I used to love making pressed flowers for bookmarks and decoupaging plain white candles and decorative soaps when I was younger. My mother taught me how to take newspaper and fold it to match the pages of a heavy book and use that as a press. About six weeks later, we’d use tweezers to take the petals and stems and arrange them over a flat surface using Mod Podge. I think our hobby started back in the day when women carried hexagon-shaped wooden purses decoupaged in collage, with tortoise-shelled handles. Macrame purses were all the rage at that time too. As I was looking for some photos of the ones I’d possibly blogged about before, I did a quick search and discovered I had created a list of 50 things I planned to do in retirement from November 2024, and pressing wildflowers was one of them. How did I forget that list? Check it out here. The dream hasn’t changed much!
During the middle of last week, I called my sister in law to see about coming to get some zinnia clippings from her wildflower beds to press between old newspapers. Off I went, clippers in hand, and came home and pressed a paper sack full of greenery and flower petals I’d collected. In 2008, I participated in a teachers’ study along scientists doing research in the field in South Georgia, and I became the owner of my own plant press and field guide for the plant studies of native species. Still, I use newspaper and not the fancy acid-free white poster-thickness paper that we used throughout that summer in Americus, Georgia at the Jones Ecological Research Center.
For the first time, I’m pressing fresh basil, since a recent bouquet gift had an abundance of this fragrant herb. One thing that never changes: native Georgia ferns are my go-to greenery in any arrangement.
I’m marking my calendar for mid-November to check the plant press and create some decoupaged pillar candles for a Thanksgiving centerpiece. As we have lost mothers over the years, we light candles to remember them on Thanksgiving, and this year I have something other than the plain white tea lights in glass jars in mind. 🙂
Sensei Susan, me, and friend and fellow Mahj enthusiast Christian
I’ve never played pickleball, but I’ve heard that the craze is so fast and furious that new players kidnap all their friends and drive them to the courts, taking extra clothes and gear and even letting complete strangers use whatever equipment they need to join in the game with zero awareness of any rules as they walk onto the court all bewildered. There, they hand them a paddle and explain all about the kitchen and who can go into the kitchen and who should stay out of the kitchen and a hodgepodge of rules that sound like the Charlie Brown teacher to a bunch of head-scratching people who suddenly find themselves in a surreal moment they didn’t choose, pinching their forearms and wondering how they actually got there. And then, these same clueless people now caught up in the madness are the next wave of new players grabbing all their unsuspecting non-pickleball-playing friends the next week and bringing them back for an initiation into the cult sport.
That’s a lot like Mahjong, only with far fewer physical risks of injury for the older folks who do not need additional help finding the ground and suffering injuries. My husband’s father experienced this when he played pickleball and ended up with knee surgery and months of physical therapy. But where crossword puzzles and Sudoku have been the traditional seniors’ choice for cognitive exercise to stave off the inevitable decline of functional brain cells and memory, Mahjong emerged onto the American scene like an Asian tsunami across the globe and up through the cracked-earth dust of history straight outta ancient China and settled in the homes of women who are now going broke buying tablescapes and four-layered theme tiles they store in Michael’s clear lidded candy jars in the china cabinets where their great grandmother’s heirloom dishes used to be displayed. Husbands everywhere are begging: Please, someone, make it make sense! It’s like a CrackDragon tile walked up to the New York Times puzzle page and said, “Hold my beer.”
It’s true. The latest trend in real estate in Texas is the Mahjong room, and if a home doesn’t have one, the wife tells the husband she wants to “look further” for one that does. Because, well, ….the whole group of friends must have a place to play on proper precisely-measured square tables that doesn’t involve a flashmob-style takeover of a Chicken Salad Chick on a random Tuesday at 10 a.m. There are entire YouTube video series sessions that feature how to store mats by rolling or hanging, how to read the official NMJL card, and how to choose tiles based on size to fit your racks and pushers (which are, by the way, sometimes deliberately selected not to be all “matchy-matchy” with the tiles and mat and tablecloth and lamp and dice dish).
And let’s talk about trinkets. Most often they’re tiny ducks or other little pinkytip-sized animals that are collected as trophies upon a Mahjong win that is declared valid with no opposition from the players at the table who have checked the exposed tiles against the card. These ducks are sometimes kept in a little pouch, so when your sensei who taught you to play Mahjong and lives two and a half hours away is preparing to come for an afternoon of games and will “bring her bag of ducks,” you don’t have to read that twice. You understand there is no typo there.
Even more, you understand that what seemed illogical the summer before you learned to play the game now makes perfect sense. It’s gospel, yet it can seem like learning a whole new language in two humorous Mahjong 101 and 102 lessons. It can be deep and carry life lessons, like that scene in Crazy Rich Asians. Even Julia Roberts plays, and insists that the craze is about making order out of chaos because it’s not a gambling game, and it’s not a drinking game. Folks who were complete strangers in the grocery store and bookstore and at church a few months ago suddenly become best friends. These same folks will drive hours to play away an afternoon, and they’ll bring Mahj gear and give it to you as a gift, along with their bag of ducks. They will talk strategy and explain reasons for pivots, and everyone will eat snacks and laugh all afternoon and send each other YouTube videos on game strategies, tips, and obscure rules and, of course, all the things they are putting in their Amazon cart. You’ll understand that while winning is fun, it’s just as much fun to lose because there is no losing where there is so much fun that you don’t even realize your brain is exercising and that you might not be the extreme introvert you once thought you were.
You’ll thank the good Lord you didn’t wait another day to retire, because you look forward to each day you can play with new friends, old friends, and your sister in law across the farm. And you’ll feel sorry for all those pickleball players who think they’re all that and a bag of chips. Because you know the real truth about what a kitchen is for.
Bethany, Christian, and me – photo created by Christian
Our sensei brought these flowers and basil she grew in her own garden when she isn’t mowing grass in straight lines or playing tennis or teaching Mahjong
Retirement officially began for me August 1st, and each second and fourth Friday, I’ve begun reflecting on the first year of retirement in two-week windows and what it’s like in this new chapter of life – mainly because so many writing community and personal friends asked me how I would spend my time and whether or not I thought I would get bored. I don’t ever see getting bored in retirement, since I tend to keep myself busier than other people have ever tried to keep me. At the beginning of my first week off, I used a green spiral notebook to make a list of all the things I wanted to do — something enjoyable each week, blending in some new hobbies and routines as well. I remember my late father’s words, on retirement: You don’t retire FROM something, you retire TO something, and you’ll be busier than you’ve ever been. He was right, but the busy part is optional, like wearing real clothes on most days instead of my preferred loungewear. And I like having that choice in case I decide to stay home for two days straight and write, read, cuddle with dogs under a blanket on the front porch drinking coffee in the cool morning air, listen to music, and play Mahjong online in real time across the miles with friends.
Here are some things I’ve enjoyed in my first official ten weeks of retirement, with each being described in detail in previous posts :
Here are the most recent things I’ve added to my list of 100 Things I’m Enjoying in Retirement. I’ve reversed the order, going backwards in time to the beginning.
43. Virtual Author Reading for Time in the Landscape – Although I did not attend the gathering in person in Massachusetts for the Time in the Landscape event in September, I sent a recording of a reading for those in attendance. I’m enjoying reading the book in small increments as a slow read to make the book last longer. My hard copy of the book arrived in the mail last week, and the cover design is stunning. A color rendering of each of the juried art installments along the trail is included with the poems so that readers can see what inspired each poem.
This was the art installation I chose to write a Tanka about; it reflects phases of the moon.
42. Author Readingfor Anna Roseboro’s Book Study- I took part in an author reading for a book study on the anthology Temptations of Christians. Despite the scary intrusion by a small group of folks intent on disrupting the event, I did manage to laugh when I looked back and saw that my Ponytail Palm Tree in the background made it look like I was sporting an interesting hairpiece for reading my short story excerpt.
41. Indie Bookstore Shopping – I visited bookstores in several small towns and savored the vibe of each. In a Barnes and Noble or Books-A-Million, the vibe is all the cookie-cutter same, and still I’ve never met a bookstore I didn’t like. In an Indie bookstore, though, each space has such a unique feel that it’s almost as if the bookstore could be a character with a complete personality and traits. Logos, shelves, wall colors, art, smells of inked pages and coffee and candles and warmth, bags and bookmarks and other merchandise, the rich woods of checkout counters and the way that furniture is arranged are all like their own artistic statements of how small worlds are contained in the books themselves. I particularly love displays where curations have been arranged on themes with book covers facing out or up and plants and small items adorning the display table.
40. Dock Time on Jackson Lake in Georgia – we spent an afternoon on Lake Jackson with my husband’s brother and his wife to enjoy an overcast and breezy day on their dock, just sitting and loving a relaxed pace. It was fun watching the water enthusiasts speed by, while the clouds ambled at their own pace and made pictures in the sky for the finding, like an I Spy book turning pages above our heads.
39. Adopt a Dog – I adopted a 6-year old male Schnauzer from the rescue where I adopted two previous dogs, and he is adjusting beautifully on the Johnson Funny Farm. He came to us as AJ, which we shortened to Jay (Gatsby) as a literary name nod to our Fitz (F. Scott Fitzgerald), who left us last spring as he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. But I call him The Crackdragon for his feisty manner and the way he high-step march/skips along, hiking his back legs up. My favorite Mahjong tile is a crak dragon among the craks, bams, dots, jokers, and flowers.
38. Train Ride to See Fall Foliage – we rode the Blue Ridge Scenic Railway along the Toccoa River from Blue Ridge to McCaysville, Georgia and Copper Basin, Tennessee to see the beginning of leaf season. It was a welcome way to enjoy the beginning of cooler temperatures and see how the landscape changes just in a short geographical distance. I love that about road trips and train trips where I get to see the actual land not from a plane.
37. Cabin for a Birthday Celebration in North Georgia – we rented a VRBO called Trout House in Mineral Bluff, Georgia to spend time with my husband’s brother and wife for their birthday month. Little did we know at the time that my brother in law would suffer a heart attack two weeks before his birthday, and this trip would bring a whole new perspective on the importance of slowing down and spending time with those we love. He is physically fine, but the wake-up call when we have a close call like that can leave us spiraling in our head space for weeks, months, and years after the scare. And so we press onward, making new memories and living life to the fullest each day.
Here are my previous 36 Items on the Retirement List in countdown order back to the beginning:
36. Fall Baking
35. Hosting Open Write
34. Kindred Spirits September Book Club
33. Mahjong in Blairsville, Georgia
32. Daytripping for Lunch and Small Town Adventuring
31. Hiking the Appalachian Trail
30. Camping at Vogel State Park
29. Lunch with Friends
28. Almost-Birthday Pedicures with my Sister-in-Law
27. Mahjongg Regular Group Formation
26. Stafford Challenge Writing Workshop
25. Stafford Challenge Small Group Zoom Meetings
24. Dolly Parton Tribute at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Tennessee
23. Labor Day Camping at F. D. Roosevelt State Park in Pine Mountain, Georgia
One of the four friends with whom I authored a book entitled Assessing Students with Poetry Writing Across Content Areas: Humanizing Formative Assessment for Grades 6-12 (Routledge, 2026) reached out earlier this year to see if I would write a short story about the Beatitudes for her Young Adult anthology Temptations of Christians (Roseboro, 2026). Anna Roseboro knows I’m a Preacher’s Kid, and she knows I always welcome invitations to write. She’s a member of the EthicalELA community who frequently reached out to me while my father was dying of cancer to let me know she was thinking of us and praying for us. I appreciate her kindness and remembrance of me during those heavy days.
Of course I would write a story for the anthology!
Fast forward past the writing and publication of the book to the third of the author reading nights.
I normally check my lighting, appearance, and background when going on a Zoom call, particularly if I’m sharing something I have written with a group of people, but Tuesday night’s call had a few bumps and interruptions before I could take a peek at my screen presentation. As part of the book launch, Anna is offering a book study on the Beatitudes stories, and so the authors for Part 3 of the book were postured and ready to read at our scheduled times when she began hearing what she described as an echo. She asked me if I heard two voices, and I replied that I did not. I assumed that Anna was having technical difficulties on her end.
But that wasn’t actually the case. Someone who appeared to be giving technical help started out with directions on settings to change to end the echo, but then began calling her horrible names. Another hideous voice chimed in and took aim at me and at another author there to share the reading of her story as well. The event was hijacked by a group of unknown people who created disturbing and profane outbursts, saying the most awful things to us – things I can’t even repeat. It started to feel like we were under an attack where we didn’t really realize what was happening, and then the reality set in that something that felt terroristic was happening. There was so much hate! I kept a straight face as something inside told me not to show a reaction but to defer to Anna and take the lead from her on what to do. Anna calmly stopped and began praying. She had the composure to end the meeting and send a new link. Rattled but determined to continue the session, each author returned to share our stories, refusing to let hate prevail.
Screenshot
After the evening’s readings concluded, Anna sent a message to us, thanking us for coming back in the face of a scary situation with demonic-sounding voices of those who tried to thwart the good work she is doing.
It was then that I looked back and noticed one tiny spot of humor in the midst of all the horror and fear: I was seated in front of my plant stand by the window, and it looked like I had come to the event with a clownish hairpiece. The good Lord was giving me a reason to laugh, even in the aftermath of those moments that felt targeted and intense. I’d read an excerpt from my story, Blessed are the Kumquat Thieves, looking like I needed a lesson in how not to show up for a book reading on camera.
This verse came to me as I reflected on the evening’s events: “He laughs at fear and is not dismayed; he does not turn back from the sword.” – Job 39:22
There we were, sitting at an outdoor table at one of our favorite pizza joints in Ellijay, Georgia, when a motorcyclist stopped at the roundabout. He put down his black boots on the pavement, revved his engine with his gloved hand, and checked the traffic pattern for his turn to go. On the back of his bike in a flag-emblazoned crate, his dog sported his own helmet with glasses and black neck gear. It appeared as if the dog were helping with the lookout for the break in traffic – as if he might lean up and whisper in his master’s ear, “You got it right after this white SUV, Boss.”
Seeing this made my day. A man and his dog, living their best lives and sharing their adventures together. Feeling the wind on their faces and riding in style – – seizing the day! I won’t be adding, “Buy a motorcycle and outfit it for my motorcycle gang of dogs” to my green notebook list of things I want to do in retirement, but this guy has the same spirit I seek about enjoying life and making the most of each day while we’re here to enjoy it!
To the Dog in Ellijay, Georgia on the Back of the Bike
I’ve never met a bookstore I didn’t like, so in this chapter of life where there is more time to read, I added Independent Bookstore Shopping to the list of things of delights that retirement would bring time to enjoy. I knew this would go in my green notebook list of things to do after visiting Powell’s City of Books in Portland, Oregon in June. They call themselves “fiercely independent,” and if you read a little about the history of this amazing store and the philosophy about reading that guides its management, you know both the the power and the risk of the break from big box corporate bookstores. Take, for example, the poetry section. Those sections are usually what I would consider the weakest link in a bookstore. But not in Powell’s. They have several sections of floor-to-ceiling titles of poetry books, and the best curated collection I have ever seen. In the eastern United States, Malaprops in Asheville, North Carolina gets the highest mark for a poetry curation. I’m on a quest to find those that stack up to the gold standard of Powell’s.
Since I would live and breathe reading if it were possible to do, I like to get as close to it as I can and inhale deeply, taking in the feel of the books, the smell of the shop, the vibe of the readers considering what they want to read next. On a recent North Georgia Mountain trip, my sister in law and I visited indie bookstores in Ellijay and Blue Ridge and also in Copper Basin, Tennessee. My favorite moments are when someone asks complete strangers if anyone has read a particular book. That happened in Copper Fox Books in Blue Ridge, Georgia recently, and we helped steer a reader to Mad Mabel by Sally Hepworth as her next book after chatting preferred genres. It’s a lovely feeling to be a book matchmaker.
I’m always eager to hear about favorite bookstores. If you have any, please share them. My dream trip would be adding bookstores to a wine tour. I’d get on a bus and go wine tasting but in between all the wine tastings, the bus would stop at bookstores. I wonder what books I would add to my library if there were such a tour – – and whether it would be poetry and novels or whether I’d branch out and surprise myself with some new genres when I arrived home and checked the boxes to see what all I’d bought!
After participating in Postcard Poetry Fest during July, I signed up for a smaller group of poetry postcard exchanges for each month of the year. It’s been thrilling seeing all of the ways that members of the group share art and poems. So far, I’ve colored postcards with color pencil, created fabric design postcards and made fall scrapbook sticker poems. I’ve also bought flower fairy postcards and written Have You Ever poems to go with them. I have a local friend who is diving in feet first, and she’d asked me to share some of the poetry ideas of others, so today I’ll do that! Postcard poetry ranges from plain white 3×5 index cards with nothing but black ink and a handwritten poem to elaborate collage work to vintage postcards to the traditional Wish You Were Here cards from various points across the globe. Each brings its own special smile and gets its own spotlight mailbox moment.
Here are some photos of postcards I’ve both sent and received. Proof positive that the smallest gestures, even the size of a postage stamp, can brighten someone’s day in unexpected ways.
If you are interested in becoming part of this group, Barbara Robinette has shared the following information for group members to pass along to others. I hope you will consider joining!
From Barbara:
The Purpose of the Postcard Poetry Group: To form and maintain a poetry community among poets by sharing our poems on postcards on a monthly basis sent through USPS mail. We need to continue to get the word out that we exist. Please invite other poets you know to join PPG by emailing
By the 30th of each month, I will email everyone the next month’s Name and Address Listing. Rules: Send 1 postcard to 3 (or more) poets of your choosing in either group. If you receive a card from someone you did not send to, please reply with a card. Hopefully, this makes sure everyone receives a postcard poem.
We spent Saturday afternoon with Briar’s brother and sister in law, sitting outside with them on their dock on Jackson Lake. The weather was perfect, and the breeze delightful. These are the moments I have looked forward to in retirement – being able to share time, unhurried, just breathing and being, without the pressure of work-related deadlines and duties.
Jay enjoyed some time getting to know his new family members in small doses as he develops trust in his new home with us. I can only imagine how challenging it is for dogs whose circumstances change abruptly, and my heart hurts for him when I think about how he must be feeling, constantly on the lookout for those he has spent the last 6 years loving.
a day at the lake
recalibrating our pace
in good company
As we were traveling, I saw a stuffed dog in a trash can along the side of the road and thought of the similarities to the situation. A loyal dog, there to comfort and bring joy, now kicked to the curb. And my heart felt heaviness and hope all at once – glad I can be there to save a dog who needs a home he can depend on. I’m so thankful that rescue organizations exist for dogs like Jay, and for all those who open their arms and hearts to be filled once again with the love of a dog who can help heal the ache.
Sometimes the most write-down-to-the-bone writing challenge comes from friends in a writing group: Let’s all write a poem about what really annoys the hellout of us, one among us says, throwing a gauntlet right at everyone’s feet. And don’t hold back. Tell everyone how you really feel. Write down to the bone, as Natalie Goldberg would urge.
I got my sass going and pulled out my pen and my notebook and let my mind go to a time I really wanted to jerk a knot in someone’s neck. It didn’t take long to feel my blood boiling in memory alone. That’s what writing does when it takes you back to the moment you need to just let something go or deal with it.
I’ll tell you what annoys me: when someone flippantly tells another person to smile. Especially when someone doesn’t know the personal burdens people are carrying, whether the directive comes from someone at work, a stranger in public, or anyone else who crosses a personal boundary and doesn’t know the challenges others are facing. It’s the most insensitive way to treat others, and seems to be a trademark habit of those who feel especially narcissistic and entitled.
I’ve had it happen to me on multiple occasions on the heels of my father’s death when the lines of grief had set in and seemed to hold a strong presence on my brow, but never more stinging and offensive than the time right after I’d gotten the phone call from the veterinarian that there was nothing more they could do for my beloved Schnauzer Fitz, and that I needed to begin thinking of a time when I could bring him in for his final appointment. Someone who professed to be “an expert on reading body language” walked by on the way to refill a coffee cup and said, “Smile. You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
As a matter of fact, I did have the weight of the world on my shoulders. And in that moment, for a “professional body language reader” to be so careless with that astute observation yet offer that remark, I wasn’t sure whether to cry, scream, or slam my computer shut and run out of the room. So I decided the best approach was to feel pity for the self-proclaimed professional heartless creature seeking caffeine. To be so filled with the gift of body language literacy and so devoid of sensitivity, the caffeine was clearly not the wake-up call needed.
Here’s a thought I wanted to share with the oblivious coffee drinker: use your body language reading gift with the utmost stewardship and assume someone might actually be distressed if they’re throwing off that vibe. It does no one any good to have a gift and not use it for good. Think of it like gun ownership, because it’s similar and can be worse: you wouldn’t show up to a sharpshooter’s competition waving a gun like a drunk Otis on Andy Griffith. Use your weapon to protect, build bridges, and help heal, not to kill. I can’t imagine that my late father, in his pastor days, would have ever looked at anyone with a distressed look on their face and inhumanely told them to smile. And I don’t expect people in positions of leadership to lack the lick of sense it takes to figure out the obvious and remain oblivious. It reeks of a football coach with so much lingering head trauma that when an injured player is writing in pain, they tell the player to get up and shake it off.
This got to be such an obvious thing with this particular coffee drinker that all those who’d been flippantly told to smile began sending messages of support to each other. Imagine the day I walked by a desk in an RV dealership and saw the sign: Director of Smiles. I tried to grab it and hold it up for the picture, but it was adhered to the desk. Someone before me must have tried to steal it. Now, it has become the regular image we share when someone has been told to smile.
Director of Smiles Tanka
Director of Smiles,
the sign reads, reminding me
my natural face
is who I am, not some fake
show of my humanity
I think Leigh Elena Henderson (I adore her and her expressive eyes that can carry on a full conversation all by themselves) gets it – – check out her viral Tik Tok on HR Manifesto.
