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.

I'm Done. Actually, I Have Two More Days. The Carnage Activity - Well, It Resonated

To end the exercises yesterday, Michale Lomonico of the Folger's Shakespeare Library presented an exercise he called carnage. Basically, he gave everyone in the room a line from Shakespeare that is spoken upon the death scenes. He gave me the last one, so I was able to be the most dramatic, exiting the room with the most heightened theatrics I could muster.

It wasn't pretend. I am literally at the end of my summer's rope and trying to find one more (actually two more) days of energy so I can end with the youth and find hutzpah for a new institute for teachers that begins next week.

I got into my final scene for the day and created an exit/death where I hung on doors and windows to depart (actually cutting my wrist and able to streak real blood - what can I say? I have a flare for the dramatic).

Actually, it was a fascinating end to a fortunate couple of days of learning from a Shakespearean teaching expert.

Ah, but he needed to catch a ferry and I needed to drop two kids off here, pick up this kid here, deliver a package there, write a final goodbye over there, and send a few recommendations

I guess I cooked, too .

I can't complain, but I do know I am looking forward to weekend sleep. It can't come soon enough.

Thrilled to Host @mikelomo for Teacher & Youth Work @FolgerLibrary @writingproject @FairfieldU

 A year ago, I was introduced to veteran teacher Michael Lomonico who, upon retirement from high school education, moved into a role of teaching Shakespeare at the University and then working with the Folgers Shakespeare Library in DC. Residing on the other side of the Long Island Sound pond, and with his degree from Fairfield University, it seemed logical to envision and dream something new for summer programs.

To Write Or Not To Write - A Shakespeare Lab was the result.

With 15 kids on board, a stellar actress and a wonder scholar, I knew that it would be silly not to invite Michael to join us for a workshop this summer.

Actually, JOIN is an understatement - LEAD is the better verb. Knowing he was coming to work with the youth, I thought, "Would you be willing to do a workshop with our Invitational Leadership Institute for Teachers?" Of course he was, and even though they are tiring from the last week of the program, they were rejuvenated from Mike's irreplaceable workshop.

After he left us, I learned he went upstairs to do another workshop with Ubuntu Academy, our literacy lab for immigrant and refugee youth (all 32 of them, plus the Shakespeare kids). Wow.

When he left the teacher institute, one of them asked me, "How do you do it? How do you simply take what you love and move it into a leadership role?" I simply said, "Look at Mike. It's passion. He's retired, but he can never stop sharing his passion and what he loves. He's a natural. He can move any crowd. He does remarkable things with language and look how engaged you just were. It was because he knows what he is doing. Take what you are doing and start there. You know what you love. Let that be your leadership."

Meanwhile, next door, I came across a donkey (or brontosaurus) in action with Kara directed the scene. The kids had huge smiles on their faces as they were performing the scenes from Midsummer Night's Dream. It is amazing to look in and see 15 passionately devoted and willing middle and high school youth engaged with performing, writing, and reading from the Bard's inspiration. The teachers are loving it and they are learning so much from the kids.

We're onto something here. There's a magic that needs to spread to Writing Project sites everywhere.

And look at that - it's August again. Phew. One of these days I'll know what it means to have summers off. 24 years in the profession and I haven't learned my lesson yet.

Always Touched by The Power of Ubuntu & To See the @kwamealexander Effect on Our Writers

When we pull into the University a little after 7:30 a.m., I never know what I'm going to experience in the day. Ali and Abu immediately get to work preparing the classrooms, and I head to my computer so I can print out the items that instructors send the night before. Mondays are trickier because we have new rosters and the need to greet parents in the parking lot.

That is why, at the end of the day, when I was running an errand to the Provost's office, I was thrilled to see a young man in Ubuntu Academy reading Rebound by Kwame Alexander with Ali Adan as his mentoring teacher. Chances are, this might be the first book he's ever been given as a gift in the United States, and I loved hearing Ali work with him on pronunciations and comprehensions. The young people are loving the book and it has been perfect for them as they access new English words and think about telling their own stories to one another. Many of our kids have only been in the country for a couple of months - that is the power of the literacy lab's design.

Meanwhile, I walked into the classroom where William King and Jessica Baldizon lead the mother ship for the 32 young people. I look to the back wall and see a throw-back poem - a shout out to the 'As In' poems from The Crossover....and it's all about UBUNTU.

As in "I am a part of CWP writing camp and have been able to assist students better their language skills which will help them become successful members of Ubuntu Academy."

As in "Navigating through each student to help them find courage in themselves to share their stories and find their Ubuntu spark."

As in: "Allowing myself to keep an open-mind and to outside my own comfort zone (like all the students) to experience diversity and incredible change through Ubuntu."

Well, that was nice to read, because I see that the learning occurs when I'm not around (wipes sweat from brow - phew).

Meanwhile, downstairs on another floor, To Write or Not To Write - The Shakespeare Lab kicked off. We had 8 sign-ups online, but then 15 kids showed up today. Boom. Success. I find it fascinating that we are balancing between bard-loving thespians who love deconstructing Elizabethan English on one floor and English language learners trying to construct their first sentence in English on another.

But it's working, and our National Writing Project teacher institute gets to experience it all. This is CWP and it's a thrill to see the magic at Fairfield University.

To Write Or Not To Write - @CWPFairfield and the 1st Shakespeare Young Adult Literacy Lab

We're entering the 5th, and last week with youth in our summer programs (with only one more week left for another teacher institute). This week, we're debuting To Write Or Not To Write, a literacy lab for Shakespeare-loving youth. It was an experiment, but we were delighted to see that several young people signed up.

Originally planned alongside a collaboration with the Folger's Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, the intent was to have young people to work with and to explore Elizabethan language and storylines with. Sadly, the teacher institute didn't take off as planned, but that's okay, because we still have the traditional teacher institute on campus. I'm delighted, too, to have Michael LoMonico, Fairfield University graduate and Shakespeare teacher extraordinaire coming by to do two days of workshops.

In addition, I'm fortunate to have hired Shakespeare scholar, Dr. Shannon Kelly and Shakespeare actress, Kara Peters, to help run the weeklong lab. They've chosen Macbeth and Midsummer's Night Dream to be their go-to plays and our mission is to inspire writing from the writing of Mr. William Shakespeare. We imagine the week will get poetic and theatrical rather quick.

We'll continue with Ubuntu Academy this week after saying goodbye to college essayists and the political writers in Project Citizen.

It's hard to believe the countdown with kids is on its way. The campus will definitely miss their vivacious energy.

In the mean time, we have some feathered pens that need to get to work.