Veterans Day 2026

Today is Veterans Day, a day to celebrate everyone who has served in the military, unlike Memorial Day, when we remember those who lost their lives during military service.  Here is a picture of my favorite veteran, my dad:

He's my favorite veteran for obvious reasons, but there are many other veterans who would also be favorites:  my father-in-law, an Army veteran, and my Florida pastor Keith Spencer and his wife, Piper Spencer, Navy veterans, for example.  I think of one of my best friends from high school, Chum Kimsey:

The above picture is from 2014, when she had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer, which would take her life.  She served in the Army in the late 80's and early 90's.

Every so often, I hear people talk about how young people should be required to do military service.  I remember all the wars which wrecked so many lives, and I don't think military service requirement is the answer to whatever problems we see in "the youth today."  Spend a summer working in a VA hospital and then come tell me how military service would be a solution--and how we would afford to take care of even more injured veterans.

On November 11, I'm also thinking of Armistice Day, the end to World War I.  I think it's hard for most of us to conceive of how many people died in World War I. Even when I have my students imagine all of their male classmates going off to fight and no one coming back, I think it's hard to get our heads around the total. I wish we could all go to the WWI cemeteries in France. It's a visual that's tough to capture in a picture; it does make a very different impact.

And here's the even more sobering statistic:  look up how many people died in World War II.  It's staggering, the kind of numbers that make me say, "Were there even that many people alive at that time?"  Yes, there were that many people alive--and at the end of 4 years, they were dead.

Here's a picture of my dad, my sister, and me at the WWII Memorial during an Honor Flight event.

It was both a joyful trip and a somber one, being surrounded by living veterans, all older than 65, and the monuments to the wars that they fought.  It was a sobering reminder of the ultimate cost that so many veterans pay/paid.

I am also thinking of all the quilters I know who make quilts for veterans as a way to say thank you:

I'm not at a point yet where I could do that--but this morning, I'm wishing that I could show gratitude in this way, a way that results in a beautiful quilt.  For this morning, though, words will have to do.

Waking Up Alone in the Fixer-Upper (but All Is Well)

I have spent the first night by myself in the fixer-upper house in Spartanburg.  We've spent one night here before, which I wrote about in this blog post.   But last night it made more sense for me to be here and my spouse in Arden.

I'm happy to report that all went well.  When I was younger, in my late teens and 20's, I was much more afraid to be the only one sleeping in a house.  It's not that I was sleeping in unsafe places--no, they were perfectly nice houses in the suburbs, with several locks on every door.

I was not afraid sleeping in the open, as part of a backpacking trip.  Of course, I never backpacked by myself.

Yesterday was a long, long work day--nothing bad, but lots of responsibilities in one day.  I didn't have a chance to do grocery shopping, so this morning, I wondered if there were any bakeries nearby.  Lo and behold, I found the Little River Brewing Company just a few miles away.  It's a coffee roaster, a cafe, and an outdoor dining/concert space--I went to the Fretwell Street location.

I bought a health nut cookie, a pumpkin scone, and a molasses cookie, and I think the health nut cookie was my favorite.  It had pumpkin seeds and nuts and dried fruit held together with gluten free flour.  It didn't taste fatty, although it wasn't dry.  It also wasn't sweet.

I am planning to go for a walk at 10 this morning--I can still do that and be to work by 11:45.  What a revelation.  I've done some poetry packet submitting.  I want to make sure the closet is cleanish/dust free before moving the clothes I brought with me.

It's strange to look out the windows and see so many bare branches on the trees.  Autumn is zooming by.  We have a truck coming on Thursday to move the bigger items to our S'burg house.  Two weeks from now, we have the last day of classes; when we come back from Thanksgiving, we have a reading day and go right into exams.

My spouse should be here soon, so let me go and make the house look less like a hurricane swept through.

Amish Quilters and Mistakes Made with Abandon

Some people see me as a talented quilter, but I realize all of my shortcomings:  I'm not precise in terms of cutting or stitching.  I've figured out projects that work for me.  I want to stitch so that I have something to do during times of TV watching, so sewing on the machine won't work.  I don't like hand quilting as much on big projects, but modern batting doesn't need extensive quilting to keep it in place, so I quilt less.  Some people pay for long arm quilters to finish their projects, but so far, I haven't.

Quilt Camp always reminds me of how many ways we can create fabric arts.  I'm also reminded of how often quilting finds its way into my poems.

Ten years ago, four years before I went to my first Quilt Camp, I wrote a poem with some of these ideas, a poem which was also a response to a poem by Luisa Igloria.  It appeared in a post on Dave Bonta's Via Negativa site. 

One Intentional Mistake

                    “how for years I was taught:
                    fly low under the radar.”
                    “Only” by Luisa Igloria



Amish quilters made intentional mistakes
because only God can craft
items of perfection.

I make mistakes without precision,
scattering them across my work
with great abandon, as if to ward
off evil spirits.

Those spirits will move
on to haunt those who are too proud
of their precise stitches, their perfect
children, their houses ready to grace
the cover of glossy magazines.

I fly under the radar
of every evil spirit with my chaotic
collection of art supplies spread
out across every surface, children frolicking
in paint or mud.

But my children get their nightly baths
before being tucked into beds with bright
quilts with crooked seams. I will tell
them one last story
about the woman who abandoned
the neatness of numbered columns
for the spatter of paint and the magic
of fairy cakes in the overgrown garden.

Fall Quilt Camp 2026

I haven't meant to be silent here on the blog; I even took my laptop to Quilt Camp yesterday, but I was so focused on my projects that I barely used it at all.  By late morning on Saturday, I had finally put together the top for the Christmas quilt I'm making for my cousin's oldest child who is graduating from high school in the spring, the one who loves all things Christmas.

On Friday, I finished the quilt for the king size bed.  It was mostly done, but I needed to close up all the edges.

I love that the quilt has so many scraps from fellow quilters, and a bit from some of my grandmother's fabric that was left when she made clothes for me.  When I presented it at Show and Tell, I thought people might tell me scraps they recognized, but they did not.

I opened the Faith Center every morning and led a small group on a walk each afternoon.  Along with all the sewing I get done, I love the chance to reconnect with friends.

We had perfect autumnal days, after the heavy rains passed through on Wednesday.  I am keenly aware of the fact that we won't have this weather and autumnal views much longer, so I pushed myself to get out and walk.

I don't have a picture of one of the most fun parts of this year's Quilt Camp.  One of the retreatants has a small general store, and she brought mystery bundles, 2 pounds of scraps (mainly long lengths) of quality fabric, fabric pre-packaged from a distant manufacturer.  After evening show and tell on Thursday, the quilter next to me bought one, and we watched her unpack it.  The quality and variety and amount impressed us,--all that fabric for $15!  The surrounding quilters each bought one, including me.  We took turns unpacking each bundle, with many oohs and ahs, and then we spent time trading.  I was late to bed that night.

Quilt Camp as Metaphor for Political Hope

I ran out of time yesterday, or perhaps it would be more correct to say that time got away from me.  I planned to write more about the election, of course.  I planned to write about my online classes; the curriculum/tech/assessment experts revamped the class, and there have been surprises, like the video students posted instead of a written discussion post, which worked surprisingly well, except for how much longer it took me to grade them.

What I posted just after midnight as election day passed into the day after election day is still true--how profoundly moving to see so many women elected.  I am also surprised by how many mainline Protestant pastors and seminarians were elected; James Talarico got the most coverage, but James Hamilton, perhaps, has the most experience and influence in a religious sphere of everyone elected.

I have been watching coverage and postings, and I'm struck by what people want and hope for after these elections.  My want/hope is simple:  pass some legislation that can help some people.  I don't care about Epstein files or corruption investigations--go back to that housing bill that had bipartisan support and might be veto-proof in the new Congress.  I don't care about taxing billionaires--bring back the health care subsidies that helped people afford health insurance.  I don't care about impeachment--restore that expansion of the earned income tax credit that happened in the wake of the pandemic, the expansion that showed remarkable impact on alleviating child poverty during the brief time it was in effect.

I say that I don't care about ___________ -- I do care, but I don't think it's a good use of time and energy.  

Let's do some things that most of us can agree on, some legislation that will make life better for people who won't see those things happen without some federal money.  Legislation with money delivers power that individuals and groups can't do on their own.  My small country church agrees with my desire for more housing, especially for poor people.  We don't have the resources to build one house, let alone an apartment complex.  But legislation done well could attract development.

I will spend the rest of the week at Quilt Camp, which seems like a great metaphor for what the country needs.  We are women of varying beliefs, but we find our common ground when we come together.  We are women of varying skills, but we're all creating works of beauty.

A Historic Election Day

It is the morning after a historic election day with not much time to write.  Here's the Facebook post I made just after midnight:  I fell asleep early-ish for an election night (by 9 p.m.), early-ish for most grown ups on any night, and scrolling through results at midnight, I'm struck by how many of the winners are women, particularly in races for governor. It's going to be a record breaking election day for all sorts of reasons, but women winners give me so much hope!

Poem for the Feast of All Souls

Today is the Feast of All Souls. You might be confused--didn't we just celebrate this holiday yesterday?

No, that was All Saints. All Saints was originally designed to honor the saints, those who had been beatified. Official saints, canonized by the Pope.

All Souls Day, celebrated the day after All Saints, was designed to honor everyone else who had died.

In some traditions, All Saints Day honors all the Christian dead, and All Souls Day honors those who have died in the past year. Those of you with excellent memories of your English major days may remember that Sir Gawain left for his adventure with the Green Knight on All Souls Day. Medieval audiences would have read a lot into that date of departure. As Sir Gawain leaves, his castle-mates would have been expecting to celebrate his life the following year.

It will surprise no one to find out that these holidays have inspired me to write all kinds of poems.  Here's one, inspired by my commuting days down to Miami in the early part of this century:

All Saints Day in the Metro


We ride the train,
flickering candles in this metal pumpkin,
weary souls wishing for a vacation.

Just yesterday, we’d have worn
our Halloween costumes, a window
to the selves we might have been.

Today, hardly a trace
of that festivity remains: a smudge
of make up, a trace of hair dye.

The young man leaps up.
We fully expect a gun
to come out of his case.

Bathed in the sunset,
he plays his violin.
Serene music lifts our spirits.

No longer haunted
by our tasks left half-completed,
we settle into the ride.

The train trundles north,

past urban blight and clogged rivers,

the skeletons of new condos straining to the sky.