And Back to NYC on the Metro...1st Time in 16 Months. Hard to Believe...a Bit Eerie, But Beautiful Day at the MOMA (in the Rain)

On Dylan's bucket-list before heading to Germany for 3 Years (he re-enlisted in the U.S. Army) was to see the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. Five of the Six floors were open, and we made it in time to beat the absolute down-pours. The weather called for 100% rain, for 100% of the day. BUT, we only had mist when we headed in and were able to walk to the museum with no problems. There was, however, a huge line to get in, but we were an hour early, and found a pizza joint outside Central Park to get a fix of NYC pizza before we got out culture on. It was a bit more gourmet than they were used to, but I had my first pizza sandwich, and I'd go back if I could. 

The trains were empty and so were the streets. Very odd to be in NYC without crowds and crowds of people. Also sad to see so much shut down and closed.

Still, MOMA was rocking, and it was odd to be around so many people for 3 hours in masks, although I imagine everyone venturing out right now is vaccinated. 

Naturally, Mike and I gravitated toward the more humorous art, discussing ways we could reinvest in our careers with a box of crayons and some wax paper. We also thought about bronzing our turds, as their seems to be a market for that, too. 

We did see Van Gogh's Starry Night, several Frida Kahlos, a few Salvador Dali pieces, some Jackson Pollock, Monet's Water Lilies, Gustav Klimp's blanket paintings, etc. etc. etc. But we were drawn to the more humor art that made us smile and think. I enjoyed the Jacob Lawrence room, as I did some writing on his work a few months back with a school in Bridgeport. 

Seriously, despite the rain, the insanity of being post-Covid, and the pain-in-the-ass stop-by-stop of the Metro from Stratford to Grand Central ride, it really was a wonderful day in the city. It's also a beautiful ride along the Sound with much to look at along the way. 

This morning, however, we awake for round II, a little north of Manhattan as we travel to the Bronx for a Yankees game...a bucket-list dream of Mike's.

And they are no longer calling for rain. Just clouds. We're good. Very, very good. 

Just need to pick up Tunga ins Stamford and we're off.

Mike and Dylan Successfully Arrived, Although Mike Can't Reach Cups in my Cupboards and Karal Wants Dylan's Bed

All is well. They made good time and immediately wanted fish so we went to Knapp's Landing (2nd time in a week). Karal did her puppy dog thing, they watched a show and fell asleep,  I walked the dog with Chitunga, we went to the water to visit with Jake, Leo, Bev, Oona and Pam, returned homed, for pulled chicken, rice, and smiley potatoes, and everyone tired out by 9:30. Okay. That's good, I guess. 

Mike couldn't eat it all, but was satisfied by his selection. I spent the morning before they arrived cleaning up the house, setting up the beds, going shopping, and arranging the visit for what it would be.

I did not order the rain or temperatures, however. Mother Nature decided on those - and neither are fun...we have another 72 hours of it, although we had a slight break in the evening.

Today, we are waking up and heading to NYC to the Museum of Modern Art and 9/11 Memorial, both which are on Dylan's to-do list before embarking on three years in Dresden, German.

This is their father and son hoorah before he leaves, as after Missouri, he was stationed at Fort Drum near Watertown, which has been near Syracuse and easy-access for him to home and his parents. Life in Europe will be good. It was for me, and I'm jealous he will get so many months away from home with the ability to travel to so many countries. It's a once in a life-time opportunity. 

Wish us luck today in the Big Apple, as we're likely to get drenched, soaked, and water-beaten. It's been decades since I've been to the MOMA and I'm looking forward to what we'll see there (although I imagine NYC is just waking up to normal, too - we shall see). 

I told Mike, "Yeah, I'm always extra tired, too, when I drive to Syracuse." There's something about being on the road that wears one out...I think it is because one has to have extra awareness on everything going on...it's is tiring. 

Okay, rainy, cold Sunday! Here we go!

Let's Call It a Bug. In Truth, However, It Was Absolute Exhaustion. My Body Said, "You A'int Going Anywhere or Doing Anything."

My Thursday was jam-packed with super awesome sauce. Tunga and I built a fire at night, and even made it to bed by midnight. I awoke at 4 a.m., starving, so came downstairs to eat a banana. By 4:30 a.m., my body was rejecting everything, not allowing anything to stay in, nor anything to enter.

I spent the next 15 hours in bits of sweat, episodes of frigidity, incredible head and stomach pain, and sleep. It was an awful way to spend a day and I'm thankful that Tunga was home to check on me, to care for Karallynne (Karma, we added another name), and to make sure I didn't die. 

The only blessing to the day was that the temperatures dropped, so the cool breezes coming through the windows were like medicine. (Note: I realize the bug posted here is some sort of Japanese Beatle swimming in a pool, but he was what was triggering my insides yesterday).

At 9 p.m., when I checked my computer and 286 emails awaited me, I boded to The Great Whatever that is why I'm exhausted. It never ends. Our quick-fingered, lap-topped world makes everything an emergency needing immediate attention. I went all day without cellphone or laptop, simply because I couldn't handle any more ugly in my day. I postponed it until I was ready to handle it. I now am dreaming of weeks, if not months, without fast-paced, technological urgency.

The other good news is that even after a day in bed, I was out like a light by 10 p.m. sleeping until 6 a.m. this morning. I'm waking up to what I'm calling a Lebanon-Reservoir camp day. The sky is gray, the trees are blowing, there's a light rain, and it's chilly. Yet, the birds are singing. Reminds me of June days looking out at the lake, hoping the sun would come out so we could play baseball of swim.

My brother-in-law Mike and nephew Dylan are on their way, as we have Yankee tickets for Memorial Day, and adventures are being placed into gear.

There is no day worse, however, than when you are trying to vomit out an empty stomach and a migraine throws lighting to your eye sockets, forehead, and brain. I rarely, rarely get sick like that (except on the odd occasion my body realizes "you actually have time to get sick," and sick I get). 

Ugh. The bug. 

But today it is squashed and there's much to do.

Kicked Off the Day with Kwame Alexander at Westport Library and Finished It with Joseph Bruchac (& Kelly Sassi in Between)

What a Thursday. 

Last week I was asked to emcee an event at the Westport Public Library with Kwame Alexander, which was followed by The Write Time recording with Joseph Bruchac, and also a special guest from North Dakota, when Dr. Kelly Sassi from Red River Writing Project came through with her Wesleyan-graduated senior, Allessandro. 

Phew, now there is a National Writing Project family story if I've ever heard of one. 

Seriously, sometimes I shake my head in disbelief of what a day can deliver. And Chitunga decided to join Kelly, Allesandro, and me for dinner, requesting Karalynn time, a fire, and a few beers. My soul was fulfilled.

I can't wait for the Joseph Bruchac show to air, as it was incredibly inspirational, brilliant, thought-provoking and rewarding. He was perfectly matched with Caitlin Johnson, who coincidentally is of Red River Writing Project, too. It was so magical that Kelly was able to jump in at the end of the recording after seeing the beaches with Chitunga simply to say, "Hello, Everyone."

A jam-packed day, indeed.

Authors, writers, the boys, the dog. I began with the brilliance of the Rooster, and ended by learning so much from another sage. All the while, I had great people at my side. A win, win, win. 

I can hold onto this day for a very long time.

Caption This! I'm Afraid Universe, You'll Be Getting a Lot of Puppy Posts Because I'm Absolutely Enthralled & Overjoyed with this One!

This is how Karalynne Brunette Caramel (thanks Beth) Carrot Cake Cupcake sleeps. The name is morphing, but I'm solidified with Karalynn Crandall, and she responds to it. Casey will be thrilled to know that she is getting the hang of "bang" as a command, where you make a bang noise and she rolls over to play dead. It's probably not funny or cute given America today, but it's what she decided to do after a few 'roll over' lessons. She's got her name down, stay, come, etc. She also was tired out in the extreme heat of yesterday and two long walks. 

I laugh that she sits outside the shower curtain and waits for me with her frog in her mouth. A few times she's tried to push it in so it can get a bath, too. 

She's not a licker, although she'll rub noses. Definitely all about the chest and stomach being rubbed.

I got a lot done yesterday, but only because I took her for long walks twice and tired her out. She came home to sleep in her John Travolta position. Staying alive. Staying alive. 

She's also played well with other dogs, took her puppy meds, and adapted to front pay window surveillance. I need to work on her with encroaching sleep space, as she keeps getting deeper and deeper into my sides at night, and I hate that. It's already too hot. 

Okay, I'd better jump off. I have a Kwame Alexander event followed by a Joseph Bruchac one. I have to figure out what I'll do with this fuzz-cake so I'm not distracted with squeaky toys and sudden lap launches. 

I'm also looking forward to having a visit from my colleague from North Dakota who is in town for the day. 

And we're off. 

In Person Planning for Weir Farm National Historic Park, We're Going After Another Year of Spectacular Collaboration.

Boy, it feels good to barbecue again for friends. Pasta salad made. Check. Vegetables for the grill. Check. Chicken soaked in sauce. Check. Salad made. Good to go. Asparagus, Zucchini, Heaven. 

Reading Landscapes and Writing Nature in a Digital Age. Dr. Rich Novack and Ranger Kristin Lessard came over so we could plan "Flooded with Possibilities" for a water-themed year of National Writing Project and National Parks collaboration. Our authors are line up, the dates are almost on the calendar, and the brilliance of collaboration continues - Connecticut's biggest secret....Weir Farm National Historic Park featuring Julian Alden Weir...and this year, a focus on Weir Pond while reading Ann E. Burg's Flooded (and many others. Cool beans with awesome sauce. 

Finally, I was able to deliver the squid and flamingo socks purchased during last year's Write Out and National Day on Writing (and look, I am featuring Ignotofsky's What's Inside a Flower in the background...shhhh. A bonus to this year's grant cycle).

Meanwhile, Karalynn Cupcake (that's the name the vet got yesterday) was a tremendous hit - a huge hit as she entertained everyone with an her thusiasm for everything puppy and human. She was a riot, too. She exerted all the energy she could so that at 9:40 p.m. she was able to conk out, which is KONG out, as Companion Animal Hospital gave her a new KONG which she loved, especially with peanut butter.

It felt good to entertain again.

Like Glamis the Wonderdog, Karalynn Cupcake (or Carrot Cake) loves having a female ranger at the house. Beers, environmental conversation, art, writing prompts, books - too exciting to capture in one post.

Boy, Karalyn Cupcake (look, another K.C.) really was obsessed with getting a peanut butter cookie, which she failed at, only pulling aluminum foil from the counter. Boom. What'd she get? Oh, Just Reynold's Wrap.

Also, a tremendous shout-out to the Louisville Writing Project for hosting the first Writing Across America event. So proud I have thick roots connected there. I love that family so much.

Okay, Wednesday. I need a day for tuning some writing and picking up after the whirlwind of puppy-dog that is my house. Toys everywhere.

And the secret-Chewy.com delivery sent to the puppy...a huge lick. Thanks Sue McV...the chicken strips were a tremendous. 

Come visit. This girl wants to meet everyone. 

Just Throwing This Into the Universe. There's Precious, Then There's Precious. Day 4 with Karal-Lynne Carrot-Cake Crandall

The rules are easy. We have to learn one another and figure things out. 

I like to work all day. She likes to play all day. There's a compromise there somewhere, even when one is smart enough to open the pantry to help one's self to treats and to close the laptop when she's tired of daddy's working.

I have my work cut out for me. She understands everything: routines, patterns, habits, visitors, rituals, and patterns. If you cut from that, she' scolds you. 

Karal-Lynn, Carrot-Cake, loves playing. We've figured that out, and when she's exhausted she enjoys crawling in daddy's lap to conk out or over his should to fall asleep, even if there is no space and the comfort level is zilch.

Edem, however, disrupts that, because his overnight work and day sleeping throws the routine off Just when she's ready to collapse for the night (as pictured here) he's ready to start his day...hence, the distraction.

I laugh, though, because Karal is very astute, has memorized the patterns, and is disturbed by the distractions. Last night, a late night CVS visit threw her into a tizzy. She was already collapsed behind my shoulders. She has her play time, and there's also space for sleep. Edem, obviously was distracting her from her sleep. She was not happy with him.

I should also say, she doesn't like me typing at all hours a day. That is prime play time, but we've discussed options. You chew on bones. I write. It's that easy.

Her deal is, "When I want to play, I want to play," and my deal is "When I'm in a writing groove I'm in a writing groove." We haven't quite found the match yet, and when we bring Edem's "I work all night and sleep all day" into the equation, there's several compromises still to be made. 

I laugh however at how ready she is to collapse on my lap, head, or shoulders when her day is done. It doesn't matter if it is comfortable or not....when she is done, she's done. 

Phew. I can't compete with that - same as me. I'm always willing to give in to my own pillows (and shhh. we played from 6 a.m. to 8:15 a.m. - she just closed her eyes...on the doggie bed. This is great news).

With Thanks to @Domello, I Have My Tomato Plants In. That Was a Hot One Yesterday!

 Lawn mowed, gardened watered, helped neighbor pull her heavy furniture to her deck with Chitunga, tired out Carol-cake, worked in house, took Carol-cake to meet Jake, tired her out again, was given tomato plants by Dominik and Kaitlyn, came home, and planted them. Not a bad Sunday, although I soaked through three t-shirts during the day. It was a hot one..a little soon, so I'll welcome the cooler temperatures this week. 

Funny to have a curious dog who wants to help with everything. She loved the hose like Cynde's Bella loves the hose until she chased it and banged her body against the porch...she was stunned a little by that and decided her chasing was over.

That'll learn them. It has always amazed me that dogs survived in the wild on their own. They really are spazz-a-ga-zoinks and aren't the best decision makers. 

I was lucky she didn't eat the tomato plants, and she loved chasing the locust tree seeds falling from the sky.

Allergy season to the billionth degree.

With only 4 hours of sleep on Saturday night, I'm still wondering how the puppy didn't stop all day. It's one giant fun house for her, and visiting friends, she's like a kid who can't get enough. It will be interesting as the week settles how she'll do...less backyard time with other dogs.

Back to a routine now in 3...2...1

(which now consists of throwing a ball obsessively)

Yes, Mom, This Post Is Late. I'm Out of Practice of Staying Up Until 2 a.m. and Karal Lynne is, Well, a Puppy with Tremendous Energy

And the squeaky balls have returned.

Karal Lynne found me outside of NYC yesterday in Harrison, NY, at a National Pet Rescue Week event. For me, it was the eyes and ears. Love at first site. Then I needed to field out the dispositions. Although she was in a sea of puppies and strays and a bit mouthy at first, she quickly settled, was not interested in them, and quietly did her own thing. We bonded for over an hour, then I said, "Let's head to your new forever home..." in southern CT traffic...on a Saturday...on I-95. I have not missed that at all. She slept the entire way, 100% less neurotic in the car as Glamis. She also loves when I vacuum, sweep, dust, or pick things up - it's game time for her. 

The foster family said she was super smart, which she proved at Justin Wooley's graduation party...already she sits, shakes, lies down, and almost rolls over. Unlike Glamis, it's not the ears and eyes she loves rubbed. It's her tummy and chest. Once she goes on her back she remains that way to be scratched.

Great on a leash, curious of every thing, and definitely a pig pen with all the toys (after 20 minutes of giving the house a sniff-down, she got every toy Glamis ever owned out of a basket and went to work), I know she's going to chisel her way into the Mt. Pleasant lifestyle. Tunga came home to meet her and to attend the graduation party, which lasted late into the night, and ended with another hour of more tricks and fetch. 2 a.m. bedtime. I'm too old for that.

The foster family said she was adopted and returned twice to PetRescueNY, both times from families who underestimated the amount of work of a puppy...especially in NYC apartments. On Mt. Pleasant, although she likes to be underfoot (knocks the cellphone out of the hand when she wants attention), she is thrilled by a fenced in backyard and opportunities to walk - great on a leash.

As I predicted, she jumped on my bed last night, trying to settle between my feet at first, realizing I toss too much and finally zonking out in the same spot as Glamis, at the edge of the bed. I slept 4 hours before the sun rose and made it hard to fall back to sleep. I tried my best, until 9 until I heard her chewing a bone on the dog bed below. I then realized, she probably needs to go outside (which she did)...Tunga already at the kitchen table with his computer, and Karal Lynne at his feet instantly.

She came with the name Karal, and I added Lynne because it sounds good with Crandall. I also was calling her Karal Brunette, Carrot, Caroli, and Rikki Tikki Tavi all day. She is definitely a mongoose (Mother Goose), and I'm sure she could find rabbit holes to burrow down. 

Right this second, however, 46-minutes into her day of  play, breakfast, outside run, and investigation, she is settled by my feet and calm. Makes me want to cuddle with her.

Holy July/August temperatures, Batman! It's a scorcher today. Blessings to all you pool owners. It's a swimming kind of day. Go swim.

Thankful for @bookdealerSusan (Who Looks Out for Me During the Rough Patches). She Simply Understands.

In April, during the rough patch of losing Glamis, life changed, sadness came about, but the spirit of cycles won. Dr. Susan James sent me a gift and said, "I'll let you know when it is time to open the package. Earlier this week, during one of our daily interactions, she said, "I think it's time. Open it now." 

It was a book written by Brian Lies, The Rough Patch, about a farming fox who lived his life for his dog, but when it passed, his spirit for doing anything disappeared. This is, of course, until he nurtures a pumpkin vine that grows under the fence into his yard, and an enormous pumpkin arrives. His yard of weeds, neglect, sadness, and loss that came from losing his dog, suddenly has a giant gourde, a pumpkin, worthy enough to enter the State Fair contest. 

Evan, the fox, got third. He was given a choice of gifts and he chose to look into a box and to see what was there. It was a puppy. His soul was uplifted, and he drove home from the fair rejuvenated with a new friend. His rough patch was short-lived...and a companion was restored. 

It's no wonder the book was a Caldecott medal winner, and this morning I read the book again. I could't help to think about Joseph Bruchac's upcoming book, Rez Dogs, too, which debuts this June. Dogs choose their people. One knows, when one knows.

I have been content at the loss of Glamis, knowing that her role was fulfilled and she was a wonder dog. I'm not ready for another, but open. I recognize that when the right one comes my way, I will recognize it and move forward. 

In the meantime, I'm thankful for a good friend who gets it, who sends the right book, and makes me wait to open it until exactly the right time. 

It was the perfect gift this week, at exactly the right time. What a beautiful, beautiful read. 

Wish Us Luck! Here We Go! I Am Thrilled to State, "We're Doing an 8th Grade Workshop Again" - Celebration Time!!!

For the last several years, CWP has partnered with Central Middle School in Greenwich to offer a one-day celebration with workshops, activities, opportunities, and funk. We missed last year because everything was in the state that it was, but this year we're going digital. Why? Because "Central to Everything," is "The Possibility of the Next Step." These kids are transitioning from 8th grade to their 9th grade year, after an entire year and a half of Covid-crazy. Even so, we managed to find a way to throw them a party anyway.

And because we've learned to master ZOOM and become international DJs, I was able to extend the workshops to incredible people I know from across the United States. Phew. Yes, we may have been locked down, but we pick ourselves right back up. Today, 200 kids will get the opportunity to attend and participate in several workshops for them...conference style, future-focused, inspiration-initiated.

I once told Kwame Alexander, "Look at this way. You get the kids...they're always excited. Then you find your favorite people and get them together. It's like throwing a party. These workshops are like having a party for loving kids and what they're capable of doing."

So I reached out to some peeps. Dr. Susan James of the Emerald Coast Writing Project for a workshop on setting forth on life's journey...Evan Starling-Davis: a narrative pioneer, playwright, activist, and inspiration...Jessica Baldizon and William King - the ones and only who are beyond champions for youth...Mark Crandall (cousin) and Hoops4Hope CEO, and Unscripted...Nashville's wonderfully creative, funny, and brilliant Improv group. 

We all need a fun day. 

I will be doing a workshop on centralizing everything together for intentional high school success. I get to share my favorite writers, artists, cartoonists, and dreamers for a writing challenge with several inspirational passages. My one regret is I can't attend the other sessions. 

I'm forever thankful to the Greenwich PTA and the wonderful teachers at Central Middle School in Greenwich. I look forward to this event every year. And It will begin in 3...2...1...

When You Wake Up Thinking About Diversity in U.S. K-12 Schools, Higher Education, Changing Demographics, & You Have Numerous Questions

I'm not sure where I'm going with my questions, but when I woke up yesterday, my brain was churning with curiosity. As a fan of The Village of 100 people, I'm always trying to locate percentages that help me gain perspective...make it simpler and more digestible. I've always enjoyed working in super diverse environments and usually tell the story that I only experienced culture shock when I started teaching at college. The lack of diversity was shocking. I always knew small percentages of the U.S. have college educations, but I wondered about numbers and what they might tell me (inform me). This is nothing official...it's only my perusing of the National Center for Educational Statistics (and other locations) to plug in numbers. I needed visuals to help me think (and I admit...this is rather geeky). So much to think about with these truths.

I used pie-graphs because I wanted to see what the would show me. First, as I already surmised, the majority of college-going individuals are White. The cost of higher education may be a tremendous deterrence, but it might be speculated that another deterrence is with the knowledge offered in such locations. It seems to me that the pie chart representing who attends higher education doesn't quite match up with the demographics ho attend K-12 public schools (hence, pie chart #2). 

That demographic looks more like the one below (where, as predicted, the shift in U.S. populations is already becoming clear (which I contrast with the "race" that colleges have traditionally served - with a tremendous mark-up to attract wealthier, less diverse families). Yes, class often has gone hand in hand with race and that isn't typically what we view.

When I was in college from 1990-1994, 1st generation kid from a working class family, college tuition at a public state school, Binghamton University, was affordable...doable...practical. That is not the case for students today, as taking out a mortgage payment exists with loans to pay for a college education.

On campuses, we have numerous conversations about inclusivity, diversity, and equity, and when I toured colleges with Chitunga, every school advertised their mission for social justice and prided themselves on their values to uphold equity. I found this ironic, as the public schools I've always worked with have always been more inclusive, diverse, and equitable than college campuses (I'd argue, they are 20 to 25 years ahead of the academy, itself). 

Kristen Turner of Drew University asked if I might find what the percentages within each racial category of kids who attend college, and I found it. This was truly fascinating to me. Only small percentages of each racial category (and I argue for the human race, but see how race is at the epicenter of U.S. politics, so use these categories to show what is known). It turns out less that 30%, mostly less than 20%, of every racial class does the college thing. It's small, but fairly distributed...somewhat evenly.

Now, I also did a pie chart for my University, and it was easy to see that it looks like Pac Man...a majority of White students with only a small mouthful of diversity. Part of me also wanted to do demographics of CWP's programs over the last 7 years, because I'm sure it would show the pie in reverse, as my aim has always been super diversity, national reality, global sensibility, and honest representation. 

So now I'm wondering how it is that higher education, which lacks representation of U.S. demographics, are the first to argue for, to promote, and to create the language norms used for diversity, inclusivity, and equity, when they pale in comparison to the nation's K-12 public schools. Perhaps we should be listening to educators in our K-12 schools who have more expertise on what it means to build curriculum for diverse, inclusive, and equitable classrooms, rather than jump into the linguistic ping-pong game in  esoteric settings commonly found in academic institutions. 

I'm not a quantitative researcher, but love visual representation (probably because I've taught content literacy courses and non-fiction literacy for so many years). 

And I know K-12 schools are not money-making locations (the public ones anyway). Yet, post-secondary make profit while hustling to become more and more exclusive. Seems to me this bubble should have popped a very long time ago. Also seems to me they may be the least democratic spaces we have.

The system, broken as it is, needs major repair.

I believe in knowledge and the importance of diverse perspectives. I simply question the validity of such perspectives in higher education when there's not true representation of all people. 

This is what's been on my mind.

Why Does Updating a Dossier a Few Times a Year Seem Like Gale-Force Winds, a Tsunami, and a Hurricane

Truth is, I don't update it a few times a year...and I only keep track of the Merit applications of year-to-year accomplishments. Yesterday, however, I decided I would check on my CV to see where I am with updates, and then went into Digital Commons (a request of Fairfield) to update materials there. That is what took forever. I haven't updated that framework since 2014. Every item of the CV had to be entered bit by bit, paper by paper, conference by conference, presenter by presenter. I did it, but am unsure who the audience for that material is...or who polices it, because obviously no one has come after me in the past to say, "Crandall. You know your online presence at Fairfield is bunk. We asked you to use Digital Commons, and you haven't."

As Sonya Huber calls it - tis the land of bean counting. 

I always tell other professionals, "Imagine if you lived in a world where you were expected to work 24/7, but then had to document every second of that day with...and then I did this...and then I did this...and had to list it, up and beyond your 24/7 job." That's academia.

Ironically, the Covid-19 year was a good year for me. Because I was home, not in schools as much doing professional development, and had a few more milliseconds to write, I got more into the world. And I went in to add that stuff, not knowing I haven't updated the University protocol since my early years. The result...I lost Tuesday catching up and letting the University know, "Yes, I've been working."

My bad. I'm up to date now...I think.

Truth also is that I joined a Challenger group last year at Syracuse and we promised one another 20-minutes of writing a day for the month of June. It was before my online programs began and it gave me a reason to focus every day for the month with writing projects I needed to get in. Part of me is thinking I should do the same for June this year, too. If I don't set time aside for the writing projects, I don't get them done. The accountability group works for me and I think we're in for another season. 

Meanwhile, my air condition kicked on yesterday afternoon. The house thermometer read 78 degrees. I instantly turned it off as I love sleeping in May/June with warm days and cool nights. No need for artificial air, especially now that everything is so fragrant. 

Okay, Wednesday. More writing projects to come. You have a June 1 deadline, and two projects you want to burn over the next several weeks. 

And thank the Great Whatever you don't have Edem's allergies right now. His eyes are so swollen, he looks like some sort of banshee or spook. Poor guy...gave him a Benadryl and wished for the best.

I Don't Mind the Sneezing. Between the Lilacs, Honeysuckle, and Lily of the Valley, Outside Simply Smells Like Hope

There's a field about 3 miles from my house that is loaded with Lily of the Valley. I have some in my backyard, but it is only a small patch. Whenever I walk that way, I nab four or five stalks so I can put them in a tiny water vase in my bathroom (tiny vases with a huge fragrant punch). At night, I like to shut the door of the bathroom so when I come down in the morning and open the door, I simply declare, "Okay, Utopia. I know. I know. I know. I live in the heavens and not with those other, shittier, dirt-driven, fart-frenzied types." Then I look in the mirror and simply think, "Yup. You're one of them," as I wipe eye boogers from my eyes and pluck out a few nose hairs.

I remember the first time I smelled these flowers and thought, "Holy cow. How does something so little offer such a smell?" Then I remember my niece's flatulence in Goldbergs when she was a kid. We're beasts. For every good smell, there's also a toxic one.

I've not planted the garden yet, but watered the perennials during a short break yesterday and wondered why our K-12 schools don't do more to teach kids about building aesthetic spaces that cultivate nature for a better tomorrow. I finished a Joseph Bruchac book that comes out in June, Rez Dog, and loved thinking about how we might invest in our kids today as an investment to the world 8 years from now (perhaps in the way that Luke describes pedagogy as a gift). 

In my adult life, I'm thankful that my grandparents had gardens and built harmony with the land. As a kid, I didn't think much of my father's garden until the year he planted grass seed over it and never planted vegetables again. To this day I look at that space and think, "Whoa. How many summers did that garden offer us salad, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers, and peppers?" 

It was a way of life. 

I also think back to Jefferson Memorial Forest in Louisville, where I was told, as an intern, I had 25 people signed up for a butterfly garden workshop. It was my 2nd day. I told the ranger, I don't know anything about butterfly plants, and he said, "By this time tomorrow you will, otherwise it will be a lousy workshop."

Guess who memorized field guides that night? It helped me to pay attention to details...both the giver (flowers), the takers (butterflies and bees(, and the ways those takers also give back, as well. 

So, that's the way I roll, too. For everything I take, I need to whirl it back to the Great Whatever so there's equilibrium. It just seems...well, natural.

Good to stop and smell the flowers.

When the @writingproject Demonstrates the Family is a National Family. Love to Kelly Sassy, Red River Writing Project. And Congrats to Fairfield U Grad Stags!

Yesterday was graduation for Fairfield University and the ceremony returned to Bellarmine Lawn with masks and caution. It was different from most years; however, it is a Fairfield experience that makes campus life in southern Connecticut miraculous and beautiful. Nothing like walking to the ceremony, simply to see the Long Island sound as the backdrop. The morning weather was warm, sunny, and a great reminder of life still to return.

Afterwards, I returned home to drizzle, yard work, annuals, perennials (I scored Japanese yellow irises), and then later a visit from Kelly Sassi's son, North Dakota State University and Red River Valley Writing Project. It's a small world. For years and years, I centered one of Kelly's co-edited book, Writing On Demand, with Anne Ruggles Gere and Leila Christianbury, in my Kentucky classroom. She's always been a wonder woman in my world, and when I met her, I felt like I was in the presence of a movie star. Then, as I watched her boys get older via social media, I learned her son, Allessandro, was attending Wesleyan University in upstate Connecticut. It took 4 years, but he finally was able to visit Mt. Pleasant and Chitunga came to town from Stamford to join us for a beach walk, then Paradiso Pizza. I loved every second of the visit. 

Two men in their twenties. Two sons of Writing Project directors. Always family. Two emblems of incredible kids.

And both fascinating on all fronts: Allesandro's film work, Tunga's EY career, and their ability to connect in ways foreign to my generation. All joy. Spectacular time step.

I'm sad to know, though, that my right hand everything, Stefania, has graduated with her Masters degree in elementary education. She's been with me for Writing Our Lives events, as a Service Learning Associate, and as a Little Lab for Big Imagination co-teacher. I will miss her organization skills and her peculiar southern accent she managed to get from being raised West Haven, Connecticut. There are special human beings out there and then there are irreplaceable human beings - she's both of these. It is hard for me to imagine CWP without her....everything from Saugatuck Storyfest, to online teacher collaborations, to being my coordinator for service learning. I definitely need to think creatively for the perfect gift for her graduation (I already gave her a copy of Milo Imagines the World). Dang.

This year put so many pauses and delays in life, and it all happened so quick that I didn't realize I was losing this blessing. Phew. 

So, Sunday was a tremendous day. The boys, Stefania, my colleague out West, good pizza and IPAs. Man, midlife is something else. These kids will inherit the world and I know we are lucky for it.

I Have a Couple More Touch-Up Jobs, But My Back Porch is Officially Ready For Summer Occurrences

When you touch-up the gray areas for the mistakes of white paint droppings, then you touch-up the white areas for gray paint dropping, you feel some sort of way. I loved painting, but I've never been perfect with the brushes, and doing railings is nearly impossible.

I did take a break from Pet-Finder meandering for a new dog, to look at online outdoor rugs and I was like, "Holy expensive, Batman." But then a quick trip to BJs did me well, as the same one I saw online that I wanted was almost $700 cheaper. So, I picked it up. It was huge and barely fit in my car, but on the back porch it was swallowed whole. 

It does match the furniture, however, and pulls the green from the umbrellas and the grass. Now, if only Fox Pest Control could get control of the Carpenter Bees, and I can get brave enough from stopping the sparrows from building nexts in my eves...(eyes of the sparrow - they're God's creatures and I love having them).

I honestly spent another 8 hours, making for 24 hours of labor in redoing, sanding, filling in wood rot, sanding again, painting, and repainting to fix the back patio playground. 

This morning, I'm up at 6 a.m., showered, and pulling together my doctoral robes for another graduate commencement at the University. We skipped a year because of the pandemic, and I'm happy to know that 2020 was invited to congregate with 2021, so there's a holiday of graduates to applaud and celebrate. I'm hosting a crew in Canisius parking lot, responsible for alphabetizing, lining them up, and walking them onto Bellarmine Lawn. It's supposes to be beautiful, and there's nothing more wonderful that a gorgeous day to graduate our students. 

This afternoon, my friend from S. Dakota, Dr. Kelly Sassi, who does what I do with the National Writing Project, will be sharing her son who has been in CT at Wesleyan College for the last four years (phew. That was fast). I finally get to meet Allesandro, as his film project is being screened in the morning and he's heading to my house to get away for a little while (long-haired hippie sort, just like I was when I finished). Tunga's coming in from Stamford and my afternoon goals are to walk the shoreline and to find a good restaurant for dinner to celebrate the day.

I'm not anticipating a crazy summer on Mt. Pleasant, and when I looked at the corn hole set in the garage, I can't help but miss all the summers with BBQ, tournaments, fire pits, booze, and laughter. I'm hoping this summer will bring some of that joy back to Mt. Pleasant. 

And I can't help but look at that patio with a little sadness. To the right, under the grill, is where Glamis went to lie when she was really sick. The next day, she crawled underneath, almost to the door. I had to coax her out both times and held her in my arms on the grass under a blanket. 

The back yard is quiet this year. I welcome any and all who want to bring their noise my way. 

After 8 Hours of Painting the Back Porch, Why Not Have a Softball Game Under the Lights at 9 p.m.?

Highlight. A triple play. Tunga's catch in left field, curling it in, rolling to the ground, and landing the ballin his glove like it was a football. Tunga's hit, speed to first base. My hit, hernia speed to first base. We scored runs and made it to the 4th inning, and I actually love coaching from 3rd base (and playing 3rd, when in the field). 

And, I spent so much time meticulously painting the back porch with all the sloppiness of Ali and Kanyea back when we did it four years ago. To their credit, when we finished last time, a fluke rainstorm came out of nowhere, not on the radar, and washed so much of the work. My time to invest in such work is rare, and it's taken me quite a while to finally get back to it. I'm thankful for these blue-skied, sun-shiny days.

I took this photo in the car as the sun was setting in Milford. Playing for Companion Animal Hospital, the caregivers to Glamis and Connecticut family. They have such a good crew, and even if we are the Bad News Bears, we're also the Animals. 

I also entered my grades, updated CWP's summer enrollment, submitted another grant, and mowed the lawn. That is the reason why I slept good, too. Today, I'm cleaning up spots where paint spilled, hopefully finding an outdoor rug, and bringing out the tables. I am hoping, too, I'll be able to get a few plants into the soil and pop some color around the yard.

I have 40 carpenter bees and the birds love pooping on everything, but one dumb bee was silly enough to get close enough to my racquetball racquet. I hate doing it, but they're chewing my house into Swiss cheese.

Sunday is graduation, so I need to take advantage of as much Saturday as I can...I'm going slow. Need to weed-whack, put laundry away, an do the weekend as weekends get done.

Proud to take advantage of the good weather when it comes, too. We've had a nice spell and I've been waiting for it.

I've Been Waiting for Consecutive Sunny Days (After the Rain) So I Can Repaint My Back Porch with "After the Rain" Paint

I should state, too, that although it's a light gray, there is a whitish-blue tint to it when the sun shines. I applied the first coat on Wednesday afternoon and the 2nd yesterday morning. Porch rebirth.

In the 2nd coating, I was on my hands and knees making sure every corner and crevice was perfect. This afternoon, too, I will be tackling the railings and bench (which is pointless, because the birds love shitting on the bench...it's like an avian port-o-potty for them). 

It's an old porch. Many cracks in the wood, which I fixed with a wood filler that I sanded down. I didn't have enough, however, because it was costly. Maybe I have two-three good years left before the whole thing needs to be redone. We shall see.

I know I'm strange, but I find painting therapeutic. I use it to stretch, bend, and move in new directions that my body does not get from running/walking and typing on a laptop.

Grades are done. Grades are done. Grades are done. I am entering them today. Grades are done.

When you're faculty...you have these wonky, tiny moments where you truly have a break. One is when students are working on final projects, and the other is when you finish grading and out of respect for this, administrators don't call for too many meetings. There's actually space to be normal. I was thinking about this today when I heard a friend telling his wife, "Yes. This stay-at-home work is impeding on my personal space, too." I was thinking when I heard this, "What's it like to have personal space in your career?"

And I'm also thinking about the way systemic hierarchies exist...who is paid more...who isn't held accountable as much...and who demands all the air time. I just shake my head. 

Maybe I should become a professional porch painter and sniff paint fumes for the rest of my life. A part of me thinks I'd be much happier if I did. 

For the 2nd Time, I Joined Abu & Lossine for 31 Days of Fasting. I Made It, and Hope to Return to Modified Eating Habits for Another Year

The summer of 2015, when Abu and Lossine were on Mt. Pleasant and Ramadan fell just as CWP-Fairfield's summer programs began, I joined them in solidarity. Here we were hosting 12 teachers in the summer leadership institute and working with 280 kids in writing camps, and we went food and waterless. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but one of the most rewarding. We bonded in a way that is unexplainable, and survived it together (even going to the beach to play volleyball). When one was drained, he lifted the other. That's how it worked.

I modified my Ramadan version this year - Ramadan-modified, allowing myself to drink coffee and eat breakfast with the sunrise, rather than before it. This year, I did the same again, but unlike the last time, I allowed myself water throughout the day. This time, too, I did it without them here where we broke fast nightly with the Crandall special, green beans, burgers, chicken on the grill, potatoes, and laughter. Perhaps it was the calmest 31 days with the twins I ever had...their energy matched mine and didn't outdo me. We all tend to be peppy, go-go-go types. Without food, we slow down a bit.

I cheated twice this year, too, allowing myself to break fast at 6:30 on Leo's birthday and for lunch on Pam's birthday (but didn't eat for the rest of the day). 

It wasn't that hard, as most of my time was spent alone working on a laptop on my porch - probably hardest when around others eating/drinking as normal people do. For me, this was a mental exercise more than anything else, and a post-Covid meditation to get re-centered and re-focused. The turbulence of the year coupled with additional turbulence, and even more turbulence. Curbing hunger was a way to set a goal and to accomplish it. The acidic stomach and burning I've had for the last year is gone. I am crediting less food, less spice, and longer days before eating that allowed the stomach to heal. We shall see if this continues.

And, at 2:30 yesterday, full sun, I said, "Now it's time to repair the back porch." The first coat is down and I'm hoping to find time tomorrow afternoon to do the same. Too often the house goes neglected because my days are long - and it is something I cut from the schedule: home responsibilities. I need to focus on my to-do list to get Mt. Pleasant prepped for summer work and life. 

It will be interesting today. I wonder what I'll have for lunch?

To the Viewer Who Texted Me After a Day of Online ZOOM-work to State: "I Think Your Shirt Is Buttoned Wrong," I Thank You

It's grading-frenzy week, all at the same time that the universe wants to host meetings, upon meetings, upon meetings, so when I learned I was late for one, had to dress quickly (I just got out of the shower), I arrived to carry forward duties and thought I slid into leadership with minor flaws...until I received a text, "I think your shirt is buttoned wrong."

I wasn't able to check until three ZOOM meetings later, and sure enough, their astute eyes were correct. I had to snap a picture to document it...Jerry Lewis all the way and nutty professor at the core. I've always said, "It's difficult to put on a particular appearance because if I try to radiate poise, sophistication, expertise, and authority, likely something will show itself to remind me...yup, this is you."

I guess it's good that I don't spend a lot of time in narcissistic self-glorifying when talking to others. I missed it. Sure enough, this is what I looked like on camera all day.

Meanwhile, the phone calls were plentiful and by 9 p.m., I realized I only got one project graded. My goal was six...so my other goals for today and tomorrow...well, they will have to wait. Grading is definitely THE priority; it needs to get done.

Always more difficult when the sun is out and blue skies are predicted. I want to get my hands into the soil and plant annuals. I also need to get my deck painted (phew...no typo with that statement). 

And I want to get back to my jovial, friendly, there-for-others self. He's still at my core, but a bit frazzled at the end-of-the-semester-reality of it all.

Meanwhile, now the pollens getting to my nostrils? Now? And finally, thanks to Dr. Shelbie Witte and her daily wisdom post, I offer this nugget of genius. 

"Don't Aim To Be the Perfect Teacher," Offered Dr. Terri Germain-Williams at Last Night's Celebration fo Teachers and Teaching

Yesterday, we hosted the 2021 Celebration of Teachers and Teaching for our graduate students, collaborating teachers, and supervisors. This is the second year in a row we've had to host the program via ZOOM and we do everything in our power to make it work as best as possible. So many remarks given at the celebration have stuck with me, but I wanted to share the words of Dr. Terri Germain-Williams here. We asked her to offer opening remarks for the program and she didn't fail us. In fact, she spoke with grace, integrity, love, and joy. With permission, I share her words here. 

Do Not Aim to Be The Most Perfect Teacher

Terri Germain-Williams

Picture this with me:  

It’s your first day in your very own classroom. You spent weeks pouring over curriculum and materials. But you also enjoyed sun-filled splashful weekends on your very last summer before your own first classroom. You decorated your bulletin boards and organized your classroom space. You were locked out of the bathroom and didn’t know where, exactly, to park. Who knew there would be such a hierarchy and so much tradition to learn about where you can and can’t park as a newbie!   As you stand there, hours before the children arrive because you were too excited to sleep, putting together final touch-ups and practicing your opening speech, please do remember:

Do not aim to teach perfectly. 

In Fall 2020, I taught Philosophy of Education and this time with simulcast - half masked and in person and half on the screen. I realized that most of what I had to teach  in theory was very interesting and super thoughtful, but mostly irrelevant in Fall 2020.  Socratic circles, question relays, jigsaws, matching games,  and gallery walks - some of my very best stuff - interactive tools for my student to bring with them and integrate in their future lesson plans - were all out of the question. I taught the least amount of content I ever have in any semester in Fall of 2020. I assessed the least. I modeled the least of those trusty replicable strategies . I laughed the least. I gave the least feedback. I facilitated the least amount of group work and modeled discussion by questioning in my lessons the least. But my course evaluations were the absolute best I’ve ever had here at Fairfield U. I did not aim to be the most perfect teacher in Fall 2020. I didn’t put pressure on myself like I had in previous semesters about what those evaluations would say.  My evaluations should be stellar; after all I am supposed to be one of the experts on teaching here! I venture to say I didn’t really have a straightforward aim, but what I realized in reflecting on my own practice was that I, more than any other semester before, unintentionally balanced the curriculum with my care. I set out to be student-centered and connected.  And that came through the screens and permeated the masks. There, without fully being cognizant of what was happening, I was modeling how to teach people though caring and connecting even in a challenging time.

So I beg you, Do not aim to teach perfectly. 

Even so, I urge you: Do not aim to care perfectly.

Sonia Nieto puts it this way: “Teachers may think of caring as unconditional praise, or as quickly incorporating cultural components into the curriculum, or even as lowering standards. On the contrary, ..., an “ethic of care” means a combination of respect, admiration, and rigorous standards.”

Don’t aim to be the nicest or the most complimentary teacher. Don’t aim to care perfectly in this way; rather connect with all your students, and seek to honor each individual, no matter how challenging or quiet.

Zaretta Hammon’s research encourages us in this way, and I quote: “In culturally responsive teaching, rapport is connected to the idea of affirmation. Affirmation simply means that we acknowledge the personhood of our students through words and actions that say to them, “I care about you.” Too often, we confuse affirmation with building up a student’s self-esteem. As educators, we think it’s our job to make students of color, English learners, or poor students feel good about themselves. That’s a deficit view of affirmation. In reality, most parents of culturally and linguistically diverse students do a good job of helping their children develop positive self-esteem. It is when they come to school that many students of color begin to feel marginalized, unseen, and silenced.” ― Zaretta L. Hammond.  

I saw this for myself. Many of you know, I have four biracial male children. I am very protective of them and I truly care about their educational experience.  I was seeking out all of my options for their early education and checked out many different educational settings for them: Magnet schools, Montessori, Outdoor education, Independent schools, all of my options.  

At one visit, I sat in a wonderfully engaging PreK classroom with a beautifully diverse class of 4 year olds. Mrs. Jones (name changed) was sweet and skilled and had all of the stations and materials any 4 year old could want. Costume station with a mini stage, a kitchen area, math manipulatives, even a puppet show with a rug for the audience, they taught Spanish and French daily. I watched children engaged in play and work, delighted and cared for. I watched as the teacher remarked on the hard words in the lesson, calling on only white children. “Ohhhh this is a hard one,” she said, “Johnny why don't you answer that” And then one of “the most challenging questions” of the morning and she called on Jenny. Jenny wasn't even there that day. My heart sank. And I knew this was not the school I could choose.

Now one reason I feel comfortable sharing this story with you is because I was once Mrs. Jones. In my early years of teaching I taught in Brooklyn at a school with 70% Hispanic and Latinx and 30% Caribbean students. I have three Caribbean Boys in my ninth grade algebra class Who I Really struggle to engage in conversation and discussion and sometimes even the work. Now I know 9th grade algebra is not the most exciting thing but I also knew that without engaging these boys would fall behind. I tried all kinds of different strategies. I tried seat changes, I tried buddies, I tried conferences and phone calls home. Nothing was working. I even instituted a five-minute Journal activity at the end of class, letting my students tell me whatever was on their mind if they broke up with her boyfriend oh, if they were a struggling with the lesson, if they had a incident with another teacher or student, I just wanted to know what was affecting your learning and how I could do better. So I read those journals everyday. I did my best and it still wasn't working. The inequity was really clear in a dialogue in my classroom. 

I wasn’t giving up. I finally found the strategy that would work. I walked to the corner to the bodega and grabbed some chips and juice and invited them in for lunch-and-learn with me. Just the 3 boys and me and the math we’d be learning on the following day. I pre-taught the lesson every other day to them so that they knew the answers and they had seen the material they had previewed and they eventually became more and more comfortable coming to the board and giving answers in class.

 

Make it your practice to reflect on whose voices are heard and make it your aim to include all voices on a regular basis.  Do not aim to care perfectly. Aim to affirm and hold all students to high standards.

Before I leave you with this quote from Vicktor Frankl. whose text, Man’s Search for Meaning, got me through the exact time period that you are experiencing right now, (Man’s Search for Meaning). Pick it up. Grab some tissues. Be transformed. But before I share my absolute favorite quote, one last don’t:  Let me tell you don’t submit a perfect application. Coming of the most exhausting and exhilarating student teaching experience, checking my inbox for my certification status and any - oh any, interview requests, job searching, praying. 

Do not aim for the perfect application.

I was sitting at my graduation jobless and rejected. I had enthusiastically and excitedly applied for Teach for America. I was ready to go anywhere TFA would send me. I was inspired by the works of Jean Anyon and Jonathan Kozol.  I was packing my bags for San Diego, Baltimore, a part of me wanted to end up in Atlanta. Something different. I had so poured my heart and soul into that application. Rejected.   And there was no waitlist ; no “try again” ; no  let’s do an interview or take a next step.  Also by the way, my very best friend who sent in a less enthusiastic application had been accepted. I had convinced her to apply.  I kicked myself. I knew better. I should have been more precise in my answers, told them what they wanted to hear. But that application was truly me. No show, no tactic, all heart. And I was rejected outright.  And that’s when I learned that not everything I want is for me. And if I had  But if I had submitted the most perfect application and had been accepted, my whole life would have turned out so differently. I would not be here, for certain, if my 22 year-old self had aimed at submitting the perfect application and not the most authentic and aligned application. 

What I would like you to consider today is to check in with yourself. Do not take a job out of fear. The path that is for you will feel exciting and aligned.  Do not be anyone other than your amazing self. You are unique. You are here with a purpose and You are enough for the right position.  Perfect doesn’t exist but be perfectly you. The right job and the right culture and the right hard work - not saying it’s going to be easy - but the more fully aligned you are with what you want and what you are here for, the more you are going to absolutely love the hard work and wake up every day excited to do it. 

And with that, I know you all have very high expectations of yourself.  I leave you with this, my most favorite quote from Viktor Frankl, 

“Don't aim at success. The more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side effect of one's personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself or as the by-product of one's surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it. I want you to listen to what your conscience commands you to do and go on to carry it out to the best of your knowledge. Then you will live to see that in the long-run—in the long-run, I say!—success will follow you precisely because you had forgotten to think about it.” 

I wish you an absolutely amazing, successful, and happy adventure in your career as an educator. Congratulations and we honor you and we are excited for your entry into the profession.

Then, On a Sunday, with a Thought of Rest, You Look at the Calendar and Think, "Oh, Lord. Help Me Get Through This Week Ahead."

As Chitunga and I were leaving Milford, we saw a bird posing very near us and I thought, that must be a juvenile crane or something. The head-feather threw me off. When I looked him up at home, I learned that he is a Yellow-Crowned Night Heron, likely a juvenile, and it's the first I've ever seen. Beautiful creature. I couldn't help but think back to Black-Capped Night Herons which were the mascot of the Beargrass Creek Task Force. Very regal, indeed.

After a tremendously long Saturday, I woke up thinking Sunday was going to be a day of rest, but then I saw the big items coming on my calendar and knew I had to get ahead. As a result, I spent another day sitting on my arse working, before being asked to West Haven to see Yellow, Silver Gal, Kathy and Michael's new digs. It was the first time I was on those beaches and Kathy was right, "It's such a beautiful drive to meander along the coastline." I definitely want to do that again.

I need to hold my breath and get through the next week of graduate school grading, celebrations, and graduations, so I can continue to focus on the other projects calling my name. In the meantime, yesterday Rich Novack had us go outside during his conference session and to take in our backyards. He asked us to write and this is what I came up with...Backyard.

April 2, 2015, 6 Years Ago. Back When We took Care of Henry, and Were Driving Home. Love This Photo. Mom Looking Over My Shoulder

I suppose most of my life we've tended to mom's medical issues, especially the ones she conjured up from the handbook of medical ailments she kept at the end of the hallway. Before mom went to a doctor, she'd look at her books and figure out exactly what was wrong with her, and let us all know. "I'm suffering from lockjaw, you bra...." she'd yell, locking her jaw into place without finishing the 'ts.' Even this Friday she sent me  an article about managing her PsA in her feet, letting me know that she's finally figured out her curved toes, swollen ankles, and pain. 

My sisters and I learned quickly from her that the medical books had all the answers, and one day while exercising on the living room floor, something peculiar happened and before we knew it, we were diagnosing Casey with vaginal cancer. She didn't have it, of course, but we modeled ourselves after our mother's self diagnosis's (is that plural for diagnosis?). Cynde, at a young age, would play mom talking on the telephone air smoking a pencil, complaining to imaginary friends about what was happening to her body during her morning coffee. "Yes...yes...me, too. I think it's bunions, but it might be bone spurs. I haven't figured it out yet." 

Toes were broken regularly, and I think there's a collection of foot shoes and boots in my ol' closet, unless Cynde finally convinced mom it was okay to depart with them. "I might need them again." 

That's probably why I was sort of taken out of my ailment when Henry the Hernia arrived in 2015. I don't sit still. I don't stop. I don't do doctors, and I totally avoid medicine. But, at an art show in Bridgeport, I passed out from pain. I knew I had to see a surgeon, and did...this, of course after I ran 7 miles and did more damage. I thought the passing out was a fluke.

Cynde and mom came to the rescue. They sat and waited while I had the surgery. I was higher than a kite when I departed and talked Cynde's ears off, as she slept in the blo- up mattress next to my bed. I could have talked all night. They set me up with food, then departed as soon as they came, leaving Chitunga to drive me to work, carry my bags, and keep my pace until I could do it on my own. 

Yesterday, after a 7-hour NWP conference (which rocked, by the way), I thought about today and how this photo captures so much. Moms are the ones that, no matter what, are always looking out for you. They're over your shoulder, worrying, wondering, making sure that everything is okay. This is exactly what she was doing as Cynde drove us home from the hospital.

My poor mom endures a lot from me...always has...because I have a sense of humor, we're both storytellers...and I'm an imp. My two sisters and I could fill a year's worth of blogging simply by posting photographs we've taken of mom over the years. It's not that she means to, but she might be the least photogenic human being that has ever lived. Something always goes amok no matter how much we prep her that a photo is coming. 

Here, though, she was captured....being a loving, caring, thoughtful, and worried mom, and I love her for that. She's the one that checks on us all, through thick and thin, always making sure our days or weeks are okay. 

I am extremely thankful, and I love her for who she is and has always been for all of us.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I'll call later today.

Today's the Day...After Two Cancellations, a Consortium between Several Site Directors, and a Dedication to the Work. The Northeast Writing Project Conference is a Go!

First, a round of applaud for Jane Higgins of the New York City Writing Project for leading the way with Lehman College's Support. Second, cheers to Bruce Pennington (UMass), Jason Courtmanche (UConn), Darshna Katwala (Long Island), Tom Myer (New Paltz), Kristen Turner (Drew U, New Jersey), Mary Sawyer (New Paltz), Thor Gibbons (Oneonta), and Paul Allison (NYC)  for being pinch hitters, thinkers, promoters, and dreamers. 

We have a fantastic day ahead with two keynotes: Dr. Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz and Dr. Kelly Chandler-Olcott, as well as a day full of presentations, Ignites, a commercial for the upcoming National Writing Project Write Now Teacher Studio, and more. 

I'm proud to see many CWP-Fairfield teacher leaders presenting, and thrilled to emcee before the two keynotes (I couldn't be happier with the selection)....just a little nervous.

Meanwhile, we lost 18-0 again. The Animals of Companion Hospital are vicious (in a butterfly kind of way). I did get a line drive to left field for a single. That was my only time to bat. 

It is a Saturday, at the end of the semester, and during the culmination of teacher-appreciation week. Most of us are exhausted, but you wouldn't know it. We are going to have a full house...attending a conference instead...

...one built from best practices and good fits with LOVE for what we do.

It all begins in exactly 2 hours, so I got to run. 

But not before I share a love and appreciation for the National Writing Project network. We got this!

Y'all's Cars Looking Like This When You Come Out in the Morning? How are the Allergies? You Sneezing? Have a Throat?

This is not my car. It could be my car, but my car is a lime green variant, and with the windshields covered, it just looks like a big o' lime in my driveway. 

Tree spooge everywhere. The gunk sticks to sneakers and recreates your footsteps...it's like snow, but yellowish-green. Is it me or are the trees extra-potent this year? Are they offering a dusting before the monster cicadas come? Is there jealousy that Covid has received all the attention?

And, oddly, I'm not sneezing or sniffling. I'm just a sinus mess, but what else is new? It's definitely May.

I took most of yesterday off to celebrate Pam's birthday with her, Leo, and Bev, before the Chris Crutcher debut on The Write Time. The gifts and card were a success! 

And it's now time for Dr. Moss, Kennelog shots, more interviews, and preparation for tomorrow's conference. I think, though, my car should be washed off, and my deck, and my driveway. 

Short post today. Much to do. TGIF, all. 

This is Just a Post For Me, to Recenter the Journey at Mid-Life, and to Doodle Out Meaning at this Point...Halfway Mark (If I Am Lucky)

Childhood was about discovery. Picking up a baseball bat, learning to ride a bike, mastering reading in elementary school, falling in love with math.

Middle school and junior high was about being an idiot...losing a focus, questioning purpose in everything, not seeing any light at the end of the tunnel. Being stupid.

High school was about tmaking up for stupidity at the junior high...rechanneling the work ethic for the good, getting my license and finding new territory for freedom, a groove with academics, and more importantl,y learning to work, make money, and to have a way to finance next steps.

College was bliss, a social bonanza of everything, travel, learning more than I knew was possible, and developing a personality for writing, reflection, critical insight, and purpose. Rebirth to the billionth degree.

Grad school was perfunctory. You want to teach. Learn the game. Do as the bureaucracy says. Move on.

Teaching was heaven...absolute chaos, impossible, yet beyond rewarding. I definitely learned more from students than I ever taught them. Brown School was nirvana. The mission, one of a kind, but fragile when the wrong people arrive. I internalized what was possible, and carry the vision into everything I do now. I captured the bliss...preserved it...and use it as fuel.

The doctorate was intense...nothing like I ever thought it would be, but I learned of ram horns, aiming even higher, naming a philosophy that could be put in action....reading even more...in awe of the rigor and intensity of research. Overjoyed I made it through (cried like a baby when the reality hit. Life changing, indeed.

Working in higher education is an absolute conundrum...becoming part of a system that needs to be blown up, rebuilt, and started all over again (this, of course, would benefit K-12 schools, too, as they need absolute revolution, as well). It is a harbor of dysfunction, the pinnacle of hypocrisy, and the safe-haven for inept nincompoops. It is also a corporation that feeds off social hierarchies, racist and classist traditions, and "eugenics" (the farce that it is). The castle has thick, well-crafted walls to protect itself from reality, allowing those inside to spew gibberish without repercussion with little to no action, but words. Then, of course, there's the administration.

Perhaps adulthood is simply the revelation that you work hard to prove one's self in a system, only to realize the system is really pathetic for almost everyone. It owns us. It traps us. And I see it destroy people over and over again. It's wrong. It's illogical. Yet, it persists.

I suppose my character flaw in life is that I want to believe in good, ethics, justice, and hope, even when I realize I'll be swimming up stream all the way. I have my heroes and icons, and I wonder sometimes, "How did they maintain integrity while all around them were those that operate in the opposite way?" 

Humor and joy. They've always been at the epicenter of all I do, but then you get addicted to mortgages, food on the table, familiarity, and the demon that is, "You're older now. How about retirement?"

In the end, it's always been about good relationships with awesome people...my friends, the boys, family. And working with incredible teachers and scholars. They are few, but there are excellent people out there. Role models. Decent human being. I hate the days when you come to the realization that they are anomalies and not norms...the uglier, grosser, indecent kind are more ubiquitous. 

But the system...the quandary of people caught in this system, and the ease it has to destroy us, maintain inequities, ride on unwarranted egos, and drive on power-hungry quests. I don't think I'll ever get it. Nor do I think I ever want to. I have memories of parents, my own included, as they got older in their work and would bring home the bullshit of their jobs. They, like me, only wanted decency. The system, though, uses, abuses, and disregards those that do the work.

So, I return to the importance of humor and joy...what is most important. Then, I ask, "Why be part of something that works so diligently against both?"

Oh, Jessica Early...I hear you. If only there was a National Writing Project University. True. But I'd match that with the beautiful philosophy of the Brown School...both, as locations, that represent all I know that is possible in the Universe. 

If only...If only.

I want to create that space. I'm tired of being underneath the idiocy of stupid practices, dumb decision-making, inhuman priorities for dollar signs and mirages, and spiritual hypocrisy. I've experienced bliss, know joy, and desire optimism. When the systems begins to turn us into their ugly, I have to turn my back to protect what I value most.

The good.