ve been challenged by my most excellent editor Eileen Robinson of Charlesbridge Move to write a horror story. I’m working on something akin to a splice between monster horror, legend and fantasy, reflecting some of the themes of fantasy, history and identity I explored in my new book -- The Barbary Chronicles -- coming out in Spring 2026. In horror, the question becomes: am I strong enough to survive? In fantasy, the question becomes: am I worthy? Seems quite apropos, don’t you think?

 

May today be your best day ever!

-- Bobbi Miller

Note: The quote "The trouble is, you think you have time" attributed to Buddha, comes from Jack Kornfield's interpretation of Buddhist teachings, from his book "Buddha's Little Instruction Book".

My Best Day (OK, Four Best Days)

 I am blessed to be able to count many best days in my life, but this is a writing blog. Let's narrow it down to the writing related ones.

There was the day I got the phone call telling me that Viking was buying my first book, My Best Friend. I was at my parents'. Dad went out to the liquor store at 10 in the morning and bought a bottle of Moet Chandon, which we consumed right then. (Mom was a teetotaler. Besides, she was at work.)

Six years later, a different editor called to tell me that My Best Friend had won the Ezra Jack Keats Award. My daughter was getting ready for her figure skating lesson. 

"I can't find my tights," she screamed from downstairs. "Where's my GAP sweatshirt?"

"Look in the dryer," I yelled back as my editor babbled something about "award" and "My Best Friend"and "Ezra Jack Keats." I think I said "Well, that's great but I have to get my kid to skating right now. Send me an email." (I was talking on a landline, and didn't have a cell phone.)

I was halfway to the skating rink before the editor's words registered. The Ezra Jack Keat Award? I had been a librarian; I knew what that was. A big picture book award!  

One blessing is that both my parents were alive to share in my publishing success. The best day I ever spent with my mom was my first school visit/book signing in Oxford, Mississippi. The day began with a book discussion with an AP English class at Oxford High School, then a signing at Square Books Jr., just across Courthouse Square from its parent store, Square Books. I knew not to expect a bunch of people at a book signing. It was for my first published book, Yankee Girl. First time authors don't draw crowds. Heck, I didn't even know anybody who lived in Oxford. Or so I thought.

The first person in the door was a high school friend I hadn't seen in over 30 years. She was a local doctor, had seen the ad about my appearance, and wondered if it was me. She was followed by a pair of librarian friends from my first job, two hours away in Corinth, Ms. Then two carloads of teachers from the rural Tennessee junior-senior high school where I had taught for eight years. I was bowled over that my good friends had driven three hours on mostly two lane country roads to be there. All the while, people introduced themselves to Mom, wanting to know more about the events in Yankee Girl. 

I remember the trip home from Oxford as one of those blissful Mississippi April evenings of pink skies and soft breezes. Mom was never one to seek the spotlight, but she glowed with the experience of sharing our family's story with a group of my friends. A Best Day for us both.

The fourth Best Day was when my dad invited me to speak to his Retired FBI Agents group about Yankee Girl. The book is based on my family's moving to Mississippi in the summer of 1964, Freedom Summer. My dad was one of 500 FBI Agents assigned to the "Mississippi Burning" case of three missing civil rights workers. Their bodies had been found in their burned out station wagon, buried in an earthen dam, right before my family arrived. I was ten, and between worrying that the Russians would nuke us, or the Ku Klux Klan would firebomb our house, I never thought I'd live to see eleven.

Dad is on my right with the brass bowl over his head

The FBI has a culture all its own. The agents (all male at the time)were never to speak of their work outside the office. Dad was always getting middle of the night phone calls to come into work. We never knew why, although a couple of times we could hear why; bombs going off within a mile or two of the house. Dad would be sent out of town for weeks and months at a time and we wouldn't know where. If there was an emergency, we were to "call the office" and they would get in touch with him. If Dad was ten minutes late coming home from work, Mom would pace the driveway until she saw his car. We worried he'd be shot or kidnapped or have his car bombed.

Although there were other "Agent Kids" my age, almost all of them went to Catholic school. There was one other "AK" in my school, but we were in different classes, lived in different neighborhoods...and he was a boy. The local kids were either distantly polite ("Southern manners") or out and out ugly, calling me names, telling me to "go back up North where you belong." It was a lonely time.

Back to the Retired Agents meeting. About half the group were from the original 500 agents of 1964. They listened as I read parts of the book that dealt with the fear and loneliness I experienced. When I finished, there was a long, long silence.

Uh-oh, I thought. This was a bad idea.

Then slowly the men started clapping, louder and louder, and the ones who could, stood up. One by one they came over to me, with tears in their eyes.

"I didn't know my kids were scared," they said. "We thought we had kept what we did a secret."

"We didn't know our kids were being bullied.  They never said anything to us."

Of course we didn't. We knew our parents were dealing with life and death stuff. Being called a "damn Yankee" or a "N-word lover" was small potatoes in comparison. 

One man took my hands and said, "My daughter is about your age. I'm going home right now and calling her and apologizing for not being aware of what was going on with her while we were working."

My dad was a quiet man, perfect for an FBI agent. I adored him, but if we spoke three sentences in a week, it was a big deal. He spoke only when necessary. That's just the way he was. That day on the way home from the meeting, for the first and only time in my life, he said, "I'm proud of you."

Another Best Day.

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman

My I-Didn't-Know-It-Then-But-I-Know-It-Now Best Day Ever

I count my Blessings like a lawyer, on the quarter-hour basis.

That's how grateful I am.

So when tasked to choose My Best Day Ever from a bounty of Best Days

both personal and professional, I was downright flummoxed.

Confounding the matter was that my mind was already otherwise 

engaged, remembering, reflecting, fully-focused on My Best Boy and his 

upcoming March 4th Big Five-O Birthday.

One remembrance continued to pop up, and each time it did, I felt my 

heart smile:

my son at two, settled in my lap, uncharacteristically still, 

uncharacteristically quiet, as we found ourselves lost in a Mr. Rogers

episode.

Fog had descended upon the world of Make-Believe - an enormous 

close-to-the-ground cloud, Mr. Rogers explained, so that Bob Dog 

couldn't find his stone.

Jon's dark brown eyes widened at the wonder of it all.  When Lady 

Elaine used her boomerang to lift the fog, his mouth formed a perfect 

"O."

Whatever this thing was, with the snap of a finger it made 

everything and everyone DISappear, but then, just like that, begin to 

REappear! It was Pure Magic and my Best Boy wanted some.

By the time Mr. Rogers finished singing "Wishes Don't Make Things 

Come True," I heard myself whispering, "Yes! Yes!"

Bob Dog had found his stone but even better, I had found my 

long-ago Dream to someday, one day, write a children's book!

"Jon," I said, "Mommy's writing you a picture book, all about a little 

boy who wants to catch a piece of the fog.  You'll have it by your 

very next Birthday."

I now know: that day's promise of a book not only set me on a 

professional path I liken to my very own Yellow Brick Road.

It forced me to mine my pluck and grit, to keep marching forth in 

step with my Best Boy, sometimes even over, under and through, 

to recover my buried voice so I could realize my Dream.

It picked me up every time I fell; it chased away all doubts and 

fears.

True, the road was longer than first imagined; I greatly under-

estimated my arrival time.

(FYI: I honored my promise nineteen years later, though with a

different story. The Fogcatcher, alas, still awaits publication.)

But to my surprise, despite the Despites, not only did honoring

that promise gift me with countless unimagined unexpected

Kodak Moments - Best Days, if you will. It continues to do so.

Just like my sunny Sonny Boy, it's the gift that keeps on

giving.

Each time I added an appositive noun to my name - author,

award-winner, teacher, writing coach, colleague, friend and

amazingly, blogger, each time I advocated for children's

book creators, I could feel my heart smile. 

"Who would have thunk it?" I'd hear myself ask.

Hopefully, each Thanku I posted over the years adequately 

expressed my gratitude - for my "storied treasures," my 

"new berries," my mentors, our Children's Book World, my 

fellow bloggers and you, our Readers.

This one, however, long over-due, I'm tucking inside my

Best Boy's Birthday card.

       My Sunny Son Jon

       A Maker of Dreams Come True

       Marching forth always!

Here's to discovering your Best Days Ever!

Esther Hershenhorn

p.s.

Thanks to Laura Purdie Salas for hosting today's Poetry Friday.  

How to Make a Writer's Day

Happy Poetry Friday! I share a poem at the end of this post along with a link to this week's Poetry Friday roundup. 

As April mentioned when she kicked off this series of posts, our first topic of the year was inspired by the 2025 Tournament of Roses Parade's theme, "My Best Day Ever!" Of course, back when we planned the topic, we had no idea that it would be a challenging one given all that's going on in the world. But perhaps Providence was at work, because I can't imagine a better time to focus on being thankful for good things, which is crucial to the Best Day theme.

Like Zeena, I can think of many personal Best Days, such as my wedding day, the birth of my son, his wedding day, etc. I've also been blessed with many writing-related Best Days. Highlights of those days include graduating from Vermont College, being offered a contract for my first novel, and having a packed house for my first-ever book signing at my local independent bookseller. But my most recent writing-related Best Day was completely unexpected and happened just last Friday, January 31. It's related to my latest publication, a true story in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tales of Christmas: 101 Stories of Holiday Joy, Love and Gratitude edited by Amy Newmark. The book was released in October 2024, but it continues to bless me in surprising ways. Before I describe last Friday's Best Day event, I need to provide some backstory.

Finding out last summer that my story, "A Life-Changing New Year's Tradition," would be included in Tales of Christmas was itself a writing "Best Day." I've submitted pieces to Chicken Soup multiple times but have been accepted only once before--a poem in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Teens Talk High School, 101 Stories of Life, Love, and Learning for Older Teens edited by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Amy Newmark, & Madeline Clapps back in 2008. I'm not sure if the paperback is still in print, but the book is still available as an ebook.

Despite it's title, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tales of Christmas features stories about events beginning with Thanksgiving and running through Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, and New Year’s Day. My story is about our family's tradition of keeping a Good Things Jar and how the jar helped me through an especially difficult time. 

When my copies of the book arrived, I was honored to discover that my piece is the last one in the collection. But then I thought, maybe the honor wasn't that great, since the book contains only two New Year's stories. 😄 

If you read my latest Creativity Newsletter, you already know that the publication of Tales of Christmas led to an interview in our local newspaper. (If you don't get my quarterly newsletter and would like to subscribe, you can do so here.) I was quite surprised by the newspaper's interest--I've sent them press releases in the past without ever receiving a response. But I was even more surprised on Sunday, December 15, when I opened my copy of the paper to find the photo I'd provided on the front page! 

Photo taken by John Martino

I learned in the article that the reporter had also interviewed Amy Newmark, the book's editor. He asked Amy about the Chicken Soup selection process and how she chose my piece. Here's an excerpt from his article:

“I love to put some New Year’s stories in our Christmas book,” Newmark said. “I liked Carmela’s story, which is a twist on the more conventional approach to gratitude, which is to have a journal. The gratitude jar. What’s great about it is it makes you approach every single day with a different perspective. You start looking for the good things instead of the bad things.... I can see hundreds of people doing that because they read it in her story,” Newmark said.

Martino’s story is the last one in the book.

“I like to end the book with a nice, strong story. You finished Christmas, here’s a great idea to put you on a positive footing for the new year,” Newmark said.

Wow! Reading Amy's comments gave me another Best Day! I loved learning about how she chose my story and why she ended the book with it. But the blessings related to the publication of "A Life-Changing New Year's Tradition" didn't stop there. Several friends I hadn't connected with in some time contacted me after seeing the article. My friend Gayl, who had moved to Minnesota, must have read the article online, because she emailed to congratulate me. She also said that her library had ordered Tales of Christmas, and she couldn't wait to read my story. 

And that, at last, brings me to what happened last Friday. Out of the blue, I received a text from Gayl saying that her library finally got Tales of Christmas. She wrote, "I loved your story and its message," and said that she and her husband had decided to start their own Good Things Jar. Her text made my day! She had verified Any Newmark's comment that my story would inspire readers to create their own Good Things Jars. I was thrilled to know that my story had touched someone so much that they'd been moved to action. 

Gayl ended her text with "Thanks for the lift!" But her message had lifted me, too, giving me another "Best Day." (And something great to share in my post for this series!) Of course, I included a note about her message in my own Good Things Jar. 😄

Now, for the poem I promised. Some of you may recall that, back in December 2021, I participated in the Kidlit Winter Poem Swap. I had the pleasure of swapping poems, and a small gift, with Linda Mitchell. My gift to Linda included a glass jar I'd decorated and labeled for her to use as a Good Things Jar and two poems. I've copied one of those poems below. I believe it fits well with our Best Day theme of gratitude. What do you think? 

        Good Things

    A morning walk
    beneath blue skies.
    A cardinal calling
    as it flies.

    A smiling stranger
    holds a door.
    A new museum
    to explore.

    The patter of
    much-needed rain.
    A breath of air
    that's sweet again.

    A lovely dinner
    with a friend.
    A stunning sunset
    at day's end.

    The flavor of a
    favorite tea.
    A comfy chair
    and time to read.

    Record these joys
    on little cards
    and save them in
    your Good Things jar.

    © 2021 Carmela A. Martino. All rights reserved.

 

Don't forget to check out this week's Poetry Friday roundup hosted by Carol Varsalona at Beyond LiteracyLink.

Happy writing!

Carmela

Best Day Ever ... Winning the CABA

So many moments. So many best days ever… I follow after April Halprin Wayland and share in her celebration of the wonderous moments when a class gets going and you realize you have congealed into one living organism learning, playing, supporting, and loving together. 

I also think of those deeply personal moments of best days ever, like when I birthed my daughter at a birth center in Hollywood, CA off of Sunset Blvd. with direct-entry midwives.  Eight strong women, the majority of which were healers held space around a birthing tub.  My daughter was born in the water in a lavender painted room with white curtains blowing and Bach playing in the background.  Candles surrounded the birthing tub and when she came into the world…then there were ten (including me.)  It was truly a sacred birth.

But, that’s not the memory I want to share at this time.

This past October, Hatem Aly and I were awarded the Children’s Africana Book Award (CABA) for Egyptian Lullaby from Howard University. The committee flew me out to Washington D.C to accept the honor.  

Honestly, when Hatem reached out, I had mixed feelings.  Awards set apart one person from the others and creates hierarchy.  Awards more often than not appeal to one’s ego.  I am in favor of an egalitarian society over a hierarchical one.  I’m not in favor of awards for teachers because I see teaching as a collaborative process which spans the years of a student’s academic career.  Progress cannot be measured by a single year with a single teacher.  We all contribute to the final “product.”  Awards for artistic endeavors are a bit less cut and dry for me. How many of us have watched the Academy Awards or Grammy’s and fantasized ourselves on that stage. (OK maybe that’s an LA thing.) Awards given to artists/writers can help awardees obtain more opportunity to create more work.  It’s hard to ignore the reality.  Hard to ignore that the words “award-winning” can change the trajectory of one’s career. While I can be competitive, I prefer to lean into my collaborative self which is actually stronger and more productive and comfortable to exist in. I have spent decades developing and nurturing my skills as a collaborator as an activist, organizer, educator and artist. I felt honored and yet compelled to acknowledge that I was embarrassed by the attention that singled me out… Humbled by all the congratulations I received. I knew I was expected to give a speech.  What would I talk about? My writing process? The intention of Egyptian Lullaby? The importance of normalizing Arab culture? In the end I chose to celebrate the intentions of the award itself.  

Click here to watch video of speech 1

Click here to watch video of speech 2

Click here to watch video of speech 3

Below is a transcript of my acceptance speech:

Thank you to Africa Access and the African Studies Association and the Howard University community on behalf of Hatem Aly and myself.  I am an Egyptian-Filipino American.  Egyptian Lullaby is my love letter to Cairo, the homeland of my father.

 There are literary awards out there that might have served my ego and vanity, and then there is this award that speaks to my heart, my soul, and most importantly…aligns with my purpose. Your mission to encourage the publication of children’s books to contribute to a better understanding of African societies and issues, intersects with my own 35 years of activism and grassroots organizing for social justice.  

I am both a children’s book author as well as a public-school kindergarten teacher in Los Angeles.  I wrote Egyptian Lullaby to normalize Arab culture because Hollywood and the media have done a bang-up job of demonizing Arabs in addition of course to almost all the cultures on the continent of Africa.

I often present at teacher’s conferences on Using Picture Books to Decenter White Culture and Recenter Diversity.  Your mission recenters true global diversity.  I know that my fellow teachers in the US as well as myself, come to our classes with internal biases.  It is impossible to not.  And without resources and support, we pass those on to our students unknowingly.  We choose books that prioritize stories told through a white, Eurocentric lens.  Your mission is so important to widening the span of available books like, Egyptian Lullaby and those of my fellow authors and illustrators here today.  If teachers and librarians can choose from a greater variety of books, we can consciously shift the way we center marginalized cultures and not reinforce the dominant culture.  We can create a lens through which children see a world where many different peoples and cultures live equitably…A world where children in current marginalized communities see themselves as valued…A world where we can address the unequal power dynamics.  We can demonstrate valuing all people and most importantly, bring marginalized people out of the margins.  Sometimes it feels like doing anti-racist work is insurmountable and overwhelming.  Your work makes it easier.  Spotlighting and encouraging the creation and production of more books about many diverse cultures on the continent of Africa facilitates more access for teachers, librarians, and ultimately, readers. It helps motivate the publishing industry to create and value the stories of currently marginalized peoples.  It creates opportunities for writers and artists to tell their stories that may not otherwise get told. And, it influences what bookstores choose to carry and market.  Providing a balanced view of the world for children is imperative to promoting equity.  Afterall, if we keep reinforcing for our young children through the books we share…that Eurocentric cultures have more value…we cannot be surprised when Anglo-Americans grow into adults unable to recognize their privilege.  Your work helps to deconstruct the dominant paradigm and erase marginalization.  This is the reason why I create.  This was the intent of Egyptian Lullaby.

I would be remiss not to thank the people who birthed this book into being…My cousins Nabil and Fatma, adult children of my Aunt Zina who inspired this story, my writing teacher and friend, Deborah Norse Latimore, my dear agent,  Abigail Samoun, the Roaring Brook team…executive editor, Emily Feinberg, assistant editor, Emilia Sowersby, copy editor, Sarah Gommper, art director, Aram Kim, designer, Mercedes Padro, publicist, Sara Elroubi, and school and library marketing assistant, Grace Tyler.  Thank you!  Thank you! Thank you!

                                                            

Truly what made the day, “the best day ever,” was the confluence of people who came together in that room at the luncheon.  Brenda Randolph, Vanessa Oyugi and Harriet McGuire who made it all possible.  The other authors and illustrators with whom I shared this once in a lifetime memorable day.  

Each person honored was given their own table.  Those in attendance sat at the table of their choice. And there it was, a table full of people with points of access representing different parts of my life. Instantaneously, I felt like I was sitting with family.  Each person familiar in their own way and intersecting different parts of me. Seemingly, all roads led to those social justice aspects of my past trajectory referenced in my speech and soon I would find that they would continue into my current journey providing camaraderie and solace along the way…Fellow picture book author of Hands Around the Library – Protecting Egypt’s Treasured Books, Karen Leggert Abouraya and I connected for a couple of reasons.  She wrote the book that I had found a few years ago as a comp for a story I was researching about the Arab Spring Revolution in Egypt.  I remember finding the story and wishing I had been the one to write it.  It’s so beautiful.  She is also married to an Egyptian man.  Cheryl Hamlin Freeman, board member of Africa Access and a member of the CABA planning committee and I connected with the other side of my heritage, my Filipino side as she is married to a Filipino man.  She was accompanied by her daughter.   Heba F. El-Shazli, fellow political activist who shares my Egyptian roots and is a professor at George Mason University’s Schar School of Policy and Government connected with me immediately like sisters. I reconnected almost immediately after I was back in LA to tap into her wealth of knowledge pertaining to Israel and Gaza. Then checked in with her again regarding Syria. My good friend from college, Kathleen West came to experience this best day ever.  We hadn’t seen each other in almost 2 decades and went to school together in the early 80’s.  Lastly, Deborah Menkart, executive director of Teaching for Change, an organization that influenced my teaching in the 90’s as I was developing, sat at my table unknowing of the influence she had had on me as a progressive teacher.  As a result of their work and the work of Rethinking Schools, I have grown to see my role as a teacher as an act of social justice. 

I reached out to many the following Wednesday, the day after the elections, to find community.  These are the words from Deborah that brought tears to my eyes and hope to my heart.  Meeting this amazing group of people was truly the result of “the best day ever!”

I get choked up every time I read this.  My heart is full...

by Zeena M. Pliska

MY BEST DAY EVER

Howdy, Campers, and Poetry Friday!

I'm kicking off our first series of 2025  ~ Happy New Year! We've decided to borrow the 2025 Tournament of Roses Parade's theme, "My Best Day Ever!"

For more about the parade's theme, read this article.

At first, I was going to post about the fantastic time I had at the NCTE Convention in Boston this past November. There were numerous Best Days that week, one of which was when I was on my way to hear the opening speaker...and the sheer pleasure of attending a huge convention (7,500 attendees) for the first time in years. What. A. Blast!

But as I was hiking with our 1-year old pup Sadie, on New Year's Day, it became clear. I had to tell you what my favorite hike does for me.  This particular trail, which I've named The Courageous Trail, takes about two hours. It's a steep hike, the footing is tricky, and I rarely run into anyone on it.  I hike it at least once a week, often more. I'm always, always happier (often ecstatic) as soon as we're greeted by the pepper trees near the trailhead, and I'm definitely the Queen of Bliss when I make a point of touching the post at the end of the trail: we did it!

pepper trees greet us 
at the beginning of trail 

When I hike this trail, grey skies clear, Vitamin Green calms, heals, and softens me...and poem ideas jump up from their hiding places shouting, "SURPRISE!" 

Remember those pocket breath strips that would dissolve on your tongue? For me, brilliant ideas are like that. So, to make sure I don't forget, I send each idea from the trail. The subject line is simply: Poem: [whatever I just thought of]; I leave the body of the email blank.

Here are a few examples of those subject lines:

• Poem: the toe has no nose but it knows; my eyes have no clothes but they're closed
• Poem: I'm so glad I married this trail
• Poem: HIKING PRAYER: I am here I am here
• Poem: the wind leaves leaves. The leaves win.
• Poem: as much as I love pepper tree leaves, I am developing an affection for the green spoon, the blue rubber glove, the empty whiskey bottle near the trash can at the end of this trail.

Yes. I love personification.

Some of the ideas turn into poems, some of them wander over to my husband's worm farm in the backyard. Apparently, old ideas are delicious.

For me, every day I hike--is my Best Day Ever.

Below are three poems related to nature and dogs.

I wrote the first one when we'd just adopted Sadie—my husband was healing from a major accident, I was recovering from whatever I was recovering from, our wonderful old dog Eli had died a few months before (Kitty was in deep mourning--she wouldn't sleep in our room, and refused to purr). A gloomy fog filled our home. You know what I'm talking about.

AND GOD SAID...
by April Halprin Wayland

Done. You’ve asked, I’ve granted. Now go
Out there and laugh, laugh, laugh!
Give all the love you’ve been saving to your new furbaby.

BLESSING
by April Halprin Wayland

I’m listening—
sometimes it’s clear,

sometimes I hear
a healing balm.

It whispers soft:
my word is calm.

We breathe in green.
It’s healing both my dog and me.

DOG PARK SPRING QUARTET
by April Halprin Wayland

1.
Dogs frisk in dust,
birds choir on wires.

2,
The sparks of spring
bring racing things
on paws
and wings.

3.
Dog’s full-stretch yawn.
The chill?  It’s gone.
Instead, the crazy sting
of spring.

4.
Our park is full of
barks that mean g’morning, howdy, hi!
My heart is full of wagging tails
and hope and song and sky.

poems (c)2024 April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.

Regarding the last poem:

Sometimes I get flashes on a topic. Pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit together with that satisfying click no matter how I rearrange the pieces.  Most days I discard all but one and work out a poem from that. But the day I wrote this one, I wanted to keep them all.  This is one way to organize ideas.  Bring 'em all on board! Then the poem's like a strobe light, flashing on one idea at a time in a black room.

It’s your turn. Pick a big topic–spring, love, Paris, mother–whatever it is, scribble down metaphors, words that sound like your feelings about the topic, etc.  Create a quartet of poems.  And remember to breathe.

Sit, Sadie...

Oh--I almost forgot! A different kind of Best Day Ever is teaching! 

Do I still get nervous when my classes begin? You betcha. 

But the moment I can tell that my students and I are in that flow--that's the Great Gift.

So, come join my next one-day, 3-hour UCLA Extension's Writers' Program class, INTRO TO WRITING THE CHILDREN'S PICTURE BOOK ~ A Workshop for Absolute Beginners 

many thanks to Barney Saltzberg for this illustration

Guess what?!?! 
UCLA Extension offers it FREE! 
Enrollment begins January 22nd--this class fills FAST!

* * *

Thank you for reading this post. 

Now, it's your turn. What's your Best Day Ever? (And if you've forgotten how the Tournament of Roses defines that, read this article.)

Thank you, Mary Lee, for hosting the first Poetry Friday of 2025 at A Year of Reading !

I believe that the Kidlitosphere will bring hope to this beautiful, sorrow-filled world. 
It's going to take time, humanity, art, humor, community, committment, poetry, and a few good songs.

posted by April Halprin Wayland
with help from Sadie and Kitty

PS: I just read that hashtags can be added to Blogger...so here goes

(and please let us know in the comments section if you found us via a hashtag--and which one!):

#newyear #wedandothis #wesing #wewrite #wecreateart #weteach #welaugh 
#poetryforchildren #writingchildrensbooks #poemsaboutdogs #poemsabouthiking #poetryfriday #BarneySaltzberg #Icouldgoonandon #dohashtagsmakemelookfat 

Wishing You a Good Wintering!

 

Let it breathe, if it doesn't breathe, it's gonna die.
Let us see, if you let it be, is it gonna fly?

I want to tell you before I forget,
You're doing well!
You know you're living it!
You're gonna make it no matter how hard it gets!

-            -- Wintergreen, by the East Pointers (lyrics by Tim Chaisson, Koady Chaisson, Jake Charron, Colin MacDonald)

 

This week I’ve been hobbled with covid, and as such, I’ve been forced to rest. I was grumpy, to say the least, because I have so much to do! There’s the end of semester grading, my daily walks. And the holidays, including the shopping. And not to mention, but I will, wintering the garden.

Add this to the recent stresses of  current life in general, and boy did I growl about.

Wintering. Every gardener recognizes the process. Then I came upon this article, and was profoundly pleased with the new application.  As Sheridan Voysey explores in his blog post, There’s a Word for What I’m Experiencing: Wintering. Maybe You’re Feeling it Too:  

“Winter is a time of retreat and hibernation for much of the natural world, wintering is the process by which our bodies and souls seek rest and recuperation when the clouds descend and light fades.”

Voysey reviews Katherine May's book, Wintering (Riverhead Books, 2020). He highlights key points in May's definition of  "Wintering", to include:

The Power of Pause: 

 "Wintering" reflects a necessary pause for repair and reflection. Just like nature withdraws in winter, allowing the land to rest and replenish, we need times of quiet introspection. This "wintering" allows us to process experiences, heal from emotional wounds, and gain clarity on our path forward.

 Self-Compassion: 

May emphasizes the importance of self-compassion. Be kind to yourself, acknowledge your struggles, and celebrate your small victories. Prioritize activities that nourish your mind, body, and spirit, just like you would nurture a loved one going through a tough time.

 Slow Down to Savor the Journey: 

"Wintering" challenges us to slow down and appreciate the present moment. By embracing a slower pace of life, we create space for creativity, deeper connections with others, and a greater appreciation for the beauty of everyday life.

For a more in-depth discussion on the processing of wintering, Here’s an excellent Connecticut Public Radio interview with Katherine May on Wintering! 

Look for the Katherine May's book, Wintering (Riverhead Books, 2020) at your favorite book store.

 

And wishing you a good wintering!

 

 

Thank you for reading!

-- Bobbi Miller

New Book I Can't Wait to Share: Buffalo Dreamer by Mary Ann Rodman

   

The more I learn about writing, the harder it is for me to "lose"myself in a book. My Inner Editor keeps chattering away... Poor word choice. A ten-year-old would never say that. Hmm...well isn't that a wonderful coincidence for the sake of the plot? Really annoying.

Inner Editor took a break as I read Buffalo Dreamer by Violet Duncan, a finalist for this year's National Book Award for Young People's Literature. (The awards will announced this Wednesday, November 20th.) Duncan handled a disturbing topic--government-sponsored "boarding schools" for indigenous children--in an age-appropriate but serious manner. And...she did it in only 128 pages.

Usually I blitz through 128 pages in a little over an hour. This book took two days. The writing is so lovely, you read a sentence, then let it seep into your soul. My reading pace slowed as page 128 approached. I didn't want to leave these characters and their lives. 

There may be other children's books that deal with this subject, but I haven't read them. (BTW, if you know any, please let me know in the comments.) Residential schools for Native American/First Nation children were established as early as the mid-17th century in both the US and Canada. Their purpose was to assimilate the children into Anglo-American culture. All traces of their native culture were squashed. The students were dressed in Western clothes, their hair cut. Speaking their native language was forbidden. Parents who tried to hide their children were cut off from government assistance or even jailed. Sometimes the children were kidnapped from the reservations and sent miles away to school, never to be seen again. Those who tried to escape were harshly punished. Sometimes they died. Parents were never notified.

All 11-year-old Summer knows is that her beloved Mosom (grandfather) was once a student at one of these schools. A mixed tribe girl from Arizona, Summer, her mom and little brother, are on their way to her grandparent's reservation home in Alberta, Canada. On the long car trip, she falls asleep, dreaming odd dreams. About a girl who is not Summer. A girl who is trapped somewhere dark and cold. She needs to escape.

These troubling dreams unspool even as Summer enjoys her annual vacation with her mom's family. She suspects the dreams are connected to the old residential school at the edge of town. She and her mystery-loving cousin Autumn resolve to find out more about the school, and their grandfather's time there. Their investigation gets a boost when unmarked graves are discovered on the school grounds. Will Mosom at last speak about his past? Do the graves have a connection to Summer's nightmares?

Duncan doesn't pull any punches in her description of how the schools treated children. This could've been a super grim tale if not for the episodes of Summer enjoying her reservation vacation--swimming, riding bareback, picking sweetgrass, in addition to giggly sleepovers with bestie Autumn. Cultural history and customs are woven unobtrusively throughout the story, as Summer learns more about her Cree heritage. 

I cannot recommend this book highly enough.

And other news I can't wait to share...

It's been three years last week since my beloved friend, April Pulley Sayre, passed away. I did not realize that six weeks later, her long-time illustrator, Steve Jenkins, also died. In honor of this perfect pairing of author and artist, Beach Lane Books will be re-issuing four of their titles: Vulture View, Eat Like a Bear, Squirrels Leap, Squirrels Sleep and Woodpecker Wham! in 2025. I'm so thrilled these new editions will be available to the next generation of readers. April's unique vision of the world lives on.

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman

3 New Somethings for My Body, Mind and Spirit

At long last, I’ve set aside two afternoons each week to learn 

T’ai Chi!

Though only a Beginner, thanks to my venerated Chicago 

instructor Hau Kum Kneip, I now see how this low-impact 

exercise lives up to its description as “meditation in motion”

 – as well as – “medication in motion.”

I am besotted with the gentle movements within the short 

forms I’m working hard to learn.

Increased strength, flexibility and balance are the goals, 

for my body, of course, but even better, it turns out, for 

my mind and spirit.

Speaking of my mind,

in September I lost mine when my Lenova Yoga laptop’s cursor and

touch pad froze.

Tech-savvy I am not; in fact, I’m an honest-to-goodness Luddite

who relies on the help of experts.

Enter GOOGLE and You-Tube videos, once I correctly phrased the

question that addressed the issues.

“Who knew?” I heard myself exclaim as I learned about my

keyboard’s Function Keys (Fn) – and –  top row with all sorts of

varied icons dubbed “hot keys.”

I sure didn’t.

And I’ve only been typing on a computer since maybe 1997.

After unfreezing both touchpad and cursor, I celebrated by lighting

my keyboard.

Using GOOGLE and You-Tube videos to solve several of my

computer problems has gifted me with a new independence when

technological challenges arise.

As for matters of the spirit,

alas, an editor (or three) sent me what Richard Jackson called

“an admiring decline.”

In the past, I turned to children’s books for comfort and inspiration.

(Think: I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.)

Fortunately, Amy Gash and Elise Howard gathered nearly 400 wise

and inspiring words from children’s classics old and new in their

lovely new book Believe in the World, Wisdom for Grown-ups from

Children’s Books (Algonquin, 2024).

Several of the categorically-grouped quotes restored my spirit and

had me back on task in no time.

Indeed, writing this post proved the perfect Rx, too, for keepin’ me

keepin’ on.

Believe in the World included Yuyi Morales’ words from Dreamers

(Neal Porter, 2018):

                                    “Someday we will become something we

                                      haven’t even yet imagined.” 

Thanks to Patricia Franz at Reverie for hosting today’s Poetry 

Friday.

Here’s to your New Somethings! Feel free to share them.

Esther Hershenhorn