Midlife Crisis: Not a Car, Not a Boat, Not a Redirection in My Life - A Walk With Glam

I've been waking up early, to be sure I get my run in, but also to finish wrapping up summer projects so I have this weekend to begin planning for the Fall semester. Glamis the Wonder dog, however, has been hyper-aggressive to remind me that I've chosen not to take her for a 4 mile walk in this heat. At 8 a.m., it isn't that bad, so feeling guilty I have leashed her up, grabbed the doggie doodie bags, and made her happy; in fact, yesterday she got to go on two walks...in the heat...with prayers for the cold front to come through already (only to disappear early next week).

And I bought myself a gift....a blast from the past that accentuate the fact that I have two different-sized feet. I found a pair of knock-off Birks like I used to wear in college.

Looking down, I suddenly have flashbacks of wearing overalls, S. American knit heavy sweaters, wool socks, and my sandals, as I paraded across Binghamton university with my long hair in a pony tail...a look that I carried even further at the University of Louisville.

Boy, did I love my sandals in college, but after several repairs in three different states, I eventually had to chuck them. There was no recorking possible and the tread on the bottom could not be replaced because the sandals were 20 years old.

But I got another pair and I feel like Chitunga. He has no idea how envious I've been seeing him parade around the house this summer in HIS sandals that I didn't have. Seeing his toes in a pair of Birks simply triggered memories and mid-life envy. I wanted those shoes for myself.

Silly to think that my grasp to younger days have to do with footwear, but I'm sure any Birk-wearing, 60s-throwback Generation X freak like me understands 100% what nostalgia these shoes bring: Blues Traveler, Chili Peppers, Edie Brickel and the New Bohemians, They Might Be Giants, The Sundays, The Judy Bats, Spin Doctors, Tracy Chapman...

Phew...my feet were a signal for the time.

And yes, "What are those?" - you can make fun of the fact that my left foot is almost a size larger than the right. I live with it. Now you can, too.

Back-To-School Teachers, May Your Day Be As Thrilling As This Guy's

Back in my day, when I was ready for a day off of school, I'd create some imaginary sickness leaving my mom to make the executive decision, 'Okay, you can stay home, but let me know if it gets worse."

Truth is, I only took time off when I really needed a day off.

I don't do that anymore. I can't afford to sit still.

But back in the day I would, and my secret treat was always watching Price is Right knowing that it came on from 11 a.m. - 12 p.m. and that I was half way through a day of hookie.

I shouldn't be writing about hookie, today, the first day of school for so many in the Nutmeg state. I should be celebrating the fact that today begins a new year for so many incredible educators in Connecticut. Yes, the heat has given numerous people a half day (phew! It's hot....ridiculously hot), but the fact is here - IT BEGINS ANEW, ALL OVER AGAIN, RIGHT NOW, AND TODAY!

I thought about fireworks and a ticker tap parade as a meme to go with this post. Nope. They're not as appropriate as a win on the Price as Right or the prayer, "I need to win the lottery." Teaching is a wonderful, but impossible job that seems to get less and less respect each year. May all of us begin anew with optimism, a sense of humor, a dedication to knowledge, and a love for kids.

So, here's to all the teachers I know, love and appreciate. This is for you. You will rock this year and, if luck will have it, you'll be invited to the grand prize and an opportunity to play for the whole shebang sometime in your life.

Or, you'll be left with empty bank accounts as you spend more and more of your personal money simply to have the basics for your classroom (that's more likely).

Countdown to @S_StoryFest and @HoopsAfrica Begins. It's Story Time! @FairfieldU

Last night, the CWP-Fairfield youth crew went to the back-to-school Saugatuck Story Fest Youth Council armed with posters for Hoops Africa: Ubuntu Matters, a film & panel discussion at Fairfield University presented as a kick-off to the weekend events. The dates are October 11th for the film at Fairfield University, and 12th-14th for the writers celebration in southern Connecticut.

HUGE shout outs for Westport Public Library, teachers Kim Herzog and Rebecca Marsick, who invited us to their planning team and who have put us to work. We are very proud to be part of this once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

To read more about Hoops Africa: Ubuntu Matters at Fairfield University, click here.

To see the complete list of authors who are being featured during the event, click here. (WOW!)

To register for ticketed events, click here.

We met in Rebecca's room last night and I was instantly drawn to the the new poster hanging in her room. I'm also excited about the support from Fairfield University, Athletics, and the Quick Center. Sports Literacy Night will feature the film, with a panel of athletes, coaches, a producer and a director. It's amazing and I'm excited to have a part in it.

I'm also excited that Akbaru began in Ubuntu Academy and starting on Tuesday, he will be attending his first classes as a Fairfield University freshman. Few can claim that they arrived through refugee relocation services, have had their writing published, have taken part in an incredible literacy event such as this, and will be beginning his academic studies with a concentration of business and marketing.

I am, because we are - it's a philosophy, a theoretical lens, a lifestyle, and a movement. He represents so much of what this festival stands for.

Most impressive, I believe, is the youth centrality of it all, keeping them at the forefront of planning, invitations, wants, and possibilities - that, too, is to the credit of Kim Herzog and Rebecca Marsick.

I woke up this morning excited to learn of all the updates and can't wait to see how the next couple of months unravel. This is what togetherness, humbled togetherness, means.

The evidence is here.

Bringing Spiderwort Into Mt. Pleasant - A Blast From the Past

My sisters might laugh at this, because here is a replica of the only indoor plants I can remember from Amalfi Drive. This spiderwort used to hang on the stair case and I took a clipping when I first moved off campus at Binghamton University. It came with me to Louisville and for several years, including Indiana, I was able to keep the green and purple foliage alive. I called her Yentil, but sometime in Clarksville, I finally managed to kill the plant.

Yesterday, at Big Y, when I was getting material to build a Dagwood sandwich, I found a pot of Spiderwort on Clearance for a couple of bucks. Knowing my frugality in purchasing anything, I said, "You have to give this a chance, Crandall. Resurrect and rebirth Yentil from your 80s childhood.

So, that's what I did. After a day of editing, planning, picking up sidewalk furniture for a friend, and doing National Zoom sessions, I tended to my Tradescantia Pallida and began hoping for the best. Several of the plants I brought outdoors this summer have taken a beating from the intense heat, and I'm not the best at using a hose - preferring the natural rains to decide the fate of my plants. Indoors, it's a different story, and I'm recalling Grandma Vera's plant life in Sherburne, New York, which used to bore me, but now I'm somewhat fascinated by the "life" it can bring to wintering months.

Shoot. Did I say wintering? It's going to be a heatwave this week.

We shall see how I do with Yentil, II. I've always loved the watermelon-esque two-sided coloring and we shall see how I do. Every time I look at her I will smile remember playing Super Mario Bros with my little sitter and drinking Capris Suns as she squashed mushrooms. That's when my mom's plants were at their best.

Shouting Out To Teachers and Other Service Individuals, Including Police and Fire Officers, Teachers and Social Workers, Who Serve the American Public

“If you find faults with our country, make it a better one. If you're disappointed with the mistakes of government, join its ranks and work to correct them. Enlist in our armed forces. Become a teacher. Enter the ministry. Run for public office. Feed a hungry child. Teach an illiterate adult to read. Comfort the afflicted. Defend the rights of the oppressed. Our country will be the better, and you will be the happier. Because nothing brings greater happiness in life than to serve a cause greater than yourself.” -Senator McCain (2008)

It's a Monday. I'm heading back to the work I do in support of educators and K-12 schools and all who promote an American success of the diverse people who make this nation a miraculous one. I celebrate the individuals who wake up each and every day to serve the American people and believe in democracy, individuality, togetherness, and hard work.

Hard work. That's what I hope from each of us.

It was a Sunday and I know I wanted to take advantage of a beautiful day and, for the most part, I tried to adhere to the commitment. Still, there was a story to be written, some images I needed to share, and a publication I promised. This story was dedicated to so many committed to the democracy of the United States.

No hatred. No spite. Simply, the promotion of a better tomorrow through the educators who have dedicated their lives to promote the beauty of an American citizenry.

It seemed pertinent to draw on a Senator McCain quote. His alignment with Palin was odd, but his absolute dedication to the American mission has always been on my radar to believe in a better tomorrow for the red, white and blue.

The word integrity has always been at the forefront for me. It is an integrity I have seen in fellow teachers, but one I also admire and respect in my nephew, Dylan, who has dedicated his young life to the American mission for freedom, diversity, history and devotion of better possibilities for the greatest good. I want to believe in the integrity of my fellow men and women (knowing that hubris and sins often get in the way).

I'm kicking off my Monday crossing off to-do lists and making a few more. The world is full of noise and silliness, distractions and fools, but men and women of honor cannot be erased. They matter the most, and this is what I feel about the loss of Senator McCain, and an America I believe in.

I am standing with the men and women who work diligently to make the United States an amazing place - these are the people who also recognize that we are the people of a complicated world...our roots are pluralistic and arrive from the stories of many histories.

Here's to the potential of greatness, a round of applause for the good people, and a prayer for all those who get lost in the hateful rhetoric, misguided corruption, and irrational support for evil. 

Humans tend to suck. I hope, however, that the good ones - like McCain - rise to the top. Read. Think. Question. And do what is right. That is the privilege given to us as American citizens.

Welcome to my weekend, where I've pile the reading/re-reading high and I'm already thinking ahead to the instruction to come.

This is YA Lit week for my courses, where I introduced a YA novel to the objectives for the course and I begin to ask my students, "Well, how would you teach this?" For my undergraduate philosophy class, we are pairing Freire, Rizga, Dewey, and Nicholson with a reading of Jason Reynold's Ghost and with my graduate course for content literacy teachers, The Literate Learner, we're pairing Beers & Probst, Smagorinsky, and Lent with Jason Reynold's Long Way Down and special visitations with #UNLOAD: Guns in the Hands of Artists. With knowledge that the writer, Reynolds, will be at the Saugautck Story Fest, I wanted to be sure he was well represented (my courses featured Nic Stone last spring).

By 5 p.m., however, I put the books away (thanking Syracuse football for keeping me entertained for most of the afternoon as I read - sad defeat in the end, however), and I began to barbecue. I cooked a week's worth of food, had friends over, and culminated the evening with Chitunga's Father's Day gift from a few years ago, the fire pit. We sat out back for a long while, laughing, being stupid, and taking advantage of a nice night with cool temperatures where it was still warm enough to sit outside.

Today, however, I'm in total ram mode, plowing ahead with grading, more reading, more planning, and more organizing for Hoops Africa: Ubuntu United and the Story Fest. It's coming, but I took a little of my Saturday to unwind some.

I simply love burning wood (and anything that is flammable) in the fire pit on cool nights like last night. The flames hypnotize and make it easy to unwind.

Okay, Sunday. We got you. Here we go. 

The Eagle Left, So I Ran Off My Sadness, Then an Eagle Flew Again. Ah, Frog.

Dear Eagle,

You sat in the corner on the Crandall chair and said goodbye to Glamis. Your words, "The Eagle's out." I stopped to get you apple cinnamon donuts and to put a couple of bucks in your pocket. You brought all your things downstairs and I thought, "Uh oh, I may have to drive to Syracuse, too." Ah, but Bellatrix LaStrange fit it all. She is going to be a good car to you - one you need as you finish out work at LeMoyne and head out of CT, away from internships, back to the grind of another semester.

We don't always see eye to eye. That's okay, because we come face to face to talk through what is bothering us. On the dry-erase board in the kitchen, I captured a quote from you, "Thanks for the Patriot's game gift" where I responded. "Patriots, a gift? Not as much as having a focused, gifted, intellectual, hard working, loyal, kind, studious, curious, appreciative, and loving son." 

You left and I walked into the house a little sad. Glamis was already by your door whining, so I let her in. She jumped on your bed, which you rarely allow, and I went for a run. I figured my sadness is easier when I sweat it out.

I came home and sat out back to cool off when my mom called. She was updating me on CNY life when I looked up to the sky and an eagle was circulating. Actually, it swooped into our back lawn, but I didn't have my camera ready, so I caught him in the sky.

We're used to butterfly, dragonfly and cardinal bird omens, but I was happy to see the bird above. Actually, that bird quickly was joined by another and they circulated above our home the entire time my mother talked. 

My little sister texted to see how I was doing. I said I went for a run and then I was going to take the kayak to the ocean to paddle for a little while. The water was choppy, but it was beautiful, so I went further than I usually do.

You know I hate when you leave, but I know it is best for your future, your independence, your mind, and your growth. You now have a Cuban bean recipe - things should be somewhat okay....at least you know how to make rice and beans. There's always Wegmans, and I shared my secret of stopping and Mimi and Papi's one night, Cynde and Mike's on another night, and Casey and Dave's on other nights. That way you'll be fed.

Glamis is still sulking. She will be this way for a while and I'm sure she'll return to her perch on the bay window looking for you to come home.

Truth is, I will be doing the same. My life is so much richer because of you in it. There aren't enough shoes or elephants to explain how important you've become to my world....our world.

Here's to you.

Dad/Frog/Bryan

And Here We Are Again. The Kid's Departure For College (Last Semester). Phew.

He didn't want a party. He wanted no attention. He simply wanted two of his best friends to come over for dinner followed by a fire. I grilled, and he made his new Cuban black beans discovery.

Food was delicious. Company was complacent. Conversation was as he wanted.

I just monitored the fire, which was a little high at the beginning with all the shenanigans they were throwing in.

The flames eventually settled down and, to the surprise of me, everyone left by 10 p.m. and Chitunga said, "I'm going to pack down."

This leaves me 50% happy he is so responsible, and 50% distraught that he is leaving again. We don't see eye to eye as often as we should, but I love having him home. We have great conversations, he's full of respect and admiration, and he's a tremendously loving kid.

He also cleans, which is a bonus.

Yet, he needs to return to finish his undergraduate degree and to kick start his graduate one. He's ready, and I imagine the greatest frustration for him will be the fact that he's biting at the bit to start working - internships do this to you.

For me, I will simply miss is presence: the nightly hugs, the morning high-fives, the weekend-planning of what should we do next. I love knowing that I spend most of my nights working on projects and next steps, that he's upstairs doing the same.

He comes down for a bourbon around 10 pm and we discuss our days. It's love, bed, and a new beginning.

Ah, but I'm heading back to teaching, and he's heading back to learning. I'm simply thankful that he's a short distance away from Mom & Dad, Cynde, and Casey. Phew. That makes me happy.

We watched the flames last night, talking little, but observing much. A full moon was behind us and a robust summer behind followed the similar path. I will hate knowing that after today, he won't be in the house to check-up on an dot make plans with. Glamis, I don't believe, knows her buddy is returning to Syracuse.

This morning will be the traditional rough road. I love this kid. I want only the best for him.

This Was a New One For Me: Training 72 Residential Advisors at Fairfield University to Inspire a New Year

There was a lot of them.

The first thing we had to do is shake up their comfortable seating arrangement - you know, reorganized them so that residential halls sat with others from the same residential hall.

These are Fairfield University RAs for the 2018-2019 school year (bless their hearts). I remember my RA from freshman year at Binghamton (Maurice) and how he was in the same suite as me and other freshman, but we ended up with my 21 year old roommate, Roger, and then everything got really crazy rather quick. I'd have it no other way. I always said Roger had his #@@ wall and his $$$ wall, then there was the beer wall. We were well decorated and lived up to his decoration.

Weird to be asked to present to the 72 residential assistants on campus to pump them up for a new year - they wanted me to rev them up about Magis - the spirit of the good - and to think about ways they might get their residents to look beyond campus for community work.

Well, hello, Ubuntu.
Well, hello, Hoops Africa: Ubuntu Matters.
No brainer.

I was told I needed to address what inspirations I've had in my own journey, but also to address innovative ways to approach community work. I did this by naming all the kids that I've worked with that have changed my life forever and then giving them case studies of how Ubuntu, as a philosophy, has changed my life on campus: (1) working with John Legend and the LRNG grant, (2) working with NWP and my vision for Young Adult Literacy Labs, including Ubuntu Academy, and (3) working with my cousin, Coach Sydney Johnson, and producer Taylor Sharp to make Hoops Africa: Ubuntu Matters possible at Fairfield University. I was able to distribute 72 posters and rev up the troops for a new school year.

JOIN ME IN THE MOVEMENT OF HUMAN TOGETHERNESS.

We shall see how it goes.

Weird. I was so nervous. Maybe because I didn't last in dorm life (cough cough - residential housing) too long. I told them, "I was never meant to live with others in such a setting." I loved my time in university housing, but I was too smart to think about the economics of it all and I got off campus as soon as I could. This generation, though - they're get hooked/trapped/forced to stay on campus. Phew .
It is safe. I get that. It's isolated and beautiful, too. And I know this, because Chitunga was caught by the same trap at LeMoyne and told, "You can't live off campus as a freshman."

I guess times have change.

It was a successful day and I am glad to have spent the time I did with the University leaders. I came home to Chitunga, returning from Maine, packing to return to upstate New York to finish his final semester of undergraduate work before he steps into his 5th year.

Sad to know it's a short time left together, but I'm proud of him and ready for his investment unto himself. Still, I love having him at home. Ah, adulthood and life.

How Quickly He Falls Back To Old Behaviors As The Summer Comes To An End

Abu and Ali left. Chitunga went to Maine for the week, and that has left Glamis and I on Mt. Pleasant all alone. She's a creature of habit and is satisfied with her Purina One. I, on the other hand, realize that cooking an abundant amount of food like I do all summer is a total waste of time. In fact, all the vegetables I roasted over the weekend are in a bowl leftover from the barbecue and birthday party at someone else's house.

The silence at home (and the fact that I've officially ended CWP-Fairfield's summer programs a week ago) has left me with hours to write, plan, tune syllabi, and prepare for November/December conferences. The result?

Who wants to cook?

Not this guy.

And cue Triscuits with Cabot horseradish cheese.

DINNNER!

Okay, I also ate several cherry tomatoes my neighbor delivered (wipes sweat from brow as I feel I'm being nutritional).

I can't resort back to this habit again. It's unhealthy and ridiculous, but let me tell you, preparation takes about 30 seconds and I'm good to go and can return back to my writing.

I look forward to Chitunga's return tonight so I have an excuse to be a better chef; of course, he returns to Syracuse on Saturday.

No! Keep me from my lazy culinary habits. Ugh!

Let There Be Light! Crandall As Lawn Gnome Sneaking Glow Bulbs To the Lawns of Friends

A few years ago, after a summer of CWP-Fairfield literacy labs and teacher institutes, I stumbled upon a clearance rack at Home Depot of solar-lit lawn globes in the colors of orange, yellow, and blue. I immediately bought one and upon seeing it in my backyard, I returned the next day to buy the rest. They were handed out as a thank-you to the many who worked behind the scenes to support the summer programs.

Additionally, I stashed a few away to give to my sisters and parents, and bought a few more for myself.

Since that date, I've looked over and over again to find the model, but the maker switched to different shapes that weren't as nice. That, and the non-clearance price was ridiculous.

Fast forward to 2018 when, two days ago, I found the globes once again, still not on sale. Knowing how long I waited to find them again, I bit my lip and purchased 3 at full price - two for me and one for a friend who gave hers away to a friend who "had to have it." One of the ones I bought, however, didn't work so I took it back for an exchange to learn (ba da da!) that all the globes were 50% off.

Crandall-the-Bargain-Hunter-BINGO.

I had to buy them up once again. Call me the Connecticut lawn gnome. Last night, I delivered two of them to the lawns of friends who offer me light throughout my stressful endeavors (they are remarkable friends who keep me sane). I knew they were each at a movie, so I simply plugged them into their gardens without a note. I also delivered one to each of my neighbors who have helped me with Glamis and for parking when our driveway was being done. We needed the spaces. Without a fuss, they offered up their spaces.

It's the small things that make this guy happy. I like looking out at night to see the lit globes sprinkled throughout my yard. I now will be able to look out to my neighbors' lawns to also see such light. For one, I planted in memory of her dog she had to put down at the beginning of summer. I know she was devastated and Glamis and I have missed seeing him out back and going for his daily walks. I'm hopeful the light will stand in his memory and she will love it (she doesn't return from vacation until Saturday).

So, let there be light! That is on my mind right now. Let there be light!

And Then You Get Moments Of Curiosity Through The Eyes of the Kid, and You Go, "Hmmmm."

I'm at home with the to-do list trying to check off the items as I see fit to finish out the summer. Meanwhile, in Harrington, Maine, Chitunga sends me photos of him kayaking, fishing, and walking around an area of the United States that I've never been to. He was on Ripley Street in Maine and wanted me to see photos of the territory.

It looks beautiful and rustic. I want to be there.

Nope. I'm in Stratford working on syllabi, publications, pre-semester planning, and summer summaries.

Someone is in a better position.

And someone better be enjoying his time in what looks to be Eden, a Utopia of fresh water that once was.

Back in Stratford, however, I am getting my runs and walks in, but really craving the opportunity to see a different part of the world. I've been telling everyone that I believe my midlife crisis will be a desire to be on freshwater and the purchase of a motor boat to dock somewhere. That's the craving I have from my happiest moments on earth. I want a boat and a fishing pole.

We shall see.

In the meantime, I am living through the photos he sends and I can't wait to hear how his week in Maine went. For years I've heard about the beauty of that State, but I've yet to visit. With the photos he's sending, however, I am thinking I'm long overdue for a visit. It looks to be, as Stephen King says, one of America's biggest secrets.

Deadpool Wasn't In the Infinity Wars, But Didn't That Dude With Time Travel Culminate the 2nd Movie?

My brother-in-law will laugh at my speculation, especially since I'm like a 2 out of 10 when it comes to Marvel comics. I watch them, I'm entertained, I love the storylines, but I'm far from the geekdom that makes the kingdom of comic book fanatics.

That is why when I finally watched Infinity Wars last night and was dumfounded by the ending with 50% of the universe disappearing that I wanted to know more about how Marvel (and its franchise) was going to get itself out of the armageddon sequence.

There are many theories online (I read them, because I'm a semi-geek and I wanted to know what the symbol was for the call made at the end of the credits). There's a woman coming - I get that, and she's somehow connected to Iron Man, I believe, and a storyline from somewhere between 2008 and now.

Even so, I am thinking Deadpool. I don't remember the dude from the future who comes to rewrite history, but I do remember he has the ability to time travel. I was thinking that Deadpool has a long life of going backwards and forwards in history to keep his franchise going.

Could he have something to do with the Marvel debacle that resulted at the end of Infinity Wars? Might Deadpool join Guardians of the Galaxy, Spiderman, Hulk, and the aftermath of Wakanda to make sense of the crazy ending of Thanos finally enjoying his sunset? Could that time travel and rewriting of history have something to do with it.

I know Mike is laughing. He will find loopholes in my theory and say something like, "Go back to your books."

I am the man, after all, who though Harry Potter should die and Dumbledore should be resurrected.

It was a great movie and I'm duped. I didn't see the storyline coming although Ali (who also hasn't seen the film) ruined every scene by telling me what he had heard. My revenge is he'll eventually see the flick.

All I know is that I'm hooked. I love story and I want to see if the universe will right itself (a great metaphor for the 21st century location of Earth right now).

Groot! Groot! Bring back my Groot! We need my ent-like hero to save the day.

Crandall, You Can Roast The Vegetables They Said. We'll Provide the Rest

It was Kentucky heat yesterday, but I ran anyway. It was a hot run and I think my body will spend the next couple of days seek water to replenish all that I sweat out on my usual run.

Even so, I returned to cut up all the vegetables in the house so that I could do a barbecue of asparagus, peppers, zucchini, potatoes, onions, and brussel sprouts. I make enough to feed 40 people which was a little too much for the occasion, but we have leftovers for a Sunday gathering, too.

Kai, Leo and Bev's son, finished his Masters in Music at NYU and also turned 30, so we gathered in Milford for a party, awaiting thunderstorms (that seemed to go around us) and dancing in the dining room (which I wasn't able to do because I ate too many of the hot wings and I was afraid my body would think I was going for another humid run. That, and I had too many ribs - got to take in the summer eats when one can.

The humidity is supposed to break today and I need to get myself back into a writing and planning routine. Everything is flying forward much too quickly.

Tunga made is safely to Maine, although that journey was long. He left at 6 a.m. and texted they arrived at 5:45 p.m. (I'm guessing they must have had many breaks along the way). He will now have a few days on water to fish, kayak and chill in the beautiful country.

There's nothing better than grilled vegetables in the summer time, though, and our long weekends are coming to a close. This may be my last big hoorah for a while, too, as feeding me usually means a return to Triscuits and horseradish cheese.

Okay, Sunday. I'm hoping I will rest a little more today and simply let my mind go to rest - it is very tired. I will, however, returned to the food. It's too good not to!

And I Wonder Why I Napped on Friday (Well, It's All Catching Up To Me)

I posted yesterday knowing we'd get home super late and I wouldn't have time to write. Therefore, this post is about Thursday (I know it's Saturday) recapping our trip to Foxboro, Massachusetts for the Patriots game.

This is not where we sat, but where we settled. I bought expensive tickets online and it had us in the 3rd tier, so high up that it was nauseating to look at the field. We watched a quarter like that and then ventured down to the ground level, before finding a table in the end zone that was a lot more convenient to watch the game.

We also arrived to the game in the 90 degree heat about 4 hours before we needed to be there. That was okay, because we planned on walking around and finding a restaurant to chill out at until the game started (we were successful with that). We also got off in Providence so we could look around at Brown University. As far as Ivys go, it was extremely nice. I'm still scratching my head that anyone would want to settle at Yale. Doesn't seem to be much of a comparison.

The temperatures got to us at the game, however, as viewing in sticky sweat isn't much fun. I couldn't drink because I was driving, but I'm unsure even beer would be refreshing. I knew I had the 2.5 hour drive home and that most of the highway driving was on unlit roads.

The Patriots won and the Eagles did not look like a team coming off the Super Bowl championship. It was somewhat uneventful, besides watching all the drunken Pats fans making fools of themselves. I sure hope they didn't get into cars or trucks when they were leaving.

That made for a very sleepy Friday. I got up at my usual time - I can't sleep in - and that caused numerous yawns all day Friday. I got writing in, and running, but my 3 pm I needed to lie down for a nap. I'm simply spent, as the summer is catching up to me.

Now, the kid heads to Maine and I head into intellectual, nerd land. One week, he fishes, and I research and write. We celebrate his return and then he's off to LeMoyne once more.

Phew! It flies way too fast. 

Next Year Milkweed, But For Now Let the Monarchs Rest in My Back Yard Enroute to S. America

Yesterday, before departing to the Patriots game, I was up early to tackle the lawn, weeding and other yard work. I was in the hot sun for a couple of hours then came inside to write a little.

Tunga came down the stairs and I asked, "Where you going?" He said, "To mow the lawn." I said, "Done."

When I was drinking water on the back patio, I noticed that the butterfly bush bloomed and there were several butterflies feeding from it - excited to see two monarchs in the mix.

Well, Hello grandma. Thanks for visiting me in Connecticut.

I've been trying to keep track of the monarch populations as the milkweed availability has diminished as they travel from S. America to Canada and back. They rely on them for reproduction and next year I am thinking I might plant more to help them on their journey.

Winged flight. Not as delicious as hummingbirds with barbecue sauce, but delectable just the same.

I'm posting this early, because I'm sure to be home late from the game. Was thrilled to see life in my backyard, knowing that my goal all along has been to capture a photo like this. I built a garden in Clarksville and another in Cicero. It's taken a couple of years, but now we have a butterfly attraction on Mt. Pleasant....

...all in memory of An E. Rip.

Taking a Night Off With the Kid. This is His Wish and I Must Admit, I'm Into It, Too.

When I asked Chitunga what he wanted to do to end the summer his first reaction was highly attractive. I want to go to Washington, DC. I really wish I could make that happen, but my schedule wouldn't quite allow for a trip to the capitol (I really want to make this happen).

Next on the list: well, the New England Patriots are playing last year's Super Bowl Champions, the Philadelphia Eagles and tonight they are playing in pre-season.

It took me a while, but I figured out a way to get us tickets, knowing that our time together is short-lived because he returns back to school in Syracuse. Next week, he's heading north to Maine to go fishing for a week with friends from Connecticut. So, this is our last hoorah - a father/son football trip in Foxborough, Massachusetts. Game time, 7:30 p.m..

I actually love this trip. Launching the football season with a trip to the Patriots will make me a little more interested in what the season has to hold. I'm much more of a college football guy (definitely more of a basketball guy), but I'm all about the hoopla and bonanza of an NFL game. We are going and we'll likely leave sometime early this morning.

Because we can.

I'm thankful that we can.

In the meantime, insurance covered my new windshield. That was wonderful to see. And my crown was replaced (that is unlikely to be covered). It's been a week.

I'm looking for father and son time. Period.

We'll make it what we will. The smile on his face will be worth everything.

Dagnabbit! That Pesky I-95 & The Vermin That Drive Upon It With Stray Debris In Their Truck Beds.

I was chalking up yesterday to a successful day: blue sky, lots of items on the to-do list checked off, more of my University office cleaned, and a celebration of Tunga's new car, Beatrix LaStrange (he agreed to the name).

There was also mild traffic on I-95, and I was looking at the ocean (well, Sound) and thinking about the long run I wanted to take before I began my evening chores.

That's when I heard 'thwap." Debris was flying out of the back of this service truck on the highway - just the basic things: washers, screws, deadbolts, wrenches, screwdrivers, and blowup dolls.

Something hit my windshield and I instantly saw the spider legs. Then, as I got home, I noticed the crack goes from the base of the window halfway to the middle.

Just like that. KaPow! Now another item to add to the agenda.

This, of course, happens hours before Chitunga delivers a dead bug to me. He found it between his mattress and bedspring, as he's in cleaning mode to head back to school.

"I think it's a bed bug," he announces. We only found one, but now the paranoia is up. They travel in backpacks, suitcases, and duffle bags. Summer is an open house amusement park on Mt. Pleasant. It could of come from anyone.

We only found one, but the panic is up, especially since the kid and I have both had bites in recent days --- but they are definitely spider bites with two fangs and, according to Internet research, the bits were not in locations common to bedbugs. They didn't look the same.

According to our research, the bug we found was an adult male in desperate need for food. A well fed male would have been longer and more plump. Good thing we found reliable resources online, otherwise we'd be up all night thinking we have bed bugs.

Okay, that's exactly what happened, but we don't.

It could have been a tick.

Crandall Vs. Basketball Shorts After The Laundry Pulled Out The String Once Again

I hate knots. I get obsessed with them - just ask Abu and Ali when, over the summer, somehow Glamis created a tremendous one with her leash after they walked her. I don't like to give up. Rather, I like to go after Gordian Knots with full force, untangling the mess and getting everything back to normal (read power chords in most households after several years of neglect - they like to tangle together like snakes during mating season).

That is why, perhaps, my Monday was definitely a Monday. At night, when I pulled out running shorts from the dryer, several pairs had a tie-string tango and (a) knotted up in a ball and (b) pulled one another from the shorts they are supposed to be attached to.

Step One: Untangle the mess.

Step Two: Rethread the string in the elastic waistbands.

I wish I could say this was easy. I also wish I could say this wasn't aggravating and I loved the thrill of the challenge.

Nope. It was a pain in the ass, but my OCD brain couldn't rest until I accomplished both. There's a metaphor, always, and like Sisyphus and his boulder, so too is knot untangling and rethreading on Mt. Pleasant Avenue.

I'm on Day 1 without the draw to CWP-Fairfield responsibilities (that's a slight exaggeration, as I have portfolios to read and another edition of POW! to edit). I spent Monday of my make-believe vacation with Chitunga as he officially signed a lease to a new Subaru Impreza (I will rest easier knowing his car won't break down in CNY winters). Then we got our haircuts before we both set out into our nerd-land. Before I went to bed, however, I became obsessed with detangling the laundry's shenanigans. I was cursing a storm while Tunga was at the gym, trying to report the damage that my "Twist and Shout" gym shorts decided to do. It was a mess.

Yet, I was triumphant.

Now it's Tuesday. I awake knowing that I spent way too much time in my bedroom cursing my fingers, the small elastic bands that hijacked the pull-string of my shorts, and cursing my tendency to want to right all that is incorrect.

Meanwhile the emails pile up, the summer success pulls me into data collection for the 5th year, and Glamis still wants to go for a walk.

But the running shorts/gym shorts/basketball shorts are repaired (for at least this laundry's cycle).

Groundhog's Day, 2018. This is what is given to us until we no longer have to worry about a thing.

I Was Three, Tunga Was Born Twenty Years Later, And Last Night, We Watched the Original Jaws

I believe it was a good thing to rewatch JAWS with Chitunga at the end of the beach season. This guy, who never sits still long enough to comprehend much at all, managed to watch the entire film over again last night - one I must have viewed 30 times in my childhood. I can't imagine what this did to the American psyche when it came out, especially those communities living by water.

This movie came out pre-cable, pre-internet, during rotary phones, and way before 24/7 News Shows. Word traveled by newspaper, so I'm sure a shark-infested water created paranoia on multiple beaches.

JAWS holds up. It was written in a beautiful way that blended light comedy with absolute fear. It also did wonderful narration with the cinematography that captured the time. Of course, this made me miss Big Brother, but I will catch up.

I've been swimming in the ocean weekly and now I'm like, "Eeks, What if?" Now I know why I loved swimming in the fresh waters of Central New York (and playing JAWS with Dusty as the shark and my parent's king size bed as the buoy of safety.

But speaking of the giant chomp-chomp. Today is Monday - the chomp chomp of the human soul. Bring it on.

Garage Sale! Mt. Pleasant! Nope, Kidding. Just Collecting @AbuBility @aliadan3 Material to Send to Syracuse

My television called me last night - collect - to ask, "Will it really be a year from now before you turn me on again?"

I responded, "No. Big Brother is still on and basketball season allures me. I sometimes keep up with football, too, so I know where Tunga is coming from."

Two of the boys departed. So far, this is the collection they left behind, besides candy wrappers in the crevices of my home and the absolute silence. They are back in Syracuse (safely) and moving on with teaching lives (which I'm proud of...Ali at my Alma Mater, and Abu with Syracuse City Schools).

I went to the Big Y today to get groceries for the week and was amazed that I just cut the cost by 75% - the bill was so low I thought, "Are you sure? Did you ring that up correctly?"

Which makes me think about Popeye's Chicken. Together, we ate Popeye's three times. I was able to feed the four of us (sometimes others) for roughly $28. When I figure the math of groceries, however, each nightly meal for the boys cost roughly $36 (so Popeye's is a really great deal). You can do the math, but $36 x 7 is what I roughly paid for 6 weeks when I kept praying there'd be leftovers (which occasionally there was a scrap or two).

Shout out to Popeye's.

My washing machine, too, is saying, "Hey, are you still going to use me 2x's a day or can me and the dryer take a break." I assured them they are off the hook...it will be minimal for the rest of summer and once Tunga leaves, it will be even more calm.

I am channeling my father here who says, "What are you going to leave this time?" Usually it's a power chord or pair of socks. I also leave dog toys.

It's normal to leave a trail.

So, now I will return the goods, but I'm going to wait a week in the belief that there will be more items to show up.

Meanwhile, Glamis ate a lot of grass yesterday in the rain. I believe she has an upset stomach because she misses all the attention she got with Abu and Ali in the home. She has a broken heart, too, when the departures occur.

Ah, but it's Sunday - and there's much to accomplish, so here we go.

First Friday Night All Summer Knowing There's Not An Impeding AgendaAhead

I slid into last night forgetting to grab my computer and having to write from an IPad. It's been a frantic few weeks (6 to be exact) where every second has been part of an agenda. Yesterday, when I got home I realized I could kayak and simply roll into the evening.

Meanwhile, my day was spent getting teachers and youth leaders paid, clearing out and office, and sending goodbyes to Ali and Abu.

By the time this posts, I hope I will have had a solid night's sleep. I have been wanting one of those since May.

It is supposed to rain all day, so I am looking forward to being stuck indoors. Here's to the celebration of all that just was and everything still ahead. In the meantime....zzzzzz.

The Good News Is The Lawn Mower Cut Off Before Running Over My Leg

The summer began with scars from diving all over Walnut Beach as if I was still in my 20s. I healed from that injury (sand damage) about a week ago.

Two days ago, when the temperature hit almost 100 degrees and I had 30-minutes before picking up Chitunga, so I mowed the lawn. What I didn't realize, however, is that there was a big chunk of rock in the lawn and a hole left over from when I had my driveway redone. I was walking backwards pulling the power over the final strip of lawn on the side of the house, when I hit the rock and the hole and went flying onto the sidewalk, scraping my knee and the left side of my leg. The motor cut off because my hand fell off the handle and then the mower ran up against my feet.

Glad it cut off. That would have been pretty.

The sad thing is I didn't pay much attention because I went to pick up Tunga, came home to feed everyone, then went to bed. I woke up in the morning to Glamis licking my sheets when I realized the blood was everywhere. I must have bled all night.

I said to the boys, "You didn't notice I was bleeding last night at dinner?"

Nope. Nope. Nope Nope Nope.

I didn't see it until I woke up either and stung in the shower.

This is a metaphor for the entire summer. Since June I've been going nonstop and haven't had a second to even think about what I need or could benefit from. My knee looks displaced.

It seems only natural that on my last day with summer programs, this incident occurred. Totally Crandall. But, the house is slowly emptying, and it will be eerily quiet again real soon. Then, I can pay attention to me.

In the meantime, Neosporin to the rescue. 

A Final Hoorah with READING LANDSCAPES: WRITING NATURE IN THE 21st CENTURY

And thus 6 weeks of summer work: 200+ youth and 30+ teachers comes to a close. We finished with a workshop on Google 360 and learning how to set up our iPhones as virtual goggles to see a panorama of our nature experiences. It was wonderful, but surreal. I was able to travel all around the world and view the 1/2 dome as if I was in that location (including standing in Cicero or getting off the train in Roskilde, Denmark. 

Bottom line, we can capture everything in a virtual world, but it doesn't mean the world is sustained or felt. There's beauty in the technology and I love every second of it, but we fail to recognize the humanity of it all. 

Prompted to reflect on the experience (in a very short time), I went poetic. Reading Landscapes: Writing Nature in the 21st Century - this was a little Total Recall for me, where nature is best experienced on a screen. 

Virtually Real, Really Virtual

We are a blur,

hypnotically captured in a shoebox

of yesterday’s photographs, 

specters and spooks 

in the crevices and nooks 

of history.

Waves don’t roll,

rivers don’t run.

Friends and family are partially etched

in disappearing time.

Thoughts are circular,

molecular, but only half

the dome is roamed….

the lines disconnect the real

from what we virtually hope is truth.

A google of geese

are frozen shadows across blue sky…

a façade of wings 

flying through a simulacra of migration.

Church congregations 

sit stills

with frozen prayers 

never to be heard.

Clouds become

time-capsules

trapped in a culture of voyeurism.

The virtue

of morally bankrupt

dehumanization

is the antonym

of what it means to be alive.

Day 2 of Nature Writing at Weir Farm - Although Hot, A Wonderful Day To Be Outside for a Hike

We knew the temperatures were climbing yesterday and that the humidity might get a bit uncomfortable by afternoon, so we opted to hit the Weir Pond hike in the morning sunlight (trust me - we were disgusting by the end of it).

With that noted, it has to be said that the proper of Weir Farm National Park is breathtaking and stunning. I am amazed by the light there and how every second of every day changes the landscapes and the way we think about it.

We were blessed, too, to have UCONN scholar Danielle Filipiak join us for the afternoon conversation of youth participatory action research and inquiry activism. The day was set up, beforehand, with an activity borrowed from PROJECT WET where everyone was required to build their own community along the water - a river community that leads to the watershed of everyone involved.

Coupled with the activities and hikes was the moment of stillness when we were all required to find a silent spot and simply absorb and right. I love this activity, but I was invaded with biting ants who were taking chunks out of my legs. I was knee-deep in serenity and tranquility when I felt the stinging and swatted. Phew. Didn't mean to hit a guy, but the blood was atrocious and it hurt. I paralyzed the little guy.

Eegads.

Now, today we head to Fairfield University and do something with our photographs, thoughts, and brainstorming, mixing possibilities with our digital spaces.

I am thankful to Weir Farm, Danielle, Rich Novack, National Park Services and the National Writing Project so I'm able to work with such wonderful, thought-provoking teachers. This collaboration has allowed me to connect to my Kentucky environmental days and passion for the outdoors.

Happy To Be Part of a National Park Grant With Weir Farm - A Collaboration That Is Simply Beautiful

 For the 2nd year, CWP-Fairfield is hosting a teacher institute in collaboration with Weir Farm National Historic Park and the beautiful landscape of Connecticut. The art center, which also is a nature and farm preserve, has been a part of the CWP-radar for a few years and I'm really exited that the National Writing Project has a special collaboration with the National Park Service.

So much of this is a throwback to my Beargrass Creek State Nature Preserve work in Louisville, Kentucky, and my Kentucky Institute for Educational and Sustainable Development Masters from the the University of Louisville. My days of working with Barbie Bruker-Corwin and members of the Kentucky Environmental Educator Association are irreplaceable. All my work at that time has been sort of back-burnered because of English teaching, but it has all found a way back into the Connecticut Writing Project that I lead.

Yesterday, Rich Novack led several opportunities where we were asked to paint like the artist Weir and to think about the ways we gravitate towards nature writing in our classroom. I've been trying for years to figure out how to do water coloring, and each year it is an epic fail. Still, I find my place in the attempt to capture the moment of what I am thinking about (I don't have the talent of Rhiannon Berry who just magically went outside and painted brilliant replication of what she wanted to write about).

I'm in love with the landscape of Weir Farm as it true does remind me of my Kentucky days. I'm always drawn to conversations with fellow educators as we try to figure out a relationship between the world and words (to draw from another reference offered by Rich Novack).

Never impressed when impressionistically 
enmeshed in a human encountering with nature.


Paths lead, diverse, indulge, 
and I fell like a mortal bulge
in the way of a more tranquil world.

Good intensions swirled in a whirlwind of my excess.
I am a the mess, I confess, looking to green invitations -
my hesitations are on the collective we,
interrupting tranquility of what should be without me here.

On the edge of entering, I choose the exit.

Let is exist, let it persist, let it resist -
our roads of good intentions...

natural tensions between a man and his world.

It was a beautiful, albeit hot, first day. I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next in our discovery of self, the earth, and and the ways the local connects us to a more complex, global world.

I Would Have Never Forecasted This One - Thompson Twins & Culture Club at Foxwoods

Tunga's favorite musicians this last year have been Pat Benatar and Culture Club, both who have played at venues in Connecticut this summer. The Benatar tickets were a little pricy, but the Boy George ones were reasonable and he never attended a concert before.

So, last night we went to see the Thompson Twins and Culture club live and in concert at Mohegan Sun: the kid, Rhiannon, Pam, Kaitlyn and me. I would have bypassed the entire experience, but Pam got the tickets and it was a great first concert (I remember my experience with Meatloaf in Binghamton - a first concert needs to be something surreal).

We got home super late, so I'll keep this post short: (1) I knew a lot more Thompson Twins songs than I realized and (2) Boy George has better pipes than I ever realized. I guess I never recognized the funk, punk, island fusion, reggae influences to his music, but he highlighted many of them last night with his band and back up singers. I can only imagine that the back stores are out of this world and much of his life was a hot mess (that would be my guess).

Still, he gave a fantastic concert and it was fun watching everyone sing along. I expected more crazy in the crowd, but it was rather subdued. Only a few rainbow braids in fedoras. If 1985 Bryan was ever to predict a 2018 Bryan, he would have never thought he'd be at a Culture Club concert or viewing Boy George live. But, that's what happen and the kid was happy because of it.

That's what it's all about.

And When You Finish 5 Weeks of Programs With One More To Go, You Hit the Office To Process Receipts

The skinny is the University switched its accounting system. While they were at it, they also switched the credit car carrier. They chose to do this the last weeks of June and beginning weeks of July when CWP-Fairfield's work really takes off.

The result? Well, My office is paperwork hell. The two weeks where nothing could be processed by campus and, as a result, most of it went onto my personal credit cards.

Well, as one can imagine with all the grants focused on these summer months, it made for a complicated financial heat way of insanity. Trying to figure out the new system with the due dates and uploading everything took most of my day away yesterday.

The campus was completely empty.

But then there was a knock on the door. It was the grant officer - my right hand everything. She said, "I knew you'd be here on a Saturday. There's just too much to do."

We're getting used to this world, and I wish we could find a way to get around it.

Numbers numbers numbers to allow words, words, words. But that is what must be done to serve over 200 youth and 40 teachers every summer. 

And the 1st Ever TO WRITE OR NOT TO WRITE is Complete! @Cwpfairfield @FolgerLibrary @WritingProject @fairfieldu

We tried something new this: To Write or Not To Write, A Shakespearean Lab. I am so proud of the teachers, Dr. Shannon Kelley and Kara Peters for pulling the young people (well coaching them) so far in one week. They accomplished Midsummer Night's Dream and Macbeth. They also mentored the kids to writing their own monologues, sonnets, and scripts. I was extremely impressed and know that this is definitely a literacy lab to continue in the future. It worked. 

With Thanks to Will

T his is us, us is we
H aving Elizabethan fun within Shakespeare harmony,
A ll the world's a stage, & we are just players,
N udging out of his prose the intellectual layers,
K kowing we see more , we are truth-sayers,

Y outh at the doorway,
O f a more celestial world:
U niversalities, traditions, rituals twirled,

W its the magic of faeries, witches, & spirits,
I imagining new worlds, reaching new heights,
L oving our sonnets, drafting our screens,
L earning from the Bard, his language equipped,
I llusions, delusions, confusion, explosion -
A rriving with visions, new missions, implosions,
M acbeth, we are the daggers that lie before thee

S hannon, Kara, a week with CWP
H armonizing. Synthenizing, compromising to be more free,
A skin ourselves whether to be or not to be ...
K ryptonite not strong enough, we are much too might.
E each of us writing to help up
S ee, the songs we have within.
P eople, from here we can only begin
E volving into something brand new,
A ll of us together, a Shakespearean crew.
R omeo, Hamlet, Taming of the Shrew.
E exeunt. Finale from us to you.

Another Wonderful Colort of @CWPFairfield @writingproject Teacher Leaders Have Jumped Into Leadership

It's bitter sweet, last days. Yesterday, was the last day for the Invitational Leadership Institute, my 7th one at Fairfield (I didn't do a traditional institute last year so I could work on my dossier. As always, I finished the project with a final goodbye - an acrostic of the summer teacher writers. 

Cicadidae

For Summer Teacher Writers ‘18

                        intro.

I am here again. There…somewhere

n earer to that place I’m supposed to be

v irtus tentamine gaudet

i n exhaustion, i am challenged…

t he strength rejoices in the choices i make

a nd every summer breath i  

t ake brings me closer to the truth 

i seek. A last week, weak as an idiot

o n the stage…out, out brief candle…

n yncompoop, no sage to be heard no more,

a nd all the rage & frustration of

l eaving the company of friends.

L aughter, cinnamon rolls, coffee - 

e magination brats, puberty, 

a nd theubiquitous need for 

d eodorant - 

e very moment evolving at the

r ight time,

s imply trying to enjoy the journey - 

h ow morning prompts & pair-shares

i nvite us closer to being human – to be the

p oem. We are its lines.

I am here again. Somewhere

n ear where I’m supposed to be with this poetry

s inging a song of language, bringing 

t he questions, not many answers,

I magining there must be a better way for 

t eachers. Phew. What can I say, but

u buntu. i am, because we are…humbled

t ogether in this mess of 

e ach and every day.

                        i.

V irginia Wolfe, Jane Austen, Maya Angelou, Margaret Atwood, 

e mily Brontë, J.K. Rowling, Alice Walker, Sylvia Plath, Willa Cather,

n ic stone, Maxine Hong Kingston, Anne Frank, Flannery O’Conner

e mily Dickinson, Dorothy Parker, Angie Thomas, Judy Bloom, 

s imon de Beauvoir, Ursulla Leguin, Harper Lee, Zora Neal Hurston,

s ylvia Plath, Sharon Flake, Jaqueline Woodson, Adrienne Rich,

a nita Desai, Octavia Butler, Sarah Dessen, Nikki Giovanni,

E dith Wharton, Sondra Cisneras, Beryl Gilroy, Joy Harjo,

I zumi Shikibu, Louise Erdich, Virgina Wolfe, Mary Wollstonecraft,

s uzanne Collins, Beatrix Potter, Lois Lowry, Laurie Halse Anderson,

e lizabeth George, Sue Grafton, Mary Higgins Clark, Sappho,

n ora Larson, Shonda Rimes, Agatha Christie, Suzan-Lori Parks

m ary Shelley, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Meg Cabot,

a my Tan,Pam Muñoz Ryan, Kathy Acker, and

n ow you…who else, but you, Venessa ElsenmanElsenwoman!

                        ii.

T he thing about tautological, tediferous temulence

o r maenadic, macrocephalous mahouts is the 

m alacophonous magnality of mamzers. 

F acundity? Fadoodle? Farctate Febricity?

o h, yes, but of course. For 

r eal! Raniform, rantipole rannygazoo causes

d acryops! Dapocaginous Diabology & Diplopia.

e ventually, we all need a little Webster.

                        iii.

E laborating history (the mystery & simple complexity) is 

l amination on a road map of who we want to be….

I ntellectual? Playful? Isolated? a little silly? Weaving

s tories, hardships and glories, 

a rtifacts, trinkets, & capsules of individual time,

b ravery, letters, photographs while living our prime,

e ntertaining the narrative told deep within our mind

t hat this chapter evolved from that one &, for a little while, we

h ad a notebook to write our way – to have our say.

M emories, flashbacks, books & curiosity,

u nravelling ourselves in complex simplicity,

l earning global truths through sometimes local lies,

l etting the cave shadows disappear before our 

e yes (while exiting the studio door). What is any of it

r eally for, but to leave our imprint where we can.

                        iv.

A bu was in ESL when I first met him, a Liberian 

b oy with bald eagles 

i n his eyes who 

g rabbed new words like fish for his talons.

a nd they wonder why we teach?

i don’t know, maybe because we reach a

l evel too few will ever know. We help them grow.

P eople are people because of other people

a ll commonalities far surpass what makes us strange -

p ersonalites, universals, global pastiche – a wide range of 

i ndividuality creating plurality…the

n ewness reminds us of everything old…

c hildren learning language – they must be bold - and

h e was, Abu, that kid with a red, white

a nd blue heart. All he and his family ever wanted was

k indness, refuge…it’s simple, a new start.

                        v.

L ossine, his brother, was almost left behind,

a ggravated & crying, his mother had to find an

u nusual place to hide him from the soldiers

r eaching for guns…fleeing often, too often, when

e veryone runs, she runs. Her children, like her,

n eeded shelter.

R unning from family, from tradition, from language

a post-colonial reality, when she heard his

c rying & yelling she needed serenity, but bullets heard, too - 

a ll she could do was take cover and pray – 

n ot sure what she should do to save another day, that

o nly a mother’s love could know.

                        

vi.

L aughter comes when they hear No Child Left Behind

i n their English class (they only knew the uncommon core) & a

z illion jokes begin to fly. Lossine, you hear that? That

z any President named a reform act after you.

y ou were that child almost left behind in Africa.

S he saved him, though….could have killed him, but loved him…

e ventually they’d tell me this story, like the night 

m y Explorer swerved to miss a rabbit. They said, “the 1^stdead

p erson we ever saw was on a beach in the Ivory Coast. Just

l eft there, missing most of who they once were in the ocean.”

e very child at risk. every one talented and gifted.

                        vii.

E go is a strange thing. Hubris that is…a

s cholarship of trying to know accuracy,

t he quantitative and qualitative tales we weave…

h ow we take what we know & treat others. I was 

e ventually hooded, a new title to my name, but the

r eal pomp & circumstance was for them.

T he vuvuzelas they brought bellowed, and there I was…

h e was…that man who recorded their lives and 

e verything they had to say – carrying their stories

o n a hard-drive, their existence, their 

d ays as English learners and refugee survivors,

o n a hard-drive home that day, I had to 

r eflect. Ego. Hubris.A Responsibility to Speak Out. 

e very child we teach is so much more than a test score.

                        viii.

C an’t help but wonder here, who? Maybe, what? 

a nd most definitely why? We know where -

s urely, right here & when, the last four weeks, 

e xistentially, for this reason, this stanza surely speaks, but only if

y ou are here and you are there and they are here, 

T his sort of thinking freaks me 

o ut. Panoptica. Sauron’s Eye watching me 

r ead my word, as I’m trying to read the world: schools serve the

same social functions as prisons and mental hospitals (Foucault)

to define, classify, control and regulate people.

e veryone together – this is the church and this is its steeple – 

n ow are any of us ever Friere from such oppression?

s o, i have a confession. I haven’t a frickin’ clue,

o nly know that I do as I do (a doobie doo doo)

n estled in a Hall, Canisius, with beautiful others.

                        ix.

K razee, this langwidge thang, the madge-chick wee hope it brangs,

a ccomo date ting the waze we reed…finding 

t rooth in what evry chiled breengs,

j ugling nure ons w/ abstracked brane wayves,

a sineing graydz 2 how we thank thay reed, c.

P oynt iz, wee r awl skware pegz 4 rownd Hose

i no, bee cause Hive all waze tride 2 com pree henned awl

t hat migh t-chers wure triying 2 tell mee,

a z iff, werdz writ ton on the payje whir ab salute!

H oarse Shhhhh it. 

e vry chiled iz a Mirror cull. S-cools r un kool with how they

r an-dumbly lay bull kids this weigh or that.

n ow ledge is mutch more complikayted

a s payrents, wee must due awl wee kan 2 ad-vo-kate 4 the

n ee-oh-fights inn r kare. THIS IS LOVE. THIS IS THE ANSWER.

d onut let anywon tawl u otterwise.

e ve ree chiled iz byoo-tiffle & cape-ah-bull of wreetching the

z ee-nuth of purse-on-null xullants.

H ow due eye no this?

i c it. eye tch it. i fill it. i no it.

l anggwidge iz an ahrt forum. It iz

l yke AhLizbeftheeyan Shachespaireon vurse…

g o ahud, reed it. at furst it mayks know scents. 

r eallee, the hole langqwide thang is Abstracked,

u nbahleaveahbull how it werks (eyed lyke 2

b ye a vowl, Patt. Kan eye hav an

e h?). Whut kan eye say?

r eeding iz knot easy e.

                        x.

J uly left us. It’s August, and here I am again with this word,

u nbelievable, this feeling that you, me, them and us have 

l ived this before. What is this? This us? This

i nvitational leadership institute we’re so sure to trust

e ach & every year?

R andom thought. I don’t think it is us (elephant shoe)

o r any of these teachers (they’re frickin’ great but, 

n o, it’s not them…not that). It’s this…the 

e verything that the National Writing Project brings,

s ongs of ourselves, what it sings with discoveries,

o f who we are. phew. 4 weeks, we’ve come so far. 

n ow is the time… cue Cicadidae. 

                        xi.

I am here again, back where i started & somewhere

n ear where i wish i might have gone…a 

c randall song stuck in the 

r iver of rhyme that is trying to find extra time to

e mpty the ocean with a fork (frog, you’re such a 

d ork), but that is the law of teaching.

I am here again, poetically preaching,

b to the r to the y, looking for a way to 

l ive the life of learning, seeking, 

e ach and every story that comes my way. For these I say hooray.