Glove Me Tender, Glove Me Sweet. All We Need is Glove, Glove is All We Need

I've had a productive couple of days, exercise-wise, with goals I've set to exit the gym and enter the roads and sidewalks once again. The days are back to full-swing semester-life, and I know that one thing I've lost in priorities is time to move and physically take care of me. On Monday, I was so productive that not only did I run 4 miles, but I also walked Glamis 3.

The trouble was that while walking - and while a dog does what a dog does on walks - I had to stop to pick up her doggie-doings and accidentally lost one of my gloves. I couldn't find it anywhere because it was too dark. I guessed it fell out of my pocket.

When I got home, the loss of the glove was troublesome. It's winter, so that means most stores have moved to swim trunks and tank tops. With snow in the forecast, I thought, "Crap. How am I going to shovel without both gloves?"

Well, on yesterday's run, after a fresh snowfall, I saw a black, fingered creature peaking out of the light snow that fell overnight. It was my glove. It was about a mile from my house. It bloomed in the glistening sunlight.

Sh'Zaam! Re-discovered and it feels so good.

And I, eeee, I, eeee, I, will always Glove you.

Seriously.

I hate when I lose things: keys, walles, glasses, papers, and books. That glove, though. Not a happy camper.

On a morning where I don't know if I'm coming or going, I'm simply thrilled to report that sometimes luck happens. There's not much good in our world these days, especially in a divided country, but I'm strutting with more pep in my step because of this find.

Gloooovvvve. Something exciting and new. Come Aboard. We've been expecting you. The GLOVE boat.....

A Bumper Sticker Poem (with thanks to @FletcherRalph (Crafted with my Undergrads)

This is the first time I'm teaching a 'teaching writing' course when I'm not using A Writer's Notebook; Unlocking the Writer Within You. I took a risk, knowing I've used Ralph Fletcher's seminal text to introduce writers' notebooks in undergraduate and graduate courses since I entered higher education. In recent years, too, I've had a farfetched vision to work with Ralph Fletcher - one of my writing teacher/teaching writer heroes - to compose a companion text, A Digital Writer's Notebook: Unlocking the Digital Writer Within. This might be a cool collaboration that taps the genius of Troy Hicks, too).

This semester, however, I traded the book I traditionally assign on the first day of class for his 2017 publication, Joy Write: Cultivating High-Impact, Low-Stakes Writing. It is a timely book, much needed, and a perfect addition to the course and the objectives I have.

Last week in class, we did a quick whirl-around activity where everyone was handed card-stock to simulate a bumper sticker. I asked them, as Fletcher prompted after an invitation from a young man, "What would your bumper sticker be?"

It was a team-building, community growing activity.

Within a few minutes, a collection of nice, concise, and precise mottos were invented by each student for our imaginary collaborative vehicle that we will use to travel throughout the semester. I couldn't help but hear the rhythm in their bumper stickers, so drafted a poem in my notebook for us to 'fly' with this semester. We're reading Ellen Oh's Flying Lessons & Other Stories from #WeNeedDiverseBooks, as well, and learning from phenomenal writers of YA stories. 

Here's the seed planted in my writer's notebook, pruned a little to bloom. It's a found poem of sorts, inspired by the wisdom of my sensational 17 students (and the opening chapters of Ralph Fletcher's book). Wola! Their bumper sticker mottos are in bold:

Bumper Stickers for Fledgling Composers

Fly with Ubuntu,

that’s what fledgling writers do ---

flap their writerly wings with a smile

& doodle their flying lessons, too.

You’re golden sunflowers inside.

(& the powers reside in us all).

Embracing the glorious messes we are

that is the proverbial call.

Find what brings you joy and go there

(& that’s what we’re doing, y’all)

Music is medicine,

and You’re waiting for the other leg to go in…

You’re heading in the right decision…

The Noise is where change happens.

Travel cures the soul.

Everything you do, you do with love,

Keep on running, Keep on moving…

keep on thinking, keep on grooving,

& look to the hope above.

The Adventure is out there,

and You make beautiful things.

Que sera sera, whatever it brings, it brings.

So, Fly with Ubuntu,

& Never close your eyes,

build a writing community,

to see how the journey flies.

Because...

 If it doesn’t challenge you,

it doesn’t change you, and

“Not Responding is a response.

We are equally responsible for what we don’t do.”

It’s up to us to bring a Renaissance.

Write on! Composers, Write on!

Let the bumper stickers guide the way.

(& Special thanks to Ralph Fletcher,

loved reading what he had to say).

How Do You Feed a Pescetarian? Well, The First Step Is To Look The Word Up.

So, pescatarian means one who only eats fish.

I know this now because Michael, who is on Mt. Pleasant for the semester, does not eat chicken, beef or pork. Knowing I'm a good sport (shoot, I fasted during Ramadan for a month in support of Abu and Lossine), I stocked up on various fish and, with a little imagination and online recipe searches, have been trying to meals.

Last night was blackened Mahi Tuna with fennel, oregano, paprika, and cloves. It was good, but I needed to spice it up some with Crandall special that was leftover; it did, however, go well with the green beans, cranberries and almonds I sautéed and the cous cous.

(TWO MORE MONTHS UNTIL ALL MEALS GET COOKED ON THE GRILL  -  I CAN'T WAIT).

It worked, however. I'm now thinking that ginger would have added a nice bit to the fish. Since it's new for me in my culinary exploration, I will have to see what other ways it can be prepared. Not bad...not bad. I'd give myself a B.

Ah, but I fail because I have no leftovers (well, few). It won't last more than a night, and I will have to start all over again tomorrow. I think I have shrimp somewhere. Maybe the Lil' Mermaid. I'm not sure what sauce would be good for her to please the Pescetarian in the house.

And just like that it is Monday again. I wish I could say, "Back to the grind," but I never left and worked all weekend from my office, so it's "let the flow continue."

Trying to Find Humor in 2018. Dipping to the 80s to Make Sense of Laughter Right Now

Last night, friends and I went to a country club for a radio-sponsored comedy show, just to do something different and to have a new adventure to put into our pockets. I've been to 100s of comedy shows, mostly at the Comedy Caravan in Kentucky, but it has been a long time since I've been to a show. Usually, you find a way to laugh at whoever is making the jokes and, even if the humor is uncomfortable, you find a way to chuckle. Last night's show, although it had glimmers of possibility, was a dying event. I don't even have the names of the comedians, but I do know I felt horrible for the last guy, the headliner, as he tried to find a way to connect with the audience.

It didn't happen.

I started thinking about Billy Crystal, Robin Williams, and Whoopie Goldberg performances in the 80s - the HBO specials with Steven Wright and George Collin, the Pee Herman routines, and I remember sitting around with my family and laughing. I also remember the wackiness of Emo Phillips and Tudy Tenuta in the late 80s and how their ridiculousness somehow figured out the pulse of the nation. Even Steve Martin seemed to find a way to make people follow him as times changed.

That didn't happen last night. The guys went offensive and inappropriate, sometimes gathering a chuckle, but more often that not hitting something that was supposed to be funny, but only hit the funny bones of an ignorant few. Yes, it was a mostly white, working class audience in a country club, but they seemed to have no grasp of audience or what it would take to make people laugh.

I started thinking, "Do we have humor for this generation?" It seems to be sort of obvious what one might go after, but they seemed to be struggling. Perhaps it's because the nation doesn't know if it wants to laugh right now or cry. Everyone wanted an escape, but with news as it is, social chaos at the forefront, and absolute crass diction centralized from government offices, the jokes just didn't work like the comedians wanted.

I felt like a dud and rather than get into a chuckling mode, most of us sort of got irritated and angry. I wondered, "Where's the humor?"

I guess I'm wondering that at large, too. "Where's the humor?"

Leo and I talked about the art form of comedy and wondered if, after a set, comedians go back stage to assess their craft. It's a tricky career, too, because you can never read an audience or figure out what will amuse them.

I'm thinking that things have become too tense, and no one thinks the clownsmanship of the real world is funny anymore. Whereas laughter was an escape, people seem to be looking for more punch and commentary in the jokes. Sexist and racist humor doesn't fly, even in an audience of mostly white people. It just wasn't funny. It was frat-boy obnoxious.

There were a few jokes that were clever and thought-provoking, but making humor of the #MeToo movement is destined to make people squirm. A night of laughter turned into a night of discomfort. It might have been the spicy chicken wings, but I think the acid stomach came from the fact that I the comedians weren't funny. They came across as @$$holes.

Bring back Tenuta and her ridiculous Goddess routine. The absurdity worked, and we need that right now. I'm going to be processing the uneasy feeling I felt for a while. It just didn't work and, well, I'm wondering why....perhaps humor of yesterday is no longer relevant or appropriate for right now. It's just dumb, clueless, and stupid. Hard to laugh when you listen to the vitriol of radio pundits and the people who support them. 

This Is the Recipe For Being Amazed by Young People: @getnicced @lorenlong @mattdelapena

I'm still shaking my head about how wonderful yesterday's Dear Martin, Writing Our Lives with Love event went. In the last 10 years, I've probably hosted 25 to 30 Writing Our Lives conferences across the United States for young people, grades 6-12, including this annual MLK Youth Leadership Academy at Fairfield University.

Attallah (the Diva) and I (Frog, Ribbit Ribbit) have our presentations down to a science. We change it up for each event, but we read each other's minds and know exactly what needs to come next. It's good synergy.

Ah, but Attallah had a baby, so I said, "I got this." (scratches head. wonders. frets. thinks).

I knew Nic Stone's Dear Martin needed to be a part of it. Then Matt de la Peña and Loren Long's Love was delivered earlier this month. The concept became clear. What if we wrote our own love letters to Martin Luther King, Jr. Yet, they weren't actually Love Letters. They were celebration letters or poems and/or Frustration letters and poems. But how did we get there?

First and foremost. We needed two fantastic books to get us talking. Next, it helped to have Attallah Sheppard's poetic skills and personality. She poemed us (that's for sure). I guess I poemed some, too.

We started by giving the 85 middle school kids 12 Martin Luther King memes and asking them to choose one that spoke the most to them -- the one that made them think about where they are at this moment in time. I let them write for 5 minutes. They asked for 10. Every kid. All 85. The teachers looked at each other wondering, "What is going on?" Then they shared what they wrote at their tables.

Crickets as they wrote. They were engaged as they shared their writing with each other. You could hear my whistling as I walked around the room and congratulated them for being amazing writers. Their attention was on the work.

Next, we turned tour direction as I shared Loren Long's artwork, without Matt de la Peña's poem. I wanted the kids to tell me the story they thought Loren Long wanted us to know through his colorful expressions. As we flipped pages (without words) the kids speculated. They made up their own stories and had imaginations, too. They were funny, but also sad at times. Then I said, I want to revisit this artwork with a poem by a great writer. We then read Matt de la Peña's poem with the images. I asked, "Does art communicate? What about the writer's poems? How do they go together? Why do you think they collaborated on this book?"

Obviously they first said, "Ah. I want this book."

I said, "You deserve this book, but we've only just begun."

I split from the program at this point and did a human lap sit/team building exercise. 85 early teens and their teachers are hard to harness, but in three tries they got it. I explained the philosophy of Ubuntu and noted that teamwork changes the world. Togetherness is an answer. I said, "This wasn't what I planned, but they did such a great job writing and had been listening to me, that I wanted to try something else.  I wanted them to know that it isn't just about them....it's definitely not about me....but it is always about each other. With Ubuntu, they need to write for the world, not me as a teacher. With community and empathy, love makes much more sense.

We then asked the students to make a list of 10 things they LOVE. I also said, "Why not also make a list of 10 things that FRUSTRATE you?" These lists were made quickly (and interestingly, the FRUSTRATIONS were much more immense with this group). We shared and, phew, they were stirred up. "Good. Good. Harness this frustration."

"I hate it when my mom makes me get something for her out of the fridge when she knows I'm doing my homework and she's already in the kitchen."

We discussed that MLK would want us to turn our frustrations into love and how his biggest challenge was to find a way to LOVE those who HATE us most. We discussed how we might take our frustrations and do something loving with them....to take action.

Here's where we brought  Dear Martin by Nic Stone to the table. Michael Joseph Harding, a senior at Fairfield University, was asked to write a letter to MLK after I introduced him to Stone's brilliant YA novel. He nailed it. After he read his letter, I said, "Funny thing. I'm a jerk. I have another book you'll all want to read once I tell you about it." I told them that Michael's letter was in response to another book I wanted them to know about.

I gave them a little of the Dear Martin Story, then two middle school girls and I shared one of the chapters where Justyce writes Martin Luther King. We discussed how Justyce uses writing as therapy to make sense of his world. We discussed that sometimes life came at this character in stereo, like it does for everyone, and how it's hard to find a way out. Writing, we emphasized, is one solution. Letter writing, we presented, is healing.

The silence continued. I'm not used to such silence with middle (what I sometimes call mental) school students. They were all ears and eyes, however. I told them, "See, we gave each of you a writer's notebook and Ralph Fletcher said they are perfect locations for planting seeds. Seeds are meant to grow. Writing our lives is a way to heal, to hope, to believe, to wonder, and to discover." I said, "You could write poetry like Attallah and the author of Love. You could also write letters to MLK like Justyce did in Nic Stone's book or like Michael, a student at Fairfield."

I said, "Tell your teachers you want these books in your school. I want to read what comes of the seeds we're planting today."

Then, Attallah performed her poem Sweet Brother Martin. Of course she awed the room (she always does). What was amazing to us, however, is how the pens of middle schoolers started moving while she performed. When time came to call for the buses, the kids were still writing. All 85 of them. Writing. I'm serious. Some of them had been writing before Attallah evan began to perform. A few filled three to four pages in their notebooks in the hour we gave them after lunch. They didn't want to line up and exit the room, either, when it was time to go back to school. I'm for real.

They were writing their lives because of these books. They didn't want to leave. They wanted to stay. 85 urban school youth from a district that is too often made into a single story of deficits. Yet, on this day, yesterday, they put their own voices to page. Phew. I will be carrying this with me for several weeks....so will my graduate students and undergraduates who came to help out.

All LOVE, DEAR MARTIN, for Attallah Sheppard (DIVA) and Rony Delva (The power of a single drop). This was another spectacular year. More love, however, to the brilliance of Nic Stone, Matt de la Peña and Loren Long.  Finally, a million finger snaps for their publishers for bringing forth these creative explosions.

Teachers like us are able to make magic when we have the resources to do so!

Because The Holidays Are Over, a Gift Arrives, & Glamis Needs To Show Who is Boss

So, the incredible Sue McV sent a package to me in CT via a colleague who teaches professional writing at Fairfield University. He was in Louisville and she was sure to deliver treats for Mt. Pleasant and Glamis. As soon as I found a squeaky toy for Glamis, she was on top of me like a moth to a porch light. They are her favorites.

The tag says that it was turf-tuff, dog-proof nylon destined to last months upon months.

Glamis got the squeaker out in 36 minutes. She did have some fun throwing against walls and hiding it from me before the carnage began.

I should say, however, that I was on a meeting with the Hoops4Hope Executive Board (don't mind that squeaking, my dog thinks she caught a rabbit). I was also prepping for a youth conference with 85 8th graders. It was a busy night and I needed her distracted so I threw her the toy.

Well, my living room is now the intestinal guts of Santa and, with the squeak out, she is done with her mission. She now can care less. The holiday icon has perished, and she's returned to the ritual of sitting on an end table and licking behind my ears as I type.

Note to Dog Toy Makers - Work on the longevity of the squeaky toy. Put the squeaker behind a vault. Make it impossible for her to find it. I'd like to say that my dog maintained one for more than a day. I thought this one might be the one. It was built like wood, but I guess Glamis has beaver in her.

I should report, however, that at least she didn't digest the parts of Santa. Jake, Glamis's best friend, ate Santa's arm over the holiday and puked it up. Pam thought it was blood and took him to the vet.

Ah, dogs.

"Pam," I said when she group sent the photo. "I think that blood has a black mitten at the end."

So, today is Friday. I think my name is Bryan. I'm exhausted and I have a youth academy to lead in an hour. I'm looking forward to it, however, because the Diva and Frog will be back in action again - United!

Phew. January gets me every time, and I'm getting old. I'm tired!

PS: Just went to the kitchen. More Santa innards there: a heart, a kidney, a colon, and a spinal chord.

PSS: Sue also sent Reindeer Food, which was wonderful since I didn't get any in Syracuse this year. And she adds M & Ms to hers! I took one handful, then brought it to Michael. "Dude. These are yours. Don't let me eat the whole bag."

Shouting Out! Just Shouting Out! Just Processing! & Simply Shouting Out. @YohuruWilliams

Once upon a time, Yohuru William's wisdom was part of the way things ebbed and flowed at Fairfield University, and his leadership was paramount, felt, and historical. Because life is complex, but beautiful, and ponds are small, yet grow bigger (sometimes they become oceans), Dr. Yohuru Williams moved his sails to the midwest (they are fortunate, indeed). Last week he visited the City of Bridgeport and last night he graced our campus once again with his thinking, wisdom, passion and vision. It was one of those rare occasions where I REALLY wish I had videotaped it all because I wanted to absorb what he had to say...

...it paralleled everything Dr. Kris Sealy also had to say as the recipient of this year's MLK Vision Award for faculty. She speaks truth, too.

for many of us at Fairfield University, we are who we are because of Kris Sealy. She uplifts us. She teaches us. She believes in us. She challenges us. And she guides us with kindness, backbone, knowledge, and a pursuit for truth. 

She seeks to listen. She works to make the world a better place. And what does she do in an acceptance speech? She thanked everyone else for the work they do, including her family - her wonderful, whacky, vibrant and brilliant coterie of boys - who live around the corner from me.

Two giants. Two individuals who work to promote the gigantic potential in everyone else.

Let me repeat that, "TWO INDIVIDUALS WHO WORK TO PROMOTE THE GIGANTIC POTENTIAL IN EVERYONE ELSE."

We are all giants, and we must stand on the shoulders of one another.

It was an honor, once again, to present awards with Sonya Huber on behalf of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Essay Committee. This year, we gave out four awards for outstanding writing, and CWP-Fairfield provided books: Flying Lessons and Other Stories, Dear Martin, and The Hate U Give. In addition, the four young, middle schoolers from Bridgeport Public Schools were given scholarship to attend a Young Adult Literacy Labs  hosted on campus each summer. The young people, as always, were a highlight of the evening and, once again, so many rounds of applause need to be given to the the committee behind all the MLK events. The work provides hope - a faith in the best of humanity.

The best of humanity. That was what Dr. Yohuru Williams reminded us of last night as he, too, stood on the shoulders of giants, reminding the audience that Rosa Parks and MLK were shorter than he is. He accomplished this through referencing the wisdom (and history) offered to him through his academic work.

From Arrive, Pedro, S.J. (1973). Men and women for others. Valencia Spain. To do the work of justice and to fulfill the mission of the work of a Jesuit University, the following must occur.

First, a basic attitude of respect for all people which forbids us ever to use them as instruments for our own profit.

Second, a firm resolve never to profit from, or allow ourselves to be suborned by, positions of power deriving from privilege, for to do so, even passively, is equivalent to active oppression. To be drugged by the comforts of privilege is to become contributors to injustice as silent beneficiaries of the fruits of injustice.

Third, an attitude not simply of refusal but of counterattack against injustice; a decision to work with others towards dismantling of unjust social structures so that the weak, the oppressed, the marginalized of this world may be set free.

This, Williams argue, should be central to what we teach our students and promote in our actions each and every day. We should not use others to the benefit of our own economic gain. We should question our privileges and comforts to see how we benefit from societal constructions as a result of keeping others oppressed, and to find strength to help others become free: to fight for the weak and to give voice for those who go unheard.

Dr. Williams also borrowed from Edward R. Murrow (1958),

We are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable and complacent. We have currently a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information. Our mass media [note, this is 1958] reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses and recognize that television and this who finance it, those who look at it and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture too late. Our history will be what we make it. And if there are historians about fifty or a hundred years from now [2008/2058], and there should be preserved the kinescopes for one week of all three networks, they will there find recorded in black and white, or color, evidence of decadence, escapism and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live.

My generation (born 1972) has had conflict, of course, but have totally been brought up in a cable news, flash media, entertained culture. Martin Luther King, Jr. was a soundbite for us on MTV - We have not see that vibrancy in our nation since. We've been pampered by gulf wars brought to us by CNN and Fox news, and 'made for t.v. movies' and Oscar-winning cinema that get awards for performing what REAL PEOPLE around the world go through every day. Passivity has resulted. A preference for entertainment and 'reality t.v.' over global realities and the struggle of the poor trickles out of our homes as we feel safe behind screens looking at the world from a bubble.

Dr. Williams also cited comments of Shirley Chisholm (1972)...that very year I was born,

I was the first American citizen to be elected for Congress in spite of the double drawbacks of being female and having skin darkened by melanin. When you put it that way, it sounds like a foolish reason for fame. In a just and free society it would be foolish. That I am a national figure because I was the first person in 192 years to be at once a congressman, black and a woman proves, I think, that our society is not yet either just or free. 

For me, the focus is and will remain with the young people we teach, mentor, support, guide and, most importantly, learn from. I am me, because they've made me that way. I am also me, however, because Dr. Yohuru Williams has enriched my life in tremendous ways. From the notes I took while he spoke:

• History is now.
• We dictate what we intake.
• Wounds are the narrative and drive the story.
• A lack of historical knowledge is damaging to us all.
• Freedom is a constant struggle. 
• When one or many are positioned as being the problem, the struggle of overcoming that story is tremendously difficult. The fight is a lifelong battle.
• Mythologies continue to haunt the stories we tell ourselves in America.
• Listen to the theme song of All in the Family: Those were the days. That was a different time (or was it), but listen to the words....what it represents...who is excluded....
• An All Lives Matter movement is meaningless if that movement stomps on the lives of the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed, the disenfranchised and the struggling. If someone says, "All Lives Matter," (this is Bryan here), shouldn't we be request, "Show me what that looks like. Give me the model for how that works. Paint that picture for me of that vision. Demonstrate your part in it.
• We don't read. If you want to hide the truth about something, put it in a book. 
• Muhammad Ali was a champ, yes, but he was also a challenger, always.
• Every kid in the U.S. needs to be taught that icons are mythologies, but their stories are inspiration. They, too, can be giants if they fight forward to have their stories heard.
• The United States has to address its wounds.
• One can have prosperity, but not justice (don't let them fool you). (Joel Olsteen)
• Beyond U.S. news, watch the world. See the injustices. Ask what responsibility you have to it.
• There are no safe spaces in the fight for social justice.
• WE MUST FIND THE STRENGTH TO LOVE THE VERY PEOPLE WHO ARE INCAPABLE OF LOVING US BACK (and that's the hardest battle)

Phew. That's how I spent my Wednesday evening. Once again, the MLK dinner has my brain processing ways to make this world a little more accessible to us all. 

Introduced DEAR MARTIN by @getnicced with a Teaser for LOVE by @mattdelapena & @LorenLong

I love working with new books because everything is fresh, alive, new, and exciting. This Friday, I will be hosting 80 middle school youth in another Writing Our Lives conference, but I wanted to test out a couple of activities with my graduate students in a Developmental Reading in Secondary Schools course (a mix of in-practice and pre-service teachers). They are reading Nic Stone's Dear Martin and last night I modeled one way to get students excited about the books selected for class.

I made a front/back collection of Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes (with photos) and handed them out to the students. I asked them to read over them all and to choose one that spoke to them right here and right now. I knew they'd gravitate towards the variety I shared and that each response, collectively, would give us beginning material to address why a young adult novel like Dear Martin is so important to this time in history. I told the students they could draw, list, free write, etc. a response to the quote and they did a turn-and-talk, followed by a whole class dry-erase dialogue. I asked one of my graduate students to be the recorder of the conversation and to listen to his classmates discuss the quote they chose and what connection they had to it. I also modeled my thinking on the board for them.

My next question was simple (or was it complex). Why would a writer choose to have her character write letters to Martin Luther King, Jr.? Together, we bulleted about 15 to 20 reasons why.

Great. Next week I'll read Love by Matt de la Péna, with illustrations by Loren Long, and we'll analyze Dear Martin for the ways love works, and doesn't work, in the young adult novel.

At the same time he class and I discussed Kelly Gallagher's Readicide and I promoted the fact that young adult literature is one way to hook young people into being lifetime readers, especially when the topics are timely, relevant, and connected to their lived experiences. I discussed why I chose Dear Martin and made the case that the perspectives offered by Nic Stone's novel are multidimensional and, although the story will invoke emotions, outrage, defense, and questions, I appreciated the choice she made to include multiple voices e and to create characters that are more complex than those told too often in 'a single story' motif. (#WeNeedDiverseBooks)

From there, I asked the students to help me recall the characters from the first half of Dear Martin and their relevancy to the story thus far. 

Wola! Magically, the graduate students recalled the characters and their relationships with each other and, as if by magic, connected the relationships to the Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes.

We filled up four white boards with new thinking, connections, comprehension, understanding, curiosities, frustrations, and action-oriented talk. 

(I'm hoping this will work with the 80 8th graders on Friday).

For this morning, however, I'm simply thanking the Great Whatever that Dear Martin and Love are in this universe and are a beautiful pairing to promote historical conversations about Martin Luther King, Jr. and what he's contributed to our nation.

At the end of class I asked, "What did we just do? Were you engaged? Why?" I then pointed out the actions taken in the class that are named by Kelly Gallagher as ways to counter Readicide. 

It takes the great writers of our time, however, who are writing books we desperately need. I'm thankful. I'm entering today with grace, gratitude, and tremendous respect for my students, these writers, the publishers, and MLK's wisdom. I'm ready for more. I can't wait for Friday with middle schoolers and to meet with my Graduate Students next week.

Got Me Eye Goggles Again - Helps Me To See Better, Including Dan Eldon's Journals

When I returned from the holidays, I finally decided to have my eyes checked. It turns out that Lasik was pretty miraculous, and I can see far away with 20/20 vision. I can't, however, see anything within inches of my nose (including books I've had to hold far away from my nose to read). I also use one eye and a time (not new news) and have a stronger right eye than left. So, the optometrist suggested, "You could use cheaters, but they will not strengthen your eyes like a prescription, especially since each eye has different needs."

So, I got glasses again after 20 years of not needing them.

They are, however, only for reading and desk work -- anything that is immediately in front of my face,like my cellphone and menus. The picture of me with the glasses is fallacy, however, because with them on I can't see a thing that isn't directly in front of my face. I have to take them off to see in the distance, so when I did the selfie, it was all a blur.

Yadda yadda yadda.

Last night, while prepping for classes , especially with Dan Eldon's journals, a 23 year old journalist and artist who died too young, I realized I couldn't see the photos I wanted to select. I called the optometrist who said, "We've had your glasses since the first week of January. You never came for them them." They never called. It turned out they dialed 203 rather than 315. Their error. When they said they were in, I immediately drove to get them. And, when I returned, I was able to see everything on my lap and in my hands. That is new to me! I'm excited, although it troubles me to now have farsighted vision, and not near sighted. It all changed so quick.

I am excited, however, to introduce undergraduate writers (being asked to keep a writer's notebook) to see Dan Eldon's visual journaling and commentary that he kept in note books (Check out his work here: http://www.daneldon.org). Mark, my cousin, introduced me to his artwork when we were in our twenties and ever since I've been mesmerized and how he captured his thoughts and memories. For a word guy like me, I get excited about visuals like his. I'm in awe of them (especially since they were daily doodles).

So, last night I could see such doodles as well as think ahead for the classes I'm teaching. It's back to back, I'm nervous I won't accomplish everything, but I am excited to see up close again, without having to lean my head waaaaaaay back. Ah, but I also know that it's stress time because, like my keys and wallet, I now have something else to misplace and lose. One of the reasons I had Lasiks in the first place is because I hated always being in search of my glasses.

Oh, eyes. Oedipus doesn't truly see until they are gone.

When Cocoons Open (& Northstars Reunite), Nothing But Crazy is Bound to Occur

So, Weston visited.

Yes, the Weston from junior high school who, upon meeting me for the first time, dumped a bottle of Dr. Pepper over my head. She was driving through Stratford from Florida on her way to Boston so I said, "Come on over."

It's been a whirlwind of stories from high school, adventures since those days, and all the incredible drama that happens in all of our lives.

Everything changes; some things will never change. Vickie is an absolute riot.

We ended up at my friend Kathy's house for the Patriots game - what's one way to get a wild woman wilder, let her watch her favorite football team. Kathy had great food and I had to take a photo of the card she hung on one of her walls, sparkling with light, "just when the caterpillar though the world was over, it became a butterfly..."

That is the story. That is the mission.

We returned home to watch the Eagles blowout the Vikings, and pretty much drove Michael out of the room with the stories from yesteryear. 30 years of friendship and experiences and happiness and sadness and drama and change and moving and memory makes for crazy conversations and a lot of humor. It's amazing that this much time has gone by.

Nothing sits still; that's for sure.

And with that, I need to get moving; I have to get caught up for the week!

Watched University of Kentucky Basketball With Bourbon Ale Beer (but it didn't work)

I'm looking for hope this season, especially in February and March. I'm still distraught and disgusted about University of Louisville, and Syracuse is simply too young. I knew Kentucky was playing Florida, and with life as it is in the house, I said, "Let me get some Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale and support the Cats on Saturday night's game.

Well, it didn't go so well. If I was a 100% KY fan, I'd want me NOT to watch, too. I'm bad luck for the Wildcats, but they are young, too.

The beer, however, was delicious (as I knew it would be). If only I could always afford bourbon barrel beer. It's tremendous.

I need my basketball to get me through the coldest months. This year is not quite the same as they've been in the last few years. I don't think I can take up knitting. I can't start another puzzle (I'd go crazy). There has to be a distraction to count on.

Wait!?! The 2018 Winter Olympics are coming. That will work. Grade all day and watch competition all night. But that's ice skating. I don't think it quite qualifies (and I know it should).

I guess this year simply needs to be a transition year. Will Boeheim retire? Will the Cards be able to return to their caliber? What comes next?

I have to stay, I'm a little lost this year. It's not the same and I am unsure what to do.

Well, I guess I will watch the Patriots today. That is something.

Mr. Bargain Hunter Strikes Again. 30% Coupon Man Hits the Clearance Racks

I began this week with a 30% coupon at Kohl's and I ended it with a $15 coupon, Kohl's Cash, and a 30% coupon. I win.

Earlier this week, I scored a few ties and a shower curtain for criminal discounted prices. I got my Kohl cash and went in yesterday morning to find more ties, and a comforter that is an exact match to the shower curtain, plus towels, plus bathroom rugs all for prices that allowed me to save $750 (in Kohl's world) and making me feel like I'm the bargain hunger of the century.

When I found Mt. Pleasant, I found a house that was flipped and that was in desperate need of paint in each room, but that I was fearful for covering - I didn't want to lose the pristine cleanliness of a flipped house. Phase one, however, was a turnover via the shower curtain and bed spreads.

I am thankful that someone (or some people) returned online purchases over the holidays that were foo foo fee, but too much for Stratford residents. The result was they ended up at two separate occasions in Clearance bins. And I scored. I'm feeling rather fancy schmancy in my purchases, knowing that I have become rather domestic, but true to my cheap-stake characteristic.

It was a nice reward for a good news week. I look forward to unravelling the additional purchases after I drink my coffee and begin to make sense of my Saturday. In the meantime, I'm feeling accomplished and successful.

Let the coupon shoppers rule the world!

In 2018, It Seems Surreal to Look Back to 1990. Approaching 30 Years. Phew

My senior year resurrected itself yesterday, when my senior picture, Class of 1990, reappeared on Facebook. In some ways, this is the same exact kid I see when I think about the journey thus far, but I recognize that the hair has grayed and thinned, and the dreams have altered quite a bit.

In 1990, I simply wanted to become a White male Oprah Winfrey. I wanted to major in Psychology and to become a talk show host where I could bring guests to my couches and pontificate with them The Great Whatever like she did. It's been almost 38 years and she's never returned a letter or email - I guess that was a high school pipe dream.

In the meantime, I think about who that kid was when he left high school, going to Ferdinand for his senior photo, working almost full time at Sibley's, then Kaufman's, selling women's shoes, and excited about life at Binghamton University. In many ways, that kid is still alive and the same boy I am today, but when I look at the photograph I think, "Snap. Where did that kid go?"

I had my box top haircut, pre-hippie hair in college, a preppy facade, big ears, no bling (and I'm no longer sporting bling) and a lot of energy - I didn't hurt so much in those days when I tried to put as much as I could in a 24-hour span, including 6 to 10 mile runs. That guy is not what he used to be.

Ah, but I think about the 500 senior pictures that occurred for my own students when I was in Kentucky, the doctorate, the research, and what I'm doing now with CWP at my side, and I think, "Maybe there is a little Oprah within me. Not a talk show, but a way to connect with humanity just the same."

I said to my barber yesterday when he was shaving down the grays, "Weren't we just partying like it was 1999?" He laughed.

We were.

Dang. It's 2018 and the class of 1990 is approaching its 30 year reunion. That doesn't seem possible. It's hard to collect everything that has occurred since that time (but I'm thankful I've had the opportunity to give it a shot and not to have as many obstacles that, for some, are ubiquitous).

Of course, the photo was airbrushed, and this was before IPhones and selfies. Shoot. This is before cordless phones, answering machines, and DVDs. This is before the Internet, mp3s, YouTube, and wireless connections. There was no FaceTime, the beginning phases of Ninendo, and we all relied on snail mail. It was a different world then, and I feel lucky that I got to experience it.

This is to my classmates, then. We're all here at this place together. I think, "What would it be like to return to the halls of CNS for a day like it used to be?" I'm sure I would still panic that I didn't pack gym clothes for a B day, and I would still fret I wouldn't remember my locker number. The gossip would be paramount and the homework irrelevant to what college would be like and purposeless. But, it would be nice to jump into our jean jackets once again.

We were so young, but we didn't even know it. Yes, Shaw, youth is wasted on the young. It would be crazy to do a lap at Carmella's once again (but it is now a funeral home).

These years went by way too fast. Phew. I'm feeling old for sure.

And With the Discovery of $12 Meals at Lassie's in Milford, Wednesday Nights Are a Blessing

Before the holidays, we discovered that Lassie's in Milford has incredible meals for $12 a plate and, with excellent Manhattans, it is also a location to have someone else cook for us and let us eat hefty for a night.

My dish? I love the chicken marsala, as I'm always a fan of mushrooms and mashed potatoes. The french onion soup is also specular.

After Tuesday night's graduate class and Wednesday morning's turbo, I knew I was coming home without a desire to cook.

Lassie's came to the rescue - a savior of sorts for a mid-week dinner (and I've learned from colleagues that they, too, frequent the restaurant for their dinners and "time out" from home cooking).

Wednesday, like Tuesdays of last semester, feels like my Fridays. I spend the weekend in preparation of them (and this weekend was catered to NCTE proposals). The bottom line is that I was fried and I just needed a good meal and my pillow.

Lassie's delivered.

Today, I have a to-do list that is monumental but for last night, I gave in to dinner and an opportunity to be away from screen. I'll be back at it this morning. That's just the way it is.

And with that, I'm heading to the office. Phew.