Okay, The Heat has been Buggin' - As Has my New Glow-Bug Given to me by Cynderballz on the Back Porch (Too Bad I'm Not Eating There Until this Passes)

Not much to write this morning, except the Dog Days of June have hit me. I wake up exhausted. I did take Karal for a long walk, but then was wiped out by it. All day long as I tried to keep my pace and mind operating, I kept nodding off, wanting to lie on a mattress and give in for the day. This is what a non-pool summer does to you. 

I keep looking at the weather channel to see if storms are coming and grow disappointed that they're not. Gosh Darn It! They said the storms were coming. Where are they?

Maybe tonight. Let's hope tonight.

And I'm here thinking, "Phew. Crandall, you used to run 7 to 12 miles every night in Kentucky and it was even hotter there."

Um. I was younger...and definitely lighter (says the midlife man trying to figure out how he wore the tuxedo he did all those years at Brown for prom....it doesn't seem possible). 

It seemed I ran into all my running friends today and we were sharing running updates. I had to be honest about my surgery and how I haven't really been able to run since February, after the Run4Refugees event. It's too much pain and too dangerous - the damage is already obvious, and I need to be smart.

But, I also know I'm approaching my midlife crisis and I've been telling myself, "Oh, just train for a 1/2 marathon again. That will be the ticket." But the hernia came back, and walking just doesn't cut it.

I NEED TO RUN TO KEEP MYSELF SANE.

In the meantime, I'm going to go insane. I'm already counting the days to recovery, and that won't be until mid-September. 

Meanwhile, I'm wishing my mom a great operation today and my father some success in the hospital as they continue to figure out what is going on. AND my sisters, I'm sending love and patience. They've needed both as they tend to my parents in upstate New York. It's a lot. 

I Spent a Majority of Yesterday Reading and Making Recommendations for a Scholar in South Sudan. It Feels Good to Be Asked to Help Out

In 2011, when I worked on my dissertation, Alfred Tatum recommended not to go ahistorical. "Know the history, capture the story, share the truth as it can be discovered." A portion of my work included Sudanese youth, and learning as much of Sudan's history was part of the discovery. It helped me to make sense of the world the young men were living in the United States, even if much of that history has gone unrecorded.

Yesterday, Karal was patient as I read a 258-page dissertation exploring the possibility of making southern Sudan a federal constitution nation. The scholar did his homework, drawing on numerous events throughout history to get to the place where his work is situated today. It is extremely complicated scholarship, and I can't pretend to know the vast majority of what was being articulated, but I could learn and ask questions where necessary. I also realized how complicated such a task is, especially when a nation exploited throughout history by Western nations is given the task to figure out a democracy that works best for them.

Thank goodness for the Euro-Cup, as Karal was enthralled by watching the t.v. (enough so that I sent photos to Abu and Lossine to say, "See what you've done to my dog"). It kept her entertained, and gave me the space I needed to read.

The game and editing also kept my mind away from CNY, although that is where it was all day, as my father got sick and had to be brought to St. Joe's for assistance (he waits until I leave to pull such a stunt - he was fine while home, although he possibly ate too many donuts and had too much fun at Chubby's). 

I was seriously honored to be asked to review this scholar's manuscript, and couldn't say, "no," as he was/is a Binghamton alumni, too. Once I found this out, I knew I was in, even if I contemplated the commitment against my other work. 

The world is vast, but small. I figured, if I could help this young man out in the slightest, it was time well-invested. It might even be historical.

Besides, his work got my brain working in numerous ways, especially with how one moves the needle when living in a nation that doesn't have the Western traditions of academia like we do. I learned when I did my part that spending all my time in the library only opened up so many windows. I needed to rely on news reports, oral history, and piecing the puzzle together. It was detective work...dedicated, focuses detective work (with many, many stones to turn over)

Such was the case of his huge endeavor, too. He should be proud, but PHEW! That was a day.

Onward.

Well, That Was the Longest Return Home, Ever. Phew. 17 to 84 Fine, but Then Newburgh All the Way to Connecticut. Was There a Car That Stayed Home Yesterday?

I'm not going to complain too much. The trip is a beautiful ride and I'm a books-on-radio dude, so I am never in a rush. The heat, however, was intense, and the air condition, although on, was of little relief. It was just oppressive. Karal slept. And thankfully, the Hudson is beautiful.

But I was ready to make it home. Sitting in 1 m.p.h. traffic for two hours is not fun at all. It just gives you a headache.

And, the older I get the more I just want to go to bed upon return. The brain is on overload when driving, and then it's over, I just want to sleep. Okay. Not during the day, but still. 

I'm thankful I found a little window of time to get to Syracuse before my summer takes off. It all begins in two weeks and I"m getting ready. I'm looking around my house this morning and thinking, "Oh, boy. Here we go. The summer launch will occur in 3...2...1

Love my family and friends in Central New York and miss then every day, but now it is reality check time and much to do.

I'm safe and sound. I'm home. And it's time to get my $%# in gear.

Two Photos to Capture a CNY Rondezvous in Syracuse Before Heading Back to Connecticut

These trips fly by too fast. Chubby's...event, event, event, Chubbys, event, event, event, Chubby's, etc. Etc. Etc. I am my father's son. It's too predictable and Chubby's is my father's happy place. 

This was his face after walking around the bar and sharing his photograph from 56 years ago when he married my mother. He carried my phone the entire hour there to show all the others that it was his anniversary.

Their reaction, "I hope you're going home to buy you wife a drink." 

Well, that's a great idea.

Yesterday was my last full day in CNY and now I need to head back to Connecticut for the crazy that lies ahead. Karal the wonder dog, as well as Chitunga, will be upset (although we haven't seen Chitunga to much at home, as he has his own people and gatherings to work through).

The heat has picked up and I am ready to head to CT where the temperatures are supposed to be a bit cooler.

The heat is heavy, indeed, and I understand why many would want to have a pool or air conditioner over the next few days (extremely cool). It will be hot.

Tunga is going to play golf an head home, and Karalynne and I are just heading home - we have an agenda we must fulfill by Monday, plus a a number of audio books we want to finish. 

These two photos, however, make me happy because you see happiness and joy in both Dad and Chitunga. CNY smiles and totally authentic. They have their happy places. 

Missing is a photo of Karal, but I've run out of space to post this morning before I take off, but I know the joy would equal the happiness of my dad and kid. All smiles all the way. 

Ah, Syracuse. Always a source of joy, happiness, purity, and family. I always miss you when I'm gone, which (alas) is right now. Safe travels to us as we head back on our ways.

Karal Met the Barnwells & Now Has a Few Extra Tricks Up Her Sleeve, Including the Leaping Snarl Roar (Thanks to Sean-Man)

Karal did another layer of meetings with Syracuse relatives, which included a walk around the block, and private lessons from Sean-Man on how to leap upward like a lion with a very intentional rawwwwwr. Now, I wish I would be able to continue this lesson as she mastered it with him and it was hysterical. All he had to do is lean back and rawr, and she'd leap up and do the same. She looked, of course, more vicious than she actual is. 

Poor Dixie. She wasn't into having a puppy-in-training around, but she did well. 

We also celebrated Mike's birthday (Twin Trees pizza including the twins from Liberia) and are prepping to get ready for Nikki's 25th tomorrow. Phew. Those years flew by...Nikki's now the age where we spent so many years partying with the Amalfi Drive crew. How did that happen?

KC, Queen of the puppy-dog love, also got some Karalynne Cupcake time, figuring out a way to win the heart of the fuzzball, and not to make Dixie too jealous.

Ah, but now it is Saturday again.

Our Syracuse trip is short-lived and there's a million and one things awaiting me in Connecticut. Chitunga made it safely, is staying with friends, and has his own agenda while here (which includes the 1,000 Islands - how can we not be jealous of that?).

The heat is rising, as is the humidity. And this is for Mike, because I missed it yesterday: Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike.

And this is for Nikki, because today is her day. Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki Nikki.

And Happy 56th Wedding Anniversary, Mom & Dad.

Oooooooh. Somebody'sssssss Gonnnnnnnnna GET in Troubbbbbbbbbllllleeeeee. Ooooh

I've adjusted. I have my one spot that has always been my spot where I can set up my office and work from my parents (while looking out the window, being nosey, and making sure I catch all the neighborhood drama. Ah, in recent years, however, my father has taken over the spot. Obviously, as you can see, he puts it to different use. During good moods, he'll let me drink my morning coffee there, but that is getting rarer and rarer. He likes to be nosey, too...and knock on the window...and wave to people.

But yesterday, Karalynne, who my mom is now calling Caroli, did a no-no. She jumped on Mimi's chair and fell asleep...right after dinner...when my mother was eyeing her chair to settle for the night.  Good think Doreen called with a doggie play date out back for Shadow, because it forced both Butch and the dog back up for a while. That got them both up.

I imagine Karal will sleep a good 12 hours tonight. She's been going since 6 a.m. and had many playdates, including meeting cousins Bella and Max (they did very, very well together)

But, Karal was forced to move to another sleeping area for mom's evening routine. She needs her chair and even Butch gets swatted out of that space, no matter how hard he tries to nap there. It's hard to wake a resting dog, but she managed well, and jumped on a pile of pillows on the couch and somehow found herself a way to be comfortable. 4 mile walk and about 4 hours of doggie play-time. I knew she'd love the Syracuse scene. It's a canine paradise (at least in Cherry Heights....when we're not entertaining, there's always dogs on every side of the fence to run with). 

I also did a bang-up job at lunch for Lossine, but he never showed, so my mom, Nikki, and dad got the steak-kabobs. He read the text message wrong and unfortunately Mom had a doctor's appointment to get stitches out...we'll try again tomorrow. 

I am missing swimming pools, however. Syracuse is an icebox in the winter, but people make up for it during the warm months. It just seems odd not to have a pool to float in while reading books. I guess it's something I have to chalk up to younger days. 

TGIF, y'all. Make it the best!

Back Patio Luncheons at the Parental Units on Amalfi Drive Never Gets Old. It's Almost a Ritual, In Fact. The Beauty of Butch and Sue.

When the call came at 8:30 from the surgeon wondering why my mom wasn't at her post-operation, 24-hour check-in, I thought, "Crandall. Welcome home. Here we go"

"Jesus Christ," my mom yells into the phone. "You all said that there was no need to come in, so I didn't come in. Now you want me to come in. By 9. By 9. Are you @#$#@$ serious? I haven't even showered."

I got her there by 9:30, and now she can see red again. "That's a red truck. I see a red truck." The cataract surgery apparently worked and all is well (because I got us Starbucks on the way home). And Butch wanted lunch and was convinced the gray bacon in the refrigerator was still good. I had to convince him it wasn't, and outpaced him by whipping up two roast-beef sandwiches and a ham one for mom.

"You're mother hates roast beef. She won't eat it." (I later learned she likes roast beef but my father overkilled it when he was still driving because it is the only thing he brought home for them to eat). I also packed the plates with fresh fruit I brought from Connecticut. Great lunch, followed by a long walk with the dog (followed by my father on his lawnmower - on his afternoon stroll waving to all the neighbors as if leading the Pageant of Bands). I ran into Karen Perra, was invited in for a beer, and we talked for a while creating a frenzy at home because I wasn't there when Mom woke up from her Days of Our Lives nap and she thought I was dead...or kidnapped...or ran away). 

I was smart. I put chicken in the crockpot and it was rip-roaring in time for dinner. 

That's when the commotion began. The new neighbors were planting a garden with a pair of scissors and some sort of knife. It was fine, until I let my father know. He then, of course, revved up his rota-tiller and went to help. This put mom in a foul mood because he was helping a neighbor. "God #$@# Bryan, That's what he does. He's always helping other people."

"It makes him happy, Mom. Just let it go." She huffed and puffed, steam coming out of ears.

But then he came in and offered every detail of what was going on with the neighbors' lives, what they ate for breakfast, the kind of shampoo they use, who bites their nails and who uses clippers....just the every day stuff people talk about. Mom's like, "Butch, How the @#$@ do you know all this about them?" He said, "I listened. They talked to me."

My dad can't hear anything, so mom says, "How they @#$# did you hear anything they said?" He pointed to his ears..."I put my ears in before I went outside."

His hearing aides.

"Of course you did," Mom fires back, and she was off. I tried to stay out of their argument, until Dad worked for a peace-offering and asked, "Sue. Can I at least get you a bowl of raspberry ice-cream?" I sat there, thinking, "Seriously, Dad. Raspberry? That's what you provide as a peace offering?"

Mom's been chocolate, nothing but chocolate, since the day she was born. And potato chips. Chocolate and potato chips.

Mom was cold-shouldered...not because she keeps the temperature in their home like a refrigerator (hence dad's turtle neck, gloves, and sweater in June. She was just mad. So I interjected. When dad and I went to the store earlier, I got gourmet peanut butter cookies and I know my mom. She likely had Perry's Peanut Butter ice cream in the refrigerator. "Mom, you want me to make you...."

And before I could finished with 'a bowl of peanut butter...", she whips out half a gourmet peanut butter cookie conveniently lying by her side and says, "Here. Use this." 

That's when I started laughing. The predictability hit all my funny bones. They are as they are and as they have always been and always will be. 

Beautiful. 

Well, CNY, I'm Here for the Week. Obviously a 1st Stop with Butch is Tuesday Night Chubby's with His Regulars. All's in Place

"Hey, Butch," a guy says entering the grocery store/pizza joint/candy shop/ice creamery/bar. "We didn't see your lawnmower out front."

"What?" Butch responds. "I can't hear you."

"Where's the lawnmower?" 

"Oh, my son is here, from Connecticut. He drove me."

Then the wallets come out, everyone buys everyone else lottery tickets and shots of tequila, whiskey, and schnapps, darts get played, pool tables get hustled, and hot dogs get boiled.

They don't have enough kitchen help on Tuesdays so the grills are closed. They do, however, boil hot dogs for their most loyal customers.

Chubby's. The Cherry Height's phenomenon that has become a ritual, an expectation, a habit, and a prediction for over 20 years now. They survived Covid, well most of them. Glasses went up for those who weren't so lucky. "Ah, but he was always sick anyways. Sad to see him go, but here's to him." 

And while in Rome (or Utica, or Hamilton, or Sherburne, or Clay), do as they others do.

An IPA and bourbon shots (which I poured over ice and added Root Beer). It should calm down from here. I arrived on a Tuesday, after all, with Mom's best Popeye impression, BLTs, and tortellini soup. Oh, and 50 degree CNY temperatures (a fluke - they're disappearing today)

Not Much of a Post Today - But This Brontosaurus is Eating Up the Streets in Stratford and I Guess That is an Okay Thing

The pavement outside my house is pretty rough. In fact, it's messy. Thank goodness for orange spray paint, because at least we can prepare for sewers jutting out from the ground. I've been mesmerized by the the large machines that literally eat up the pavement that is already there, spitting it up to deposit it dump trucks. 

Yesterday, however, I needed to get a photograph of the dinosaur, as it was parading down the street after chowing on another few miles of pavement.

I couldn't help but think of Star Wars, or how the Jedi landed to planets to learn of prehistoric, primitive routines for everyday work. 

Phew. The grinder, pavement monster is pretty advanced for anything I've seen, but it also seems ancient and silly. I am both amazed by its efficiency, but also appalled that we aren't more progressive (I mean space saucers and laser refurbishments). I can't help but think that some future version of ourselves will think its hysterical that we have this outdated machinery fixing roads for us. 

I think it is cool...efficient even... but given the cinematic nature of our imagination, something like this seems so silly. I guess this is the age we're in.

Even so, I'll take it. I want smooth roads in my neighborhood and look forward to all still to come. 

But for the last few days I've been like Karal...curious by all the noise and inquisitive about what happens next. I watch it go by and I'm mesmerized. There are times I wish I went into engineering so I could create Goliaths like this. The little Tonka truck boy in me wants to play. 

Okay. I'll Take Father's Day. It Reminds Me of What Used-to-Be Everyday on Mt. Pleasant, Except the Meals Go on His Credit Card Now (Bonus)

I know it's corny, but I love knowing when Chitunga is coming home for the weekend. He even asks permission, and I'm like, "Dude. Of course you can stay here." I also know, however that I've already converted his bedroom into a guest bedroom just like my parents did with mine when I moved out (oops). He said, "Wow. It's like staying in a hotel." I'm like, "Of course, it is. Maybe I'll turn your space into a B&B."

Seriously, Saturday was wonderful, but on Father's Day he said, "I'm here to help you with anything you need and I'm also here to take you out to lunch." Karal slept with him and, as expected, he kicked her out of his room at 6 a.m. so he could sleep longer. I got up and let her outside, fed her, read my papers, and prepared for her to fall back to sleep on my shoulders. 

Edem came home at 7, stirring her back awake, but she just licked his ankles and came back to sleep. 

Tunga and I did the Stratford hike (probably 4/4.5 miles) and Karal was exhausted. She needed fresh water but made it. He said, "I'd do that hike again." We came home for a cool-off, I showered, and then we headed out for lunch at Dive Bar in West Haven. We meant to eat at Riptides, but it looked like it was all one and the same and it wasn't until we put our order in that we realized, "Whoops. I think we meant to be eating next door." It was still good. I had a salad and he had a burger that I don't know how one is to eat. 

He ate it, though. 

He had to take it apart first and do it in layers, but he ate it. 

From there, we ventured on an ocean drive to New Haven and back, stopping at Michael and Kathy's so he could see their new digs. He loved it, especially their backyard. 

I love this kid. He is smarter than I'll ever be and has an amazing perspective on the world and what he hopes to accomplish in it. When he's in my space, I am happiest, especially as we begin to transition from parent/kid relationship, into adulthood and shared frustration and friendship. 

I am still laughing that Karal is so obsessed with him. Poor guy can't spend a second of his time on Mt. Pleasant without her at his side driving him nuts. She was good, though, when we stepped aside for the day. I think the walk really did tucker her out. 

Okay. So much for the Father's Day holiday. Back to the grind today to put things into place. Prayers up that it will all get done. 

Kid Came Home for Father's Day and Took Me To Dinner. Better Yet, He Introduced Me to the Pequonnock River Walk Trail in Trumbull. Bonus

The day was productive. World Refugee Day pieces came out, I did yard work, I took everything out of the garage and reassembled, and Tunga came home and said, "Dad, let's go for a hike," so Karal and I got dressed and we were off. I can't believe I've lived here as long as I have and did not know about this trail (which is really a hop, skip, and a jump away). It's beautiful, smooth, shaded, and just the right length of five miles. I'm definitely doing it again (and hoping one day I'll be able to run it - fingers crossed).

We were going to build a fire, but it started pouring and the short shower turned into an all night affair, so we we went to dinner, then came home to watch movies.

Hendrick had a field day with the walk, tearing new territories and reminding me, "Crandall, you're middle-aged, you freak."

Not sure what is in store today, except I want to sleep in past seven if I can. Karal is obsessed with Chitunga, so I've sort of have time off. Update: I was up at 6.

Happy Father's Day, Everyone. I hope you're able to spend it with loved ones and with friends. 

Slim Pickings for Dinner, but I Had Fresh Fruit (While It Is Cheaper than Usual), Yogurt, and Granola, so I Made a Meal Out of It.

Yesterday was definitely a Friday. We had our evening softball game, even made it to the 5th inning (a first), but lost 14-1. There was hope, too. Our first 3 hitters in the fifth all got on base. We were like, "Whoa." Because of Hendrick, I didn't field. I didn't want to risk it. I did hit it, though....a line drive to third making it easy for the 3rd baseman to force the runner, Tunga, out. Oh well.

In the afternoon, I had the pleasure of seeing the Abdi Nor Iftin interview go out for National Writing Project's The Write Time, and proceeded to work on accounting stuff, only to receive away message after away message. I forget that in the summer, almost everyone is away. It makes the work I do even harder. 

Still, I moved to outdoor work: weeding, mowing, cleaning up, thinking. There's only so much I can do for my job if the University side of things aren't available. I have to wait for them to be at work again. 

I also located one of the Sue McV monarchs to a box that K. Silver sent me that had socks with paws and hearts on them. I love both of these gifts so much and I know they are supposed to go together. So that's what they are.

Rumor has it that the humidity returns again today for a few days, and I know we're heading towards July, but I was hoping to keep the June realities a little longer: warm days and cool nights. I prefer open windows to air conditioning.

I was also called by NYCPetRescue to check on Karal, and when I reported everything was wonderful, the lady on the phone acted surprised. I asked her why she seemed shocked and she said, "Karal had two other homes before yours, and a foster. We sent a trainer to the foster home to work with her. She was biting, barking, and growling at everyone."

I'm like, "Huh?" She does get excited to see people, and she has puppy nips, but she's almost an angelic dog. When we visit people, it's good to have a water bottle because she wants to leap on everyone, but on Mt. Pleasant, in my home, she's almost perfect (and I keep knocking on wood). She self-entertains, she can sit in the backyard all day by herself, and when she's tired, she leaps to my shoulders to sleep. 

It's also hilarious to feed her. She loves her meals, but knows to sit away from the bowl until she's given permission to eat. I get it read, shake her paw, and she awaits, "Go," in which she goes at her dish fiendishly. She loves her meals, twice a day (but she's so little). 

Yesterday, they tore up the street getting ready to put down new pavement (it's a cool process actually), and Karal simply watched is as I did, with no commotion, barking, or worry (and it was noisy). She also stayed at Pam's with Jake while the softball games occurred. Again, no incident. 

She's just a good dog...smart...independent...and willing to learn. I got lucky. 

I Have a New Excitement - When @PGR_Books Emails Me and Says, "You're Book Order is In!" Okay, Bring On The Teacher Institute!

Confession. I have Matt de la Peña and Rebecca Marsick to thank for this. While doing professional development in Bridgeport and New Haven with Matt's new book, Milo Imagines the World, he volunteered appearances in schools if he could promote the use of Indie books stores. We used Atticus in New Haven, but soon after Rebecca introduced me to People Get Ready. Knowing summer was coming, I introduced myself to them and said, "How'd you like to order books for CWP-Fairfield's summer programs?"

Delores and Lauren are amazing...the real deal. Passionate about urban education and, more importantly, assuring books are in the hands of all kids. 

The professional books (Gholdy, Kelly, Nicole) are from CWP's library for summer use (I have stock), while the children's and YA books came from the New Haven Book store. 

Their email comes, and I can't wait to get in the car to get a box of goodies. I'm like a little kid. I come home and add the books to the gift-pile for teachers. Thank you for coming to my graduate course. Thanks to the funding from xxx, I'm happy to gift you with a summer of professional learning. These are for you and, coupled with the National Writing Project tradition, I'm sure you're about to have the best summer of your life. Yes. These are for you. You deserve them.

And I also came home yesterday and wrote my first book-spine poem. I've seen a few of these here and there and realized, "Wait. I have a theme for my teachers this summer. What might a poem for them look like?" 

So I drafted. 

Ah, poetry is everywhere. And I can't wait for this summer to kick off! People, Get Ready!

It's High School Graduation Season and, To Be Honest, I Leaked a Little. The Emotions Got to Me. It's Another @_silvergal Story

In one stadium, one day, this one district had over five high school graduations with gowns, parents, balloons left in the parking lot, security checks, Covid masks, massless people, tears, prayers, music, commencement speeches, and recognition: this was a graduating year unlike no other. These kids have lived a wonky high school experience.

And I came as a guest. 

Kathy Silver of the Harding Presidents asked, "Would you be able to come? Navontae wants you there. I'll bring you a ticket." So, on Tuesday afternoon I drove to West Haven, the two of us hiked and talked, and I got my ticket. 

For over a decade I did Brown School graduations (which were unlike anything anyone's ever experienced), and currently participate in commencements at Fairfield University. Being on stage or in robes is sort of the pomp and circumstance of it all. But yesterday I came in alone. I was blow away.

Why? 

Navontae. 

There he is in lime green, smiling, on the first day of CWP summer's Project Citizen. He entered, always keeping his arm around others, smiling, and being exactly who he was always meant to be.

After his infamous freshman year at Harding, Silver called me and asked if I could get this crew of kids from Harding into CWP's summer programs. I found the funding, got the buses, and they arrived. Actually, they changed the lives of many that summer. Navontae, especially. Project Citizen. A program to politically write, debate, and make a difference - two weeks of super-diversity where young adult literature is featured and student voices are celebrated. Long story short, on day 2, Navontae got off the bus and asked me, "Yo. Can we go help xxx?" He was another kid on the program. I didn't know what was going on (didn't want to know), but saw Navontae's concern. And, not checking my own boundaries, I did what I felt was right. I took him to where he wanted to go. He was inside for a while, but returned with the other kid, and it was quiet the entire way back to campus. When we reentered the building Navontae reported, "I'm going to leave the two of you alone to talk...I'm going back to the others," 

Navontae was looking out for his friend, and knew I would do the same. An emotional conversation was had, but then two girls from North Dakota, Lakota Nation, also on scholarship, wanted to join us. They hugged this young man and cried, too. The next two weeks they bonded. Stories understand stories, and this one is not mine to tell. As is the National Writing Project tradition, we just provide the path for them to being scribing their way forward. 

That summer, Navontae's leadership blossomed. I didn't know the trouble he had in school before I met him, or what his academics were like. I just saw his soul. And I promised to do whatever I could to help him achieve what he desired. Time went on. He returned to CWP. He became a leader at Saugatuck StoryFest. He hosted Nic Stone once on ZOOM and once in person at his school. He sang with the incredible music educator Sheena Graham (LOVE HER), and began sharing his poetry at assemblies. I've even used his work during professional development with faculties across the state. 

Silver. 

The pond Goddess where koi come to have souls nurtured. The Yellow to my Stripe. Silver sends this kid my way. Phew. And, well, Silver...he's like us. He's always looking out for the next kid who can 'use a feather or two' (to reference Jason Reynold's graduation speech at Lesley University).

I pulled out my cell phone as I sat, and then opened the program. Sure enough, Navontae was the emcee of ceremonies. He was superb. No wonder he wanted me there. Then, I looked through the awards and see he's received many, including an English Award. An English Award! Finally, see he is singing with two young women as part of the performance. They nailed it. 

It was seeing his name...his successes...his achievements...and his leadership that brought tears to my eyes.

One kid. One recommendation. A crew of many in the summer: Shaun, Dave, Kim (and Nic's books, and Jason's books, and Lamar's books, and Kwame's books, and Rose's books) and Wola! This kid crosses the stage.

Now, I wasn't able to find him at the end (nor give him the gift I had for him), but I started to think of all the millions and millions of stories that must run through the minds of teachers, administrators, friends, family, and guests as they attend such a ceremony. There are so many journeys and trails to such a moment and the reality is that not all make it to that point...the United States continues to have a high drop out rate.

Ah, but Navontae made it...he spread his wings and showed everyone exactly who he is. Pride seems to be an understatement. And now I hope he'll join the rest of us out here looking for the next kid worth mentoring...we can never have enough mentors for youth. 

That's the village it takes. Ubuntu.

Congratulations Class of 2021 (and the people like Sheena Graham, Dane Brown, and Kathy Silver who invested so much into them). 

Phew. This is what it's all about. Them.

Between Puppy Dogs and Summer Obligations I Can Tell You, "Hendrick is Real. We Will Work on in Him in August." The Recovery will Happen

I knew 6 years ago I was screwed when my surgeon said, "You have miraculously thin membranes, sir, and when I fix this, I can tell you, I'll be back."

When I pulled down my pants yesterday she said, "JESUS," and I assured her, "I've never heard anyone react that way before." 

Truth. Henry the Hernia is now Hendrik. Apparently there was a twin brother. I named him Hendrik after the chapel on Syracuse University's campus. "Jesus Crandall, it's a grapefruit."

I know. I thought Henry was gone.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my hernia is back and there's gonna be some trouble, quadrupled in sized, and needs immediately attention. (But, Doc. I shaved for you. That counts doesn't it?).

I knew from 5K races, moving stuff around my house, teaching, and general daily routines that something wasn't right. I went to visit my surgeon and she said, "I'm so sorry. I don't have repeat customers, but I need to do a repeat procedural on you. And I need to operate from outside and also from within (which means your belly button)".

Henry is now Hendrick and the schedule in August 9th. My hernia needs to be stitched back, patched, and retained. It's a watermelon of a disaster (so how does one fit Moby the Dick the Whale through the eye of a needle?)(Welcome to hernia surgery). 

I love my doctor. I trust her. And I'm ready to be out of pain. She gave me the summer off, told me to kayak, walk, and play moderate softball...I can hit. run to first, but call for a runner. I shouldn't dance or enjoy life, and I'll need someone to walk Karalynn after the surgery. August is a bust. I will be in a chair.

Ah, but if the bulge is fixed and I am feeling somewhat better, it is all worth it. Phew. Short post, but therapeutic. I'm sure Hendrick will have more posts about him. 

Okay, Dad. I Do Settle. And When I Do I Need to Be Behind You Cuddled in a Pile of Pillows So I Can Re-Energize and Let You Work

The ritual is easy to document now. At 5 a.m., the sunlight comes through the curtains and hits my eyes. I try not to roll over too harshly, as it will awake Karal in anticipation of morning Iams. She loves her breakfast. Usually, she's good for an hour, but then she's nibbling my nose or bouncing on my legs to get up to feed her. We begin with going outside, then she enters the house with tremendous enthusiasm. She scoffs down the food, then heads to her toys.

She usually gives me an hour of coffee, but then she leaps back on my shoulders so she can sleep for a couple more hours. This is rough, because if I move, she's up again, and I really need the two hour of morning productivity.

She then wakes up, gets all of her toys, and self-entertains until about 3 p.m., in which she comes looking for me to take her for a walk. We go for an hour or hour and a half, and then she's anxious for her dinner. The evening meal, however, gives her abundant energy, and we spring around the house, up and down the stairs, and all over the backyard. Last night, I trimmed several of the bushes in the backyard, which became a game of grab the trimmings and fly around the yard. The energy is pretty amazing and it doesn't stop. Then, as I was picking up all the trimmings, a game of running under the patio to get dirty became a thrill. So, I promised her the first bath.

To be honest, she watches me shower every morning. She pushes the curtain back and stares, occasionally getting toys to launch into the tub. I knew it wouldn't be a difficult time bathing her. She wanted to play with the water, and seemed to have more trouble with me drying her off than shampooing her. Yes, this made her even more hyper so we ran around for another two hours. 

Then, about 9 p.m. she leaped to her spot again, hovering over my shoulders, paws warmed by my back, with short puppy breaths thrownon my arm. She is content. She sleeps. She rests. And she's pretty much done for the day, with an occasional noise to stir her hear and there.

I will say, though, yesterday was the first time that she seemed to be really annoyed by the computer and cell phone. She really did all in her power to keep me from paying attention to my work so I could focus on her frog, or her alligator, or her bone, or her ball. So far, she has not brought me anything that doesn't belong to her. 

She was, however, fascinated by house-flies and she got them. She also was curious of me cutting my toenails...not for the clippings, but to lick each and every toe as I finished. 

And she continues to refuse to use lawns to do her business, one or two, except our own. I've never known a dog to do this, but she holds it the entire walk and then let's go upon return. This is new, as I've grown used to doggie bags and neighborhood public trashcans, never having to pick up out back, with Glamis. Nope. It's all landmines out there now.

But I appreciate the calm when she zonks out....it's like she's a guardian angel. 

Packed Books, Packed Chairs, Packed Margaritas, and Packed Snacks for the Beach. Promised, Absolutely NO ZOOM for a Day. Succeeded!

When I awoke at 6 a.m., looked at the weather report, and didn't see any rain, I reached out to see who wanted to do a day at the beach. I seriously wanted only to read and look at the water, and others came, so the day turned into conversation and laughter (and lots of sun, although the clouds came in and interrupted part of the day, which is probably good, because I don't need more sun). 

Karal stayed with Jake and they did well, although there was tension over times I played with Karal and Jake got jealous. The alligator toy is Karal's and he seemed confused by why I took it down from the fridge to wrestle with her. It's all good. They walked well together, and didn't eat any couches or anything while we were at the beach.

There wasn't as many people on the shoreline as I thought there'd be, and although I packed four books to read, I didn't even open up one. Yikes. I was all excited, too, because it was the first time I used Rose Brock's Hope Dealer beach bag to carry them with me. I'm definitely heading back. I feel I cheated myself by not lounging in a chair and reading all day, which was my goal. I can get through 3 or 4 books on the beach when I'm focused, and I was definitely not focused yesterday....as there were chips, mango salsa, and guacamole to taste....and wonderful company to keep.

Alas, it's another Monday, and I need to get back at the guessing game of my job, trying to find out how to use Workday and learn who is helpful and will assist. I had a lot of luck on campus last Thursday and Friday. I don't have much faith that such luck will continue. But these grants needs to be paid. Teachers need to be paid. Contracts need to be processed.

But the beach, the sun, and the skyline....that will never get old. I can do that every day. I truly need a distraction after the 3-days of UNLV YA LIT Zooming....It was a stupendous time, but so is looking tranquilly at water.

Because Young Adult Books Matter to our Writers. Thank You #YASummit21 @SarahJDonovan9 @sbickmore55 & @GHRumohr

I'm coming off a 3-day high from the UNLV 2021 Online Summit on the Research and Teaching of YA Literature: Amplifying and Affirming Joy and Humanity in Readers' Hearts and Minds. It is a gathering of educators, writers, scholars, and literacy activists which never fails. I am a better man because of this tradition and there aren't enough accolades to sing for Drs. Sarah J. Donovan, Steve Bickmore, and Gretchen Rumohr. Each and every presenter, all the keynotes, the conversations, and the reunion of so many people I love returned a pep in my step before the teacher institutes and young adult literacy labs of July. In 2014, I ventured to meet Steve for the 1st time and ever since, his June vision has provide the purpose and drive I need!

I know that Steve is also a leaker and loves telling stories of his students, the reformations through young adult literature, and the power of a good book (that always when the tears arrive). It seemed fitting, then, that I received a message from a young man during Ellen Hopkin's address at yesterday's conference - one that came from a young man who attended CWP-Fairfield's Project Citizen two years in a row. With us, he read Matt de la Peña's Superman, Rose Brock's Hope Nation, Jason Reynold's Long Way Down, Ellen Oh's Flying Lessons & Other Stories, Lamar Giles' Fresh Ink,  and Nic Stone's Dear Martin. He texted me,

Hey Bryan, I’ve finally figured out what I want to do, and that is to shoot for the Air Force Academy. After I graduated, I felt lost and didn’t know what to do with my life. But, thinking back to the time I spent with you guys at Fairfield U, I remembered to be set on higher education. I’d like to thank you for not only your mentorship but also all that you’ve done for me outside of that. The open discussions we had, the comfortable environment, and the Saugatuck Storyfest events, where I was introduced to people who had reached success in their lives, allowed me to see that there is a path for me to be truly successful if I’m willing to work hard for it. The Writing Project is part of the reason why I’ve chosen this path to serve our country and why I’m determined to go after my dreams. I hope you’re doing well, D-.

Now, here's a kid who came to us on scholarship after his teacher said, "You need to see what this kid can do with words." He was on the peripheral of how his school 'recognized' students and I remember vividly his discussion about the ways he was positioned as can't-do and lazy. He knew what was up, but the school curriculum made him feel there was no purpose (or reason) for him to achieve. In our programs, he was a rock star. He wrote voraciously, and schooled many in his careful, intellectual, and brilliant way. It was young adult literature, good conversations, and an open writer's notebook that initiated a wanderlust of ideas for him. 

Ah....a great way to end the conference, with a note from a kid.

After, I picked up Chitunga, now 25, and began reflecting on his reading trajectory, the collection of YA literature he's always kept by his bed (a super fan of Matt de la Peña and Walter Mosley) and how books have always been life-changing for him. He went the numerical route, of course, works for a big 4 company, and has his digs of his own, but I realize it is (and was) great books that guided his path. "I'm not into you humanities people," he once told me, but I know he's a reader and am thankful he's always piecing his life together through narrative, story-telling, and memory.

I cannot thank the organizers of the UNLV Summit enough for the labor, stress, hard work, and passion they put into the program. I know the authors and presenters often get the accolades, but I'm a behind-the-scenes-kind-of guy and recognize the brilliance it takes to pull off an event like they did.

The text from our Project Citizen student, followed by a hike with Chitunga (& Karalynn Karma Cupcake) brought everything into perspective. This is what the work is really about....helping young people to cultivate their own paths.

Thank you authors and presenters for engaging my thinking for 3 days. You've provided incredible fuel.

Here's to getting outside and enjoying a hike with the people (& pets) you love most. 

Here's to the gigantic cyber-hug I'm leaving Steve, Gretchen, and Sarah.

Out of Nowhere (well it was planned), Maria Padian, author of OUT OF NOWHERE, was a guest at the UNLV YA Lit Summit (so Happy)

I was still doing coursework when Maria Padian's Out of Nowhere YA Novel was published and, at the time, it was one of the few books written that had a theme of refugee youth. It balanced nice with Mary Pipher's book, The Middle of Everywhere, in which she documented the increase of refugee location to new, urban settings across the United States - movement beyond the major cities. As a result, Syracuse, New York and Portland, Maine, began to see numbers arriving, including families from Somalia. 

What I loved about the book, however, was that she featured a White male high school student who, as a result of punishment, has to do community service where he ends up learning more about and working with Somali families. He grows close to one young woman, which is good for his education, but then causes turbulence for her and her Muslim culture. It was a well-researched book, well-plotted, and interesting. I read it and passed it on to all the boys.

That's why it seemed out-of-nowhere yesterday that she was in the house. I looked at the conference schedule but missed that she was a featured keynote. It's been on my bucket list to meet her and thank her, so yesterday provided the opportunity. She was a wonderful speaker, and I hope to type up her talk for my own research purposes once they are posted after the conference. 

The day was long...beginning at 11 a.m. EST and ending about 11 p.m. EST (the result of meeting Steve Bickmore's doctoral student Morgan Jackson and bonding over race, YA texts, teaching, and higher education - the passion was contagious and we talked books late into the night).

Wola...today is day three and I need to get groceries and walk Karal before it begins again. She was wonderful yesterday at I was on for the majority of the day and she seemed to respect that she should self-entertain. She badly wanted to jump in my lap, throw ball, and go do something, but she seemed to know it was unlikely to happen. 

And these temperatures? Bring me Canadian air any day. This is the June weather I love, even when it is supposed to be overcast and rainy all day. 

Trying Something New Today with @bookdealerSusan at the #YASummit2021 - Using Padlet to Highlight a Year of Padletting and Building Writers with YA Literature

My twin is much better looking than me. 

We're fraternal, too, and she entered a few years ahead with red fire in her locks and freckles on her skin. 

Truth be told, we met and bonded 7 years ago today when Steve Bickmore was at LSU, before he moved to UNLV. It was then I said or did something that made Susan laugh, or I said something about her carrot-top hair (I get that from my father) and the rest is history.  She's been stalking me ever since. 

Actually, there'd be no sanity in my life if I didn't have Susan. And I have lots of Sues...my mom, my Louisville mentor-for-life, my aunt...It's like a collection of Susans. I planted black-eyed ones in my garden, too.

Last summer when I jumped headfirst into The Write Time, Susan shared with me the Padlet she created as an advanced institute for her Emerald Coast Writing Project people. I was like, "How'd you do that? Teach me." She did. "It's easy-peasy." Well, I followed her advanced institute with a national park collaboration, several courses, professional development in schools, and youth workshops. Susan did the same. With our love for YA writers and prompting youth, we decided to look at our year's worth of Padlets and to collect data - to name the phenomenon.

We only have a portion of time to speak, and each of our links leads to a year's worth of Covid-Work, but we're hoping it will provide a template for others to imagine the use of digital tools to offer amazing opportunities for teacher and youth audiences. The best part of it is that it is a moving file cabinet....it feels like you're able to curate materials for a museum and instruct from there. I love it (the visual monster in me has found a Utopia)

AND, the two of us will feature over 20 YA books that we've used in our programs to initiate awesome writing. 

Ah, I wish I could write the whole thing here, but you have to sign up for the summit to hear more. Or you can call me. The other humorous thing is that while I am presenting on Padlet, I have 300 teachers looking at another Padlet in a PD I created while I couldn't be there. It's a timeline collage of what is possible in digital spaces (Yes, we can be in two places at once).

I'm a convert. I no longer see a need for regional hierarchies created by higher education. We can curate what is possible for teachers beyond the way they own us and, perhaps, begin revolutionizing and redesigning learning so that it is no longer be about their profits on our backs.

We shall see.

Okay, it's not that exciting, but it is a commercial for what is possible. And I love working with Susan.

That's the post. Time to get a Bickmore, Donnovan, Rumohr fix.

Did Massive Cleaning in the Office Yesterday, as Both Mine and CWP's Became Storage Areas for the Whims and Fancy of Many

I've been going back and forth for the past year and a half, checking mail, the phone, and being sure materials were available to my on-campus students. Every time I went in, however, I fretted the return. Before Covid, we had to exit out of Canisius for the summer and pack all our materials. That came back the Fall before Covid, but I never finished that unpacking. Then, last summer, they did work on Donarumma (ding dong) where the CWP Office is and I had to do it all over again. I believe the office space, which is the closet by the elevator, is really the way they run all wires and networking material, because it was in high use the entire year (to the point that the door was often left, walkie talkies left behind, and many diagrams and blueprints, spread across my desk). Still good...the missing printer showed up.

When you're a classroom teacher, you fall in love with your room and make it your space as much as you can, only to learn every summer that the space belongs to the school and you need to empty it out, because although you exist, you don't really exist. They'll replace you in a heartbeat. The room is yours by theory, and theory alone. Poof. Theoretically, it's not yours.

The same is true of office spaces. There's a mini-ritual when they welcome you and invite you to be part fo the campus space, but they're always hunting for the space to lure in another person. You can make it your own, but they will make it their own when they want to. Drool floods the hallways as limited space is desired to be more attractive for the pursuits of others.

Still, knowing this summer remains bizarre like the last, I needed to clear out my office to get ready for another teacher institute, albeit it online (and in local high schools and libraries gracious enough to give us space). We need to meet face-to-face...it's the right thing to do. I mean, although higher education was remote and distant (and might even be next year), K-12 teachers have been on the frontlines all along. I'm treating teachers with dignity and respect. 

And I'm restoring hope. 25 years of K-12 public school teaching (and I include my work in higher education, because the best work happens in school and I continue to be in them as much as possible), and I know HOPE is the answer, always. Hope and love, which by the way is restored for the next few days because I'm working with Susie Q from Pensacola at the UNLV Young Adult Literature conference. Woot Woot.

I laughed when I cleaned off my desk and found 3 HOPE cards and stands. 

That works. When all around us we witness hopelessness, find the way to bring a shine or feather to someone nearby. Collect the givers around the world. They'll help you to witness quickly the selfish majority. All grasshoppers...so few ants in the real world. 

Celebrating on the Saugatuck...Didn't Get Everyone, but It Captures the Committee Members from the Last Year That I Lived with Online

I will go to my grave saying this with my hand over my heart, "Serving on Rank & Tenure is humbling, hard, full of integrity, rewarding, and eye-opening. It's made me grayer, yes, but also a better human being. It is the best service I've done as a member of the higher education community."

And that's all I want to say about that. 

My 3rd year comes this Fall, and my 3-year term will be complete in 2022. Phew. I ended up on the committee because GSEAP needed a member, and no one, I mean NO ONE, would do it. As Faculty Chair, it was my job to recruit. I tried. I lost. I sacrificed myself when I couldn't find anyone. And I'm glad I did. Serving on the committee is a great window into the excellence and integrity of other departments on campus. It is amazing to see what so many others do, accomplish, offer, and share. It keeps me honest. 

We ate at Arezzo's on the Saugatuck River in Westport, all vaccinated, and the first time face-to-face without a screen in front of us and piles of papers to our side. It was mostly Italian, but we all go seafood and, to be honest, the best part was the lemon sorbet at the end. It was super hot and humid, even with a breeze and umbrellas on the water. I love how a couple of days of heat turned into a week...every time you look at the Weather, the wave seems to extend. We're 20 degrees over normal June temperatures. 

I also ran to New Haven to pick up more books for the summer teacher institute. It's weeks away and I'm getting anxious about having a fantastic time (albeit it online...which I really wish it wasn't). 

The Joseph Bruchac show aired, and today is one for haircuts, planning, and opening the UNLV Research and Teaching Young Adult Literature Summit. I'm looking forward to meeting new people, and working with authors I've yet to high-five with. 

And I had the sea bass. It was alright...but sometimes I think restaurants charge crazy lunch prices simply because of where they are and what they claim to stand for. It tasted like fish with potato wedgies. Nothing fancy. A light lunch. 

But that lemon ice sorbet. Boom. I would have been fine with six or seven of those. So refreshing.

And If I Ever Wonder Why the Carrot Cake is at the Door Waiting in Anticipation, It's Likely Because She Associates My Departure with Arrival of New Toys

She has me up at 5:30. She just wants to pee, then to eat, then she wants to nap on my shoulders as I type. The same think happens from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m., too. When she's out of energy, she simply wants me to be her bed. Granted, I also took down the twin bed that was up for Dylan's short visit, and that also became a go-to place for her relaxation. The whole house, but the need to be on top of me.

I came home from buying a few items for Chitunga's apartment, and found a pet alligator I knew she was going to love (and she does, but she left it at Jake's on their play date). So much for that entertainment tonight.

I have two events today, then the UNLV Young Adult Literature Conference kicks off until Saturday night. It's non-stop from that point forward (and I'll likely be out of leftovers by the time it kicks off, which is a shame). 

And yes, the temperatures remain crazy. It was super hot, and I didn't feel comfortable taking Karal the entire way...not without any water to rehydrate. The peas soup was thick.

Finally, I brought my home office upstairs to Chitunga's room, so now it is an office and guest bedroom. My once-upon-a-time dining room, which turned into an office, is now a nothing room, as Tunga took the dining room table to his Stamford abode. I have to think creatively on how to reimagine that space. We rarely used it as a dining room, anyway, except to do puzzles and for holiday dinners. Now it is the dog's storage area and play arena, although she'd much rather have all of her toys on top of me. 

Okay, Tuesday...we're off...

Spent 8 Hours Yesterday Re-reading Abdi Nor Iftin's CALL ME AMERICAN, a Somali-American Memoir That is Engaging, Harsh, & Telling

In 2018, I read Call Me American by Abdi Nor Iftin, and thought to myself, "I wish this was written at the time of my dissertation." Then, piecing together history to help explain how so many Somali-Americans were arriving through refugee services was limited. There were only so many books published, and I remember Eastern African scholars in African Studies challenging me when I began writing about Bantu people coming to Syracuse. "They don't live there...you need to check your sources...I've never heard of this population." Long story short, little was known because little was written, and all written came from Western viewpoints. I simply listened to Ali, Abdi, and Omar and from what they told me, I tried to piece together the story, one article, one publication, and one inquiry at a time.

I did spend a lot of this period reflecting on 1990-1994 while doing the research, simply because at the height of the Somali wars, when the United States stepped in, I was an undergraduate college student first studying with Carol Boyce Davies in London and realizing how little of the world my own schooling offered me. Here I was, 19 studying in a Black British Experience abroad program while also learning more about Shakespeare. I was clueless about the world that, then a child, Abdi Nor Iftin was living. It is beyond imagination. As we were pub-hopping, touring, eating samosas, and attending more London theater than what should be humanly possible, mothers and children were living in rubble, starving, dodging bullets, stepping over dead bodies, and surviving in absolute fear. 

That hits homes. I was budding into an intellectual work on a 'living abroad' program, which others didn't have a place to call home. There, the two words present themselves.

This month, I've been working with Abdi on a collaborative piece, as well as preparing for his appearance on The Write Time. As I read his memoir yesterday, I was taking notes to the fill-in gaps of the puzzle that I wasn't able to figure out in 2009-2011 when I was living in the library. His narrative does a beautiful job of blending story together with the details of Somalia, colonized heavily by the British, Italians, Yemeni, Russia, and even China. The U.S. in its policing of the world stepped in when the Humanitarian crisis became unbearable. 

Integrated Refugee and Immigrant Services (IRIS) of Bridgeport would love to get Abdi Nor Iftin to visit Connecticut this upcoming year and I promised them I'd do anything I could do to help. I've read numerous refugee-background immigrant stories, but this one is extra hitting, probably because Chitunga and I watched every U.S. marines movie about that period of time, simply when he wanted to enlist. The movies were educational, but Hollywood all the way. Abdi's memoir fills in more culture, history, tradition, and norms from the perspective of a child building meaning from that time. It's hard to type that it is unbelievable, but the story truly is unbelievable. 

If I was in charge of curriculum in the Western world, I'd make this memoir required reading for every graduating senior. To know there, is to know here. 

I can't wait to host Abdi Nor Iftin on The Write Time and want to meet him in person, too. Who knows? Maybe he'll be my reason to finally visit Maine. 

Smashed 'em, But Wasn't Baked. Last Night Was a Tequila Fest on Mt. Pleasant with Colleagues and Friends. Badminton, Too

Because it was sunny. Because it was going to be 90 degrees. Because several of us have been meaning to get together. And Because I needed a distraction from the computer for 24-hours, I hosted a BBQ. The hit of the day? The fact that I didn't have ingredients for potato salad, so tried smashed baked potatoes, instead. 

So simple. Boil for 15. Cookie tray. Smash them. Decorate with seasoning. Bake for 25. Every bite was a potato punch. Crispy edges, with powerful flavor in the middle. I'm definitely doing them again. I used tomato pesto, thyme, dill, and olive oil. Perfection.

Murphy's law states that you'll always run out of gas on the grill when hosting several people, and that was true, indeed. Thanks to Chitunga for coming to the rescue as usual, as I sent him off to the store for another tank (and Dave to his house for another bottle of tequila - the Mt. Pleasants were extra-delicious, I believe, because of the hot temperatures. We all needed refreshment.

I imagine Karalynn will sleep all day as she never got a chance to stop playing and running around yesterday. She's in with Chitunga, as I don't exist when he pulls in the driveway and spends time home.

Today marks another perfect day, and I believe I get Jake for the day - it's a bridal shower for Stephanie, on Pam's side of the family. She doesn't want to leave him in her condo all day. I can't blame her.

The best news? My fridge is stocked with food for another day! I think I should call Leo and let him know the vegetable binge is on. He and Bev are having their kitchen renovated and he's without his normal eating routines. I imagine Bev will be going to the shower. 

Okay. Time for another cup of coffee. 

I need to read today, too. 

Sliding Into Saturday Morning with a Little Humor. Dan Posted a Photo and I Adapted a Little to Represent a More Likely Image

The humidity has arrived, just in time for two 90-degree weekend days, and just when I finally was able to turn the heat off, because Mike, the brother-in-law was cold. It's muggy. We had a game last night, although all of us did a rain dance to see it canceled, but the lightening went north and south, so we had to play in the drizzle. 19-1. We looked good, though. We played well in another loss.  

I'm not sure where this image was taken, but do know it didn't include Beth nor Mikey, but I had to add them to what Dan posted, because if he is going to be Hercules, he might as well represent the whole team. I needed the Friday afternoon humor, as this week was a whirlwind to finish projects and I wanted to laugh a little before I transition to next steps.

And I will mow the lawn today - it needs it. I also might have a spontaneous BBQ picnic just because I should.

I'm already sweating. I see temperatures are dropping later in the week, but for now we'll enjoy a little July in June. I'm stuck to my keyboard, chair, eyeglasses, shirt, and shorts.

But look at the strength Dan is exhibiting. Not only is he pushing up rock and steel with tremendous balance, he's also uplifting the incredible Beth Boquet, of Writing Center prestige, and their pupperdoodle, Mike. It's a classic re-envisioning and perhaps my best photo-shopping yet.

For now, however, I need a towel. It's pea soup already.

Today, a Friday, I Am Beginning with an Ending (Last Night, a Thursday), Simply Because I Need to Channel Calm in the Chaos

The best celebration I can offer is that at least I'm not teaching at this second, and there's space to do the work that needs to be done. With that said, the marathon of summer has begun and I'm trying to complete tasks so I have the mind-space to establish and begin new, more important ones. My right hand companion, Karal, is tired of me on the computer and comes to rest over my shoulder.

She sees it and it exhausts her, too. 

It is, however, easier with her reminders to stop the work from time to time.

I guess right now it is an investment in all still to come. If the t's aren't dotted and the i's not crossed, then everything to follow will be disastrous.

Okay, I'm sipping my coffee, making my lists, praying that the people I need to respond to emails and answer my questions (two weeks out) will actually clock in and respond to them. Most individuals at the University shut down in May and we don't hear from them until August, but that is not the way my job rolls.  Summer is the bonanza , and those who are on campus are working...chasing...dreaming at worlds they hope to take off to be successful. So, they're distracted.

I did set up a visit with the hernia specialist. I know there's going to be another surgery. I just have to figure out how to fit it in with a schedule that is crazy. 

And all I want to do is sit in my kayak after paddling a while, so I can look at the skyline and veg away from all the stress of land. 

It will come. It will come. It must come.

Dull post. I'm holding my breath in exhaustion.

Writing Across America with @chippewariverwp and @writingproject - a Day Late, But Best Intentions

Phew. There are days that seem impossible with 5 to 6 commitments all scheduled for the same exact time. Even so, I was able to attend the first half of the Chippewa River Writing Project's Write Across America conversation about Michigan, local landmarks, Native-American lands and local sites (On Tuesday, that is). They did a phenomenal job providing numerous prompts and I was lucky to be in a breakout room with fabulous people, including the one and only Dr. Troy Hicks. 

I didn't know where my head was going with the writing, but after seeing my brother-in-law and nephew depart their short stay, and seeing the bed arrangement I had for Dylan, I took a photograph of the patterns. When the call was to write about a landmark, I thought about a temporary house-mark and wrote about it. 

I'm fortunate to be in Stratford (like the one upon Avon in England), but in Connecticut along the Long Island Sound. I was drawn to this area for ecological sanity and I realized my bedspread and pillows sort of captured many of the reasons why I chose this location. 

So, I wrote about that. 

There's a lot of moving parts to my week (heck, the whole summer), but I am thankful to the National Writing Project family for always inspiring me to stop and capture a few words for each day. For a few short moments I was Landmarked & Coasting. 

Okay, calendar, now back to the grind. Any moment spent writing and being creative is a moment I much, much prefer. But back to the academic and administrative sides of things for a day. 

Too Much to Say for One Blog Post, So I'll Share the Words Said Last Night. Thank You, @detramichelle @anterobot @ncte

In the spring of 2020, amidst the unknown of what was still to come, NCTE, Antero Garcia, and Detra Price-Dennis kicked off weekly member gatherings to keep the conversations, questions, curiosities, and wonders going. I wasn't able to attend all 51 gatherings, but did attend quite a few and loved every single one of them. At the end of last night's show, there was an opportunity to thank them both for their leadership, so I offered a few words.

Thank you, Ashley Sisk, for the invitation to say a few things.

Funny thing is, I’m going to be 50 this year, and I don’t think Detra or Antero knew when they set out with this past year’s NCTE member gatherings that they were going to host an event for every year I’ve been alive! I really appreciate that, especially as I enter my mid-life phase....or crisis. That is yet to be determined.

Truth be told, NCTE and the National Writing Project have been my hope and faith ever since I became a teacher. It's a religion I trust. As the chaos ebbs and flows in the profession, I’ve always looked out to colleagues and teacher leaders who were making a difference and who invite me to think alongside them. Detra’s been family ever since my doctoral days of working with Marcelle Haddix and Writing Our Lives events and Antero has been a hero (not Anti-hero) ever since he offered his first pun and I witnessed his incredible hair. Now, with twins, he's licensed to be the master of dad jokes. His humor will continue to guide me and his brilliance, like Detra's, will be the drumbeat in the back of my head as I drumbeat forward in my own parade. 

I just left the NCTEAR conference in Nashville and was doing work at the North Texas Teen Book Festival, when I realized everything was about to change quickly. I don’t know about others on this call, but I knew that my survival during a year of Covid depended on maintaining my communities, because community, to me, is central to anything I achieve. That’s what years of classroom teaching, work with immigrant and refugee youth, and collaboration with administrations and teachers have taught me. I am unable to succeed without a community to be part of. As an individual, any outcome that arrives my way only results because of the memberships I have with like-minded sojourners like me.

It’s fitting, that Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz is also featured again tonight, because besides community, the second thing I need for survival is LOVE. Love fuels literacy, and literacy fuels everything I love. Her collaboration with Detra on Advancing Racial Literacies in Teacher Education has been a most-anticipated publication, especially for those of us who desire activism both in and beyond digital spaces.  There's no wonder that it quickly has become a #1 book for educators across the country, even at its fledgling stage of just hatching into the world.

For the last year, Detra and Antero have offered all of us a location to stay sane. As more and more gatherings were announced, I knew it was going to be an opportunity to see ol’ friends, and also to make new ones. The first time I signed on and saw Emily Kirkpatrick’s radiant smile and wonderful red hair beaming in front of the NCTE neon green, I realized the SHINE was still on.  We were going to be just fine. 

And that is what we are.

This week I’ve been working with actor and writer Ger Duany and author Abdi Nor Iftin on June 20th events for World Refugee Day. In one of the pieces we’ve been writing I made reference to the work of cultivating geniuses in the tradition of Gholdy Muhammad and promoting critical civic empathy as Nicole Mirra has written. Reflecting on the NCTE Member Gatherings over the last year, I realize THIS IS what Antero and Detra have stood for as well. The leadership, the intelligence, the passion, and the willingness to host so many great minds in dialogue of the profession are extremely appreciated.

So, I thank you. You’ve raised the bar extremely high for all of us. Yes, we have so much more to do (and I can’t wait for everything still to come), but these words are my finger-snaps, party favors, and tip-of-the-glass to you both.

I am, because of you both, and I am thankful. Here's to the year you brought our way!

And I also made them a card: https://www.jibjab.com/view/make/what-does-the-fox-say-ylvis-starring-you-ecard/a5a4b5c7-6897-4df6-bc58-92fb85812e22