Yesterday's EthicalELA #verselove prompt was to write about nature, but to focus on someone who taught you a lesson about nature...the examples given were of famous ecologists, environmentalists, writers, and scientists. I knew, of course, I was going to run upstairs to get my Honka-Doodle, and then write about my Grannie Annie's influence on me.
To know my grandmother was to love her, as she was loving, eccentric, colorful, artistic, funny, creative, and innovative. As kids, we'd spend hours taking two markers and drawing these loops that we'd color in, where she'd later writer a poem to escort them. She always wanted to know what we saw, were thinking, and wondering. Then she'd craft poems from the doodles.
This one was hers, but I have bags full of the others. They have always been an inspiration.
When I think of my grandmother, I also think of 19 years of her influence: her home in Hamilton, her camp on Lebanon Reservoir, her humor of storytelling, and the memories she'd share. She was also a lover of the world around her, and Loch Lebanon was her Eden. That was heaven on Earth, and thematically throughout my life, it's been a heaven for me, too....the perfect little lake, with wildlife, great skies, beautiful trees, nice hiking trails, and swimming....all that swimming.
Then there were the frogs. Casey says it was, Bottle of Bud. Bottle of Bud, and that it was always Milwaukee's Best. I forgot all about that beer and she is right. My early memories were for the beast of Milwaukee, and I don't think Budweiser came until the later years. I often focus things towards my grandma, but my grandfather was equally as influential on our memories. It really was a blissful way to grow up - fortunate, indeed.
So, I knew that would be the 29th poem...hard to believe I only have one more day to this challenge - perhaps the greatest part of this Spring! It's keeping me sane.
It's actually coming together. A week from Saturday, and a year from the original plan, we'll be implementing the first-ever Northeast Writing Project conference, a consortium of sites who were knocked down my Covid and finally able to find success in an online format.
I've been awaiting contributions from collaborators to put together an Ignite, a five-minute, 20-slide pechakucha-esque overview of partnership between #UNLOAD, CWP, and Guns in the Hands of Artists. That's how I spent much of Wednesday: putting together the audio clips sent to me. Yes, Nikki, I agree. It was a good idea in my head.
I spent my morning in Webinars from the State of Connecticut about potential summer work, then jumped into digital land to piece together our little story.
In the meantime, the #verselove challenge, #day28, was to find an object and help its story and memory come alive. I looked up, saw Nikki's Christmas gifts - two paintings she made with her love and effort, and I knew I would write about them. They are colorful and alive, just like her, and (although she apologized for her art work) I realized the greatest gift is actually her. So, she's the poem.
The last day of school for K-12 teaches, after 180 of them, feels a lot different than the last day of a semester. In college teaching, it's checking on final projects, tying ribbons around the objectives that were to be met, and the pervasive IDEA forms that, I'd argue, impeded student/faculty relationships. Perfunctory. That's what they are...
...while in Rome...
Yadda Yadda Yadda.
I actually like teaching the last night of class because it was a location to look at multi-modalities, multiliteracies, and potential ways to use digital technology to think outside the box with traditional assignments and assessments. It's crazy the amount of models I have since my teaching days in KY until now, as the potential gets greater and greater. Of course, teaching the entire course via ZOOM, padlet, and Google Docs simply makes it easier to make the case. I'm almost to a place saying this is just literacy...but I realize a majority of teachers are still not breaking the mold of the way its always been. I can be optimistic right?
Yesterday's #VerseLove challenge on EthicalELA was to explore what we are secret expert at...well, I couldn't think of anything but "The Connoisseur of Self-Deprecation." I don't have expertise in anything other than the Kentucky cake, but that is Alice's. It's an easy recipe. So, I woke up and made fun of myself which is always a great time. Enjoy.
When the first class is at 8 a.m. and we're joined by 4th graders at 9:45 and you learn they're having a 1 p.m. pizza party, you get your act in gear.
In my garage have been notebooks and children's books meant for summer, but when I learned Leigh Savoie's 4th graders won a pizza party for a reading contest (and knowing it was our last service-learning day), I decided to put an Amazon sticker outside of my car and to make special deliveries.
Actually, they were recipients of candy, wind-up toys, and a new book for their classroom, thanking them for incredible participation this semester.
The children's books were for Integrated Refugee and Immigrant Services (which was down the road) and for the Harding Presidents (which was on the other side of town). I had many things stored in my trunk, with more in the garage, so after teaching I opted to make house calls...well, school and an IRIS call. Sadly, I wasn't allowed in the buildings, so couldn't see the smiles, but I'm sure they were thoroughly enjoyed.
I slept last night thinking about the sudden innovation and expansion grants being offered in Connecticut, and how CWP might assist K-12 schools in designing in-school summer programming that will benefit the joy the work requires. It is very strange to be doing the work we have for so many years, then seeing a call for doing the same work....but, alas, not at the University, because they've closed their spaces to the Young Adult Literacy Labs this summer. So, my brain was stirring in a million directions for the best, most sustainable, and successful design.
Meanwhile, a great prompt again for #verselove on EthicalELA. Yesterday, it was all about who I wanted to become and just as I read it, my favorite unicorn rode his bike by my house. I've been looking to write about him for years, as he travels all day long listening to honkey tonk music. I want to be him.
In 2015, as Chitunga and I were ready to move into our new digs from Nichols Avenue, one of the first things we brought inside was an amaryllis plant, simply because it had never bloomed before, yet it bloomed right before we brought it to Mt. Pleasant. She exploded.
Yesterday, when I got home from Stamford, I noticed she was at it again. Tunga was on his way over, too, choosing to spend the night at home and hanging with Kris, Dave, Isaiah, Ish, and me (a wonderful night by the fire). I put it in the front window, after a day of bonding, good conversations, and necessary processing. Not pictured here is the smaller bloom that is behind this one. I'm not sure if she knows the changes of late, but it's as if she wanted to say, "Yo. Chill out, Crandall. I'm still here. It's all good."
Sunday was a day spent planning, creating, grading, and organizing for the week ahead, as we're in the last stretch of the semester. I also prepped food for the week, cleaned, and finished listening to Not Light, But Fire by Mathew Kay. It is one of the best books for in-class conversations and dialogues I've ever read...if not the best. Of course, I listened to it, cursing that I didn't read it so I could take notes. It's not even the content as much as the absolute brilliance, class, authority, and humanity of the author who simply gets kids, gets teaching, and continues to grow.
Meanwhile, the Sunday prompt from #verselove, EthicalELA, was to explore the labels and peel them off. The goal was to list all the things you get called and then work with them to build strength and to claim who you are. It's awkward to think about me as a subject and to go in such directions, simply because I've never really cared what others think, and know I'm most critical and judgmental of myself. Either way, another poem was born: #25.
I spent the better part of the morning working on a sestina (below) which was prompted by #verselove, EthicalELA, to find a photograph and to bring its story back to life. I never know where I'll end up when I chisel at such things, but it made me nostalgic for childhood, not only my own, but those of my dad, uncle, and aunt. So much world has happened since our connections to Sherburne, New York, in Chenango County, and there's still more world to come.
In the afternoon, Tunga finally invited me to see his new digs in Stamford, and after dropping off items he wanted, and telling him it was a short stay, he said, "Why not stay longer? We'll hike and get something to eat." That's exactly what we did.
He's on the 12th floor in Stamford with a gorgeous skyline, spacious room, decent kitchen and overall wonderful first apartment. He's a short distance from EY and definitely in a much better scene for young people, albeit the rents high. The city has bike trails, parks, views of Long Island Sound, and a bustling urban downtown. I told him he lucked out and was smart - there's just so much potential there. So much life. Of course, he's also closer to NYC, business, finances, and the world he's set out to conquer.
While walking, Dave and Kris invited me over for a fire and beers and Chitunga said, "I think I will join you and spend the night in my old room." Well, there's no stopping that. I thoroughly enjoy his company whenever I can get it. I'm sort of excited, too, to have a location for my exploration as there's definitely more variety in his town than my own. Funny how we age towards spaces where we want privacy, yards, and a place to get away.
Meanwhile, here's "North Main Street, Sherburne, New York" a sestina, a poem for meeting the 24th challenge of the month. There are so many ways this could be written, but the chosen six words ending the first stanza.
The Animals of Companion Animal Hospital had their first game last night following a grueling week. Crandall didn't get any play time, but was happy to keep the bench warm as score keeper as Crandall Jr. played left field and is in need of a batting cage.
It was a great way to end the week after a Friday full of ZOOM conference calls, district coordinations, and advising. This followed with a visit to Walnut Beach to see the mayor who wanted to sit on my lap and lick the inside of my ears. This was his way of saying he's been thinking of Glamis, too.
Meanwhile, in Rochester, New York, a friend posted the photo of a neighbor's 9 month old puppy who is need of a new forever home, and he looked liked Tizzy, but was named Dusty. In the magical thinking of Crandall's brain, I wondered, "hmmm. is this a sign of possibilities," Stay tuned. We just never know.
The poetic prompt from #verselove was to choose a perspective not our own and to write politically as an advocate. This was easy, as the night before I took part in a National Writing Project meeting where the write-out prompt asked for the same, showcasing a mural in Minneapolis, Minnesota. It's the weekend, I'm fried, and I'm hoping not to be on ZOOM for two days. Meanwhile, here's the poem...one written with the singing of Jayanthi Kyle in mind.
Seriously. I'm so amused when working from my front porch because it's not just looking at a screen 12 hours a day...it's being nosey, watching people walking their dogs, analyzing the shapes and sizes of runners, cursing at the speeders, and on windy days like yesterday, it also means you never know what will blow by. I realized by 7 a.m. it was rough out there when I saw my own garbage can take off. I ran and got her. Later, when a trampoline went blowing by, I thought, "Nope. That one doesn't belong to me."
By 4, when I was ready for a break, I walked to my colleague's house to deliver gifts from my department. He had emergency surgery, so we did an emergency collection to buy him a gift card to a favorite restaurant and two bottles of foo-foo-fee bourbon (which he loves). I am always impressed how quickly people contribute to good causes for good people, and never surprised by the individuals who choose not to give; ironically, they usually are the ones who take much and think they deserve more.
On my way to his house, I walked by a lawn sign that simply said, "Hope." That's what I needed and I snapped this photo for my friend Suzie Q in Pensacola who loves to believe in it more than I do.
At night, I had a long meeting with NWP and learned possibilities for the summer and upcoming year. Federal funding comes with mixed blessings, as I much prefer logical, thought-out, and sustainable planning, rather than a free-for-all in the hands of greedy, short-sighted folk. We know what is best practice, what works, and the importance of joy, but you watch if people will make dumb decisions and waste the resources coming their way.
Meanwhile, I had a dream two nights ago where a poet I studied under left me a note like the one he wrote me in graduate school. So, when today's #verselove prompt arrived to craft 'a poem for,' I thought I'd explore a poetic note to him. And I did.
TGIF, people, although inaneness is likely to continue forever and always. We can thank God all we want.
I must be going out of my mind, because I actually looked at my calendar, saw 5 hours to catch up on grading and thought, "Phew. I haven't had this much time in front of me since the semester began." I got right to it, and I'm thrilled to be a little closer to the surface than I was, say, without 5 hours to catch up.
Then I saw this memory on Facebook and it took me back. Bellfoot Klingenfus (my English colleague), Mr. Keef (the one and only) and Aaron Ray (phew! where'd he disappear to?) at a prom - my least favorite night of the year, but as a junior/senior sponsor I always had to be in it, to win it.
It does seem like yesterday, and so much life has happened since. I'm not doing the math, but they must be hitting their 30s...no, Carrie? And that dark hair of mine? Graying like the winter sky.
But back to an actual day with space to think....committee work can be insane and if there is a crevice in a surface, it is sure to get filled up right away. That's why I find it remarkable that I actually had time to attend to my own students! Seriously, I enjoyed the fact that I COULD concentrate on them...focus on their accomplishments.
Good Morning. I'm optimistic the cool temperatures will keep me inside for another day of accomplishing the impossible (nope: blue skies and sun equal Bryan on the run).
I did laugh yesterday when I saw the prompt to write a haiku ode to a particular date, and whereas I was Covid-shot zonked on April 20th, I thought it would be fun to learn what else the day was dedicated to....well, nothing like upside pineapple cake, the Chinese language, lima beans, and the day of stoners.
Of course, I found a poem. That is what April is all about...So, Yesterday Did Matter.
Yesterdays always matter, especially when you cherish the days like I do (ah, Brown School. Nothing like you in the world - greatest space on Earth)
Yesterday morning, I felt refreshed. I slept, I was rejuvenated, I had back to back meetings, followed by class. As the day wore on I began to feel more and more like I drank lots of NyQuil followed by Benadryl, and every cell in my body was letting me know exactly how it was going to move. Because it was April 20th, I went with humor and taught my graduate course anyway, explaining to my graduate students that the psychedelic artwork was thematic to the day at Covid Shot #2. I can't say I was totally wiped out, but it's enough to note, "I don't think I'd want the real thing." My nose clogged, my lungs filled up with cat fur, and there was the slightest headache....as if I drank to much. Trippy.
I was just groggy.
Still, it wasn't so bad that I couldn't function with all my responsibilities, but I was right on the edge. I imagine a few decimals up, I would have thrown in the towel (for those who know sinus headaches in Louisville, this was nothing....just a few rungs from a full-on sinus headache).
Meanwhile, it wasn't enough to inhibit #verselove either. The challenge today was to write on dualities, in which I immediately went face to face with complex simplicity, and simple complexity. The task was also to embed (with italics) words to give more meaning (of course, I found quotes). I was thinking about the sparrows in Rochester, Vermont, that made me realize the female role in all life - there's no comparison. Moms everywhere do it....the super heroics that too often get ignored by patriarchal peacocking. Females are the heroes, the champions, the warriors, the muscle, the brains, and the resilient. I know I quoted men, but that's kind of what I was trying to push against; men have painted, named, sculpted, written, labeled (etc.) the world. Meanwhile, they've also missed out on the majority of the world.
Not usually one to post the obligatory, normed ritual to align myself with this or that group, but I do today, simply because I'm hoping a faith in science, history, literature, research, and medicine is right this time. The sooner we don't have to be worried about air-born destruction, the better. Mt. Pleasant has been very good about staying in, although we did get a lot more lax about grocery stores and going to dinner than when we first started. Back then, when I headed to get goods, I looked like the Michelin tire man. I thought everyone had the plague.
So, my second shot arrived yesterday and I think I was a little nervous only because I've read some reactions of very good friends about what happened to them 24 hours following. By the time of this post, we're getting closer to that mark, and I've warned committees and students that if I don't make it, it's because I'm one of those with a reaction to Moderna shot #2. At CVS in Norwalk, I was talking to the nurse when she said, "You can go sit for 15 minutes now," and I responded, "Don't you have to give me the shot first?" She said she already had and I didn't feel a thing.
I already know that shot #2 makes your arm more sore, as I can feel it in my bicep and forearm. I'm also chilled, which I don't mind because I usually run hot-blooded. I came home from the shot, hydrated, and walked four miles and I heard it was a good way to get it flowing throughout the body quicker. I just don't want to suddenly enter vomit-land, a fever-festival, or a migraine-marathon. I had that last week because of sinuses; I don't want it again.
In the meantime, #verselove EthicalELA's prompt was to write about summer, however you imagine it. I reflected on summers as a pre-teen/teen, to what I look forward to most now. That's the poem for the day, and also a second by second paranoia that every pain, ache, sneeze, or cramp in my body is the result of this shot. I look forward to being on the other side with some sanity in tact.
For a teacher, Sundays are bitter sweet. The guilt kicks in that you haven't done enough, and the stress trickles through the veins because you're not sure you're prepared for the week. I was productive yesterday, but probably not on the academic front. Yes, I am ready for Monday's class, but I wanted to get more writing and planning done; instead, I vacuumed the house and car, removing all the dog hair I could. That's when the emotions came back. Glamis hated the vacuum and was always at the opposite end of the house from where the work was being done.
I weed-whacked, mowed, walked six miles, cleaned, did laundry, graded, and hung up the gift given to me by Kaitlyn in memory of Glamis - a heart overjoyed.
I also did yard work, not to plant, but to prep for the planting still to come closer to May. It was a day of raking, pulling weeds, and getting the soil perked and ready.
The prompt on EthicalELA #verselove was to put a pen to paper, and not lift up until you had the words (a poem) to page. I did this with my fingers, the keyboard, Pages, and colors, knowing my day was going to be distracted outside. The sky was too blue and the sun too bright not to spend the majority of the day outside enjoying it.
At 3 pm this afternoon, I get my 2nd Covid shot...Moderna. I'm a little nervous about the reaction 24 hours out from the shot. Although I've heard stories that nothing happened, I've seen many reports that people were down for the count a couple days after it was given. I sure hope I'm the one who just gets a little rash, and somewhat tired. I'm not in the mood for being bedridden, but I'm preparing. I'm just thankful that my time was called and I can move forward.
It's been a lot, as you know. One step closer the great lift of 2021.
So, there was a pause this Saturday to celebrate Leo's 60th, not 18th, birthday, but he did wear a pink Tuxedo shirt. This is weekend two for the guy, but this week was for friends, some tequila, awesome food, and great company. His sister made a book of 60 years for memories and it was one of the most touching, amazing compilations I've ever seen. 6 decades of photographs, letters, joy, celebrations, family, friends, and appreciation.
I wrote,
Dear Leo,
How did they know?
Every time I think about you, Mustapha, and Abu at Lassie’s that night I crack up. How did they know? Perfect line, perfect time, perfect meal, perfect friendship.
As I recall my first memories with you, I simply remember meeting out for karaoke one night, then the evening after I defended my doctorate when Lois, Pam, you, Bev, and I met at Lassie’s (How did they know?) to celebrate. Lois initiated the dinner - it turns out Lois and Pam were sisters. Who knew? The rest is history.
It moves rather quickly, actually - zip zap zoom, the summer soiree of 2014 when Kai got a vaporizer for your home and one thing led to another, and suddenly there was a pool full of Cheetos, a Mystery Machine full of smoke, and a pink flamingo on Walnut Beach. I’m not sure if we were celebrating Pam’s 12th birthday or not, but it was an absolute riot...one of those rare, spontaneous moments in life when everyone lives freely, relaxes and lets go at the same exact time. A beautiful harmony.
Then came Book of Mormon. Then came Scary Pockets. Then came Hamilton. Music always at the heart of it all. That’s what united us, actually....that, and moon
cycles, tequila, and a desire to have fun whenever we can.
Ah, but it’s more than that, too. On several occasions I’ve simply needed a big brother to talk parenting with or a spiritual guide to talk about God or a handy man to help me move into a new home. Really, I’ve just needed a friend, and that’s who you quickly came to be...someone I looked up to, laughed with, and enjoyed talking to...
... nothing better than sitting by a fire in conversation...
You are at the epicenter for my Connecticut joy... a man who connects with people to pull out their happiness. That is an art form, indeed - Happy 60th birthday good friend. I am more than certain we will be celebrating very, very soon. 60 shots for Bev! 60 pieces of cake. 60 songs still to be sung. It’s on.
~Bry
My day ended with his awesome and began with a prompt from EthicalELA #verselove where a trait or idea was to be personified. I chose Hope, and wrote my friend Susan into the metaphor.
Happy Sunday, everyone. I hope all is calm and beautiful in your world.
University life can be exhausting. I get the advice, "oh, it's a way of life," but when you get off the last ZOOM meeting at 9:30 p.m. on a Friday night, knowing there's more tomorrow you think, "I'm not sure this design is sustainable."
It's not.
I did get in a trivia game with the BEKETs during the 2nd CNY Reading Council's invitation. We didn't place, but if there was a tie for first, broken, we pretty near came in 3rd. Who designed that Francois Petit category.
Always great to see Syracuse friends.
The rest of the day was spent in faculty searches and I know today is Saturday, but it blurs with the fact that it just was Saturday. Zip Zap Zoom.
Today's #VerseLove challenge was to write 3 stanzas, the first with a question, the second with an answer, and a third with a reflection. I remember the day and time that Dr. Kathleen Hinchman called me from Syracuse University to off a Graduate Fellowship. It was the highest honor I could be given and I spent many years wondering if it was the right one. I leaped and the net appeared. Looking back at the past 10 years, I realized my life launched into a totally new trajectory (as it will again and again). For that moment though, I would have never known the beauty that would come my way by saying, "I accept". I LOVED THIS PROMPT. Still not sure about my response, but it's a draft.
And I'm waking up today thinking, "Okay, Saturday. What comes next?"
As a kid, I missed school often because of migraines. As I got older, I got on top of them, but then the Ohio Valley introduced me to the crud, sinuses, allergies, and absolute misery. Honestly, one of the reasons I wanted to leave there was because of that mess. There is nothing like a headache in Kentuckiana. They are the worst and they come out of nowhere. I remember Jean Wolph microwaving a wet towel for me during the summer institute and placing it on my head. She simply said, "this is what I do when they hit me. They re horrible"
Just move that red spot in between my eyes and at each ear. The pain comes in stereo and there's no way to sleep. I was up at 4. By 5 I took a hot shower to try to unclog anything possible, and by 8 I was throwing up. Happy Happy. Joy Joy.
I then slept until 12:30, before the guilt kicked in that I lost so many hours in the morning. Outside, with trees bursting with pollen, the rains came and the temperatures dropped. I sleep with my windows and I imagine molecular tree spooge entered my nostrils to plug everything up. There's that, and my colleagues and I are now coming to the conclusion that we're simply exhausted. This past year has been a lot, and the juggling of knowing and not knowing, pressure to maintain our normal excellence, and wackiness of the world simply weighs on our minds. I close my eyes, but can't stop all the thinking from spinning, and spinning, and spinning.
Thank the Great Whatever I studied yoga with individuals who helped me to talk the migraine down. They really are the worst.
Ah, but when I awoke, I was ready for the #verselove prompt of the day. I knew I was visiting with writer Chris Crutcher at night, and was recalling how much I loved teaching his books at the Brown School. He's the first writer I ever read that showed that quirky, real personalities can tell stories, too. A Brief Moment in the Life of August Bethune will stay with me forever: that voice, that story, that humor, and that impact. So, I reflected on my Crutcher library and wrote a poem (doing the title last...as that was the assignment).
How you come at us with such whimsical humor only to deliver a reality check. Yes, you have a salary, but there's that car you drive, and when it shakes on the highways of life, you might need some service. Live 24 hours without a car and Wola! the 15th of the month is gone, gone, gone. So much for stuffing that into savings.
Me and those damn homonyms.
I tried.
Looking optimistically, I did get the chance to go for a long walk from Perkins Subaru through Silver Sands in Milford (where I cross country ski) so I enjoyed the bird sightings, beach, and trails. Thank the Lord for Pam harvesting my chagrin while providing me free wi-fi. This one hurt. It's going to take me a while to recover, but at least the Hulk is driveable again.
Meanwhile, the ethicalela challenge was to write about hope and our definition for it. Today's prompt came from author Padma Venkatraman, and I used it to revise a poem I sketched several years ago. I still remember, 2014, when she sent me a copy of A Time to Dance, and how I shared it with all my teachers. 7 years later, I'm inspired to write a poem initiated by her for #verselove. All joy, every second of the day.
With eyes on the calendar, too much life whipping at me at once, and love for a memory once shared on Mt. Pleasant, I'm opting to fast with the twins once again. I do a modified version of Ramadan, without the prayers, worship, and strict rules (if necessary, I allow myself water). The first day wasn't bad until around 5:30 when I thought, "Oh, my Gosh. I need food."
Will, Jessica, and I hiked around 5 or 6 miles catching up, and the rest of my day was spent in meetings, teaching, or writing.
I knew the Aeriale Johnson/Matt de la Peña show was airing, and after it showed, 8 p.m., I was going to chow down. In memory of 2015, I made the Crandall special, and loved when the twins called in to share they were breaking fast, too.
Truth is, I've been so exhausted from work, life, transitions, Covid, and everything...I just felt like I needed a space to recenter. As challenging as Ramadan was for me a few years ago, I remember coming out of it focused, healthy, centered, and purposed. I'm hoping for the same with the next 30 days: exercise, meditation, better eating habits, sleep, and revisiting what our purpose is supposed to be here on Earth.
And I'm not sure if this is religious or not, but the Carpenter bees have returned and I, once again, am waving a white flag. I paid two different companies two different times to do something so they don't invade my house. They come, spit their spat on the yellow paint, mark their territory, lay their eggs, and depart. Then the woodpeckers come pecking at my house slurping all their larvae. My house takes a beating. I read somewhere to greet them with a tennis racket and it takes care of everything. I don't play tennis, but had a racquetball racket and, lo and behold, it did the trick. They like to show game face and come at you, so I did a backhand and Wola! instant success. Stunned. I feel bad, but playing ping pong with bees is the only alternative I have to poisoning them. I like being part of an ecosystem, but the woodpeckers will destroy my home. (by the way, that face I'm making is me blowing smoke off my racket as I found myself successful...albeit guilty).
Meanwhile, I truly appreciate Andy Shoenborn's #verselove prompt for yesterday where the request was to write about things we take, but also about what has been taken from us. I had an idea what to write, but it wasn't working, so I did as he did and used a photo to inspire the writing. The result was a poem called "The Mayor of Walnut Beach." I sent it out into cyberspace and have enjoyed the way it has ricocheted across the Internet. You just never know where a poem might end up.
The Crandall chair arrived soon after moving into Mt. Pleasant. Actually, it was the summer following, because the twins were here and there wasn't enough seating for everyone on the rare occasion we'd watch a game or movie. Stopping at Pier One on the way home, I walked immediately to the clearance section and found the chair we needed. Abu said, "Look, it's a Crandall chair." Sure enough, it was called the 'Crandall Chair' and it was perfect for the only corner available in the living room. It quickly became my reading, writing space, too. Since 2015, that's where I sat.
Fast forward to 2021. The foam inside the cushions disintegrated and there was no more backing. Not sure where it went...I just know the cushions deflated. It took me a while, but I moved it to the front porch and found throw pillows, but they never looked right....never felt right.
I've been looking online for upholsterers and also for new chairs. Then I remembered that I once re-stuffed pillows on my old couch with bagged Fiber Fill from Walmart. Sure enough they had it. I stuffed both with a bag each, and now my backing is back. I've moved my office onto the front porch, duo-screens, simply so I have lighting again. I also like sitting in comfort (although it's a mess right now and I can imagine Chitunga rolling his eyes if he saw what I've created). All I know is the comfort returned.
Meanwhile, Penny Kittle stumped me a little with her #verselove challenge. She introduced me to a spoken word piece composed by George Yamazawa called "Elementary". After listening to it twice, and reading her poem, "Stained," numerous times, I wasn't quite sure where I'd go. I let most of the day fly by with distractions, but did hang onto a couple of lines from Yamazawa, then did as she said. I closed my eyes and meditated for a short bit then began to write to see where it would take me (I wanted to fold in putting down a dog, but it didn't work, and to be honest, I'm glad it didn't).
Anyway, I'm happy with how it came out, but I think it is one I'll revisit and rewrite numerous times. I like how it seems to be reinventing itself every time I look at it.
As we unwind and get to the end of the semester - one where one of my courses, Extending Literacy 3-5, has been enjoying service learning with 4th graders at Cesar Batalla - I am thinking about the joys of coaching a room full of writers to bring their hard work to presentation and publication. Since we were reading Becoming Muhammad Ali with the kids, and the last time we met I did the magic box poem, I pulled Kwame Alexander's The Write Thing: Kwame Alexander Engages Students in Writing Workshop and You Can Too! to see what I might draw upon as the semester comes to a close.
My undergraduates, soon entering a fifth year in elementary education, were given blank Bare Books to craft a story of their own. I think they're petrified of this task, as it is not the norm of their academic careers to be asked to create, to be original, or to share.
Hence, I'm drawing on the Rooster.
In Kentucky, I loved the school's culminating projects, senior boards, and requirement to showcase writing and thinking on numerous occasions. I've found, since leaving, that such expectations are rare, and youth rarely have an opportunity to showcase what they know, think, do, and feel.
I loved my poetry units the most. Whereas my undergraduate professors had us create poetry anthologies of our semester's work, I always required the same in my high school room. Each year, 9-12, I wanted them to create a book of 10 original poems and 10 borrowed ones from others they've read. In later years, I wanted them to think about their anthologies to gift another human being. We also established coffee house readings, slams, and later the 10-minute play festival where some poets performed. The skinny of it was there were outlets for books, publication, student-led performances, and presentations.
That is exactly what Kwame details in his last three chapters (which I've shared with my undergrad students). We don't have the authority to ask our 4th graders to display what they've gained this semester, but I'm requiring my students to write a book, a BARE BOOK, to share with their partners. The best way to teach writing, after all, is to know one's personal processes for themselves.
This will be my Monday morning, followed by a day's worth of meetings.
In the meantime, windows are open but so are blooms and my allergies are amok. Yesterday's #verselove challenge from EthicalELA was to write an Ode to a Day. It was suggested to pick a date and to find a National Day of....description. It was National Siblings Day on Saturday, but I set out to look for a National Day on Allergies. I found a week: April 20th to April 25th. So, in my first ever ode, I wrote to the day...well, all of April actually.
Lord, it's Monday again (palm to head). Here we go!
Yesterday's weather turned out to be much nicer than the Weather Channel predicted. The sun actually peaked out from the gray and remained for the larger part of the day. In the morning, Roy and Chitunga moved items to their apartment in Stamford, and not needing my help, I was left to get work done. I have to admit, the quiet without Glamis is sad, but it will be sadder now that Chitunga has moved into his adult life. He's been ready for a while, but Covid gave me another year. It was my happiness and his frustration. I'm thankful for the time we had.
I dug holes to plant the flowers and bulbs given to me by friends and neighbors in memory of Glamis and put her tags underneath. I opted to have them in view of the bay window as that is what she looked out to the majority of her life. She loved the view and authority from that perch. It was how she will always be remembered.
I drove to Pam's for dinner, cheeseburgers, and afterwards we watched an episode of Nailed It. There's something about that show that gets the two of us hysterical every time. We actually cry from laughter as contestants try to recreate baked masterpieces. Speaking of, Happy 60th Leo Robinson.
And in the morning, I wrote my first skinny poem...an 11 line poem with a repeating phrase on line one and 11, and a repeating word on line 2, 6, and 10. Being me, I decided to fatten up my skinny poem, making a globular poem looking more like fatty cells, which was fine by me. Nothing wrong with being thick, and I have Denise Krebs from #verselove on EthicalELA to thank.
Another Sunday it is. Going through photos, just six years ago, I can't believe how fast everything has flown...so much life, so many changes, and a tremendous number of memories. I am thankful to have Mt. Pleasant to capture it all.
I am playing for Companion Animal Hospital. I ran four miles today, then went to practice, and I realize that sprinting, bending over, diving, leaping, and pretending to be young simply hurts. I think it was two years ago I stepped aside from beach volleyball, too. Henry the hernia, although corrected (allegedly), has invited his lil' brother Hank to the party.
Walking. Fine.
Running. Depends on the day.
Being a 15-year old baseball player. Uckfay. I am old.
My biggest fear was not being able to throw or hit. I'm okay with that. It's the agility of bending, stretching, moving quick, and having dexterity that is nipping me in the ass (although that is one part of my body that isn't aching this morning).
Hank was immediately iced at Pam's. She had surgery on her foot, so Francesca needed an ice-patch, too.
Tunga officially has keys to his first apartment in Stratford, so he missed practice to move a couple of items into his new digs. He's excited to get on his own, and I totally get the enthusiasm and energy, albeit this old fart is able to help. Not for now, though. This is his gig. He was up with the last of his things and out of here. It's a severing that needs to happen. Developmental. Still sad.
Truth-telling here. I don't like feeling old. I've always been the sort with boundless energy, and a willingness to sweat, play, and be part of the game. Last night, however, I began to think, "This might not be such a good idea. I hear swimming is not a bad deal for people this age."
Maybe it is the Covid-19 year, sitting at a desk 14 hours a day, and the stillness of a computer life. I just know that I ache everywhere, and I wonder, "Ouch. Have I crossed over to the world of geriatrics?"
Meanwhile, today's EthicalELA #verselove challenge was haikus, and I've been playing with 'epic' haikus for many years now. I simply choose a subject and see how many I can crank out within a flow and narrative. Yesterday morning, I wrote for my colleague Susan, who has been the punching bag of the universe for the last several months.
Anyways, here's what I wrote. Happy Saturday. Time to grade and plan.
Last night, I sat in a room with educators across the United States joining me on a project that includes Felicia Rose Chavez's The Anti-Racist Writing Workshop and our intentional desire to bring the conversation to K-12 schools as a team of National Writing Project and Literacy Leaders. I knew I had a surprise for the team of educators across the United States - the author actually surprised us by coming to join us last night. Of course I knew she was coming, but I was so impressed I pulled the surprise off. It was an amazing 70-minutes, and I was so grateful for the love-fest she created, and joy that Chavez's book is helping us to create...a more just, equitable, and anti-racist intention for our work. More than her expertise over us (which is bountiful), I think our enthusiasm worked to counter the negativity that has come her way...a bit of surprise.
I filled pages and pages in my notebook of what teachers and the author were saying, but also sat to embrace all the expertise that was in the room. The collective is stronger than the silos we typically create.
Meanwhile, on Facebook, Ann E. Burg's interview on The Write Time debuted, and I'm thankful to Tanya Baker for being online for itt to manage the conversation. We pre-recorded, so it looked like I was live (but I was actually in a private session working through Chavez's work). I didn't know if I'd be able to make the evening possible, but it all worked out!
And I was thinking of a mentor who once said, "Crandall. You're meant to be a bridge, sir. Not a road. Not a path. But a bridge. You have a ridiculous ability to bridge worlds and unite communities. That's you're calling. "
Which is weird, because yesterday's EthicalELA prompt got me to rethink fatherhood in a way I never thought about before. Simply looking at a moment to see something as an influence you never knew was there was a great way to explore a single moment in time. After writing, I realized that the prompt was actually therapeutic, and helped me to discover realities I didn't even know were there. The end result - epiphanies for a lifetime.
First off, I'm still giving a standing ovation for any K-12 educator who is standing at this time of year. University teaching isolates us in numerous ways with the tremendous privileges afforded to faculty (albeit their complaints that it is totally otherwise). What K-12 teachers have endured the last 365 days is unimaginable, impossible, and ludicrous. If you know a teacher, and actually listen to them, you'll understand why. Still, they come forward and remain champions for the young people they believe in. They persevere, they get creative, they hold their breath, and they made magical possible.
This why I absolutely adored hosting Matt de la Peña and Sonya Huber during yesterday's PD with teachers at Harding High School. Matt's conversation about living on the borderlines, in the margins, with a code-switching existence, was stupendous. Sonya's presentation on place, space, and the storytelling of everywhere was phenomenal. How does one keep the attention of 72 content-area instructors fried after a year of Covid? You simply find the greatest ammunition possible and hope for the best. As I noted to the teachers, "There's only one school in the nation getting the expertise of such writers at this time, and that has to count for something."
The trickier part has been coaching on my end: how does one create a cross-discipline, writing-forward faculty and staff to think critically about higher order questions, community, and the importance of the arts? That was the mission. Thankfully, Milo and CJ were there to help...as was love, the generosity of an author, and the expertise of Sonya Huber. Weaving the rest was my task, and I was competing with a beautiful day, an unexpected fire alarm, and absolutely fried teachers.
If I could, I'd pay for every one of them to go on the vacation of their dreams, all expenses paid. There's no payback that is good enough for all the hard work they have been doing for their students this year.
In the meantime, #EthicalELA prompted to look at a poet one admires and to write with borrowed breath to try something new. I looked to a mentor, Ruth Stone, and did a poem to tie ribbons around the weekend. "Another Feeling" was written by Ruth Stone (who I will adore until the days I, too, see the sparrows) and "The Other Side of It All" is my attempt to grace her brilliance with thinking of my own. It's Thursday. If you know a teacher or have kids with a teacher....do something nice and kind for them. There really is no way to describe what this year has been for them.
There may be a couple of other readers (hi, Mom! hi, Cynde! hi, Nikki!) who might have interest in this post, but the primary audience is Dr. Alice Hays....actually, it's me processing conversations Alice and I have had (perhaps for NCTE 2022) about fusing research in literacy with storytelling within physical movement. For those who know the winterguard world, this post might make sense, and for those who don't...maybe you'll be intrigued. There's so much history, growth, change, and beauty over the years, and we're simply thinking about how such shows narrate more than equipment work (not sure about implications quite yet, but for now it is simply fascinating to think about and to collect data).
So, I'm following EthicalELA's #VerseLove poetry prompts and I was especially intrigued by Tuesday's prompt by teacher Margaret Simon. She challenged writers to write a "World Trying to Deal" poem, in which she offers websites to find photographs from the past year to prompt a free-verse poem. As a good student, I looked through the pictures, but I kept hearing music from West Side Story in my head, because Dr. Alice Hays and I had recently shared how Pride of Cincinnati responded to the pandemic. It's not a still photo, but a performance (like a still photo in movement), carrying on the WGI tradition as only they do - expanding the possibilities of artistry and sport in a video to highlight their mastery of the genre.
Here's the video they released from the past year...their performance. It is, similar to the still photos shared by Margaret Simon, a piece of art that immediately sparked me to say, "Today's poem is for Alice." Well, that was yesterday, but I'm posting today (Dr. Sarah Donovan...like I said, "You have no idea." So thankful for Ethical ELA)(unintended rhyme here). I think poetically, but never find enough time to scribe poetically. The focus of the website has given me the daily challenge. I wake up, sip coffee, and begin to put scissors to the paper snowflake...she what design results.
So, after watching the video, I drafted the following for Alice. I think if you click on the image, the fogginess of the lettering goes away. If not, scroll below and I will post it in Blogger text.
Because there’s a story here,Alice,
…a place for us…
& I doubt many understand the movement
of how a teacher finesses every dry-erased moment
with toes and fingers just so…
…but hat’s how I picture you, Alice,
somewhere in California
twirling possibilities with your daughters
as you plan another graduate course
Peace and quiet and open air wait for us -
You, tossing language
behind your back,
& artfully leaping
across another YA novel
such mindfulness and finesse…
…time together with time to spare…
this repertoire, designed with excellence,
& equipped with exquisite choreography.
hold my hand and we’re halfway there
That’s the poem, Alice…
this appeal of you
& how you know silk weaves
such narratives together
with precision,
your colors as weapons
to combat the dreary days of winter.
That’s the story, Alice. The art.
Somehow, someday, somewhere
finding news ways for living…
forgiving the year that just was with this poem.
Happy Humpback Day! You'll find me on screen doing PD for 60+ teachers today!
