Last Post of 2022...When Mom Gets Visited from an Ol' Neighbor, Joanne, and Suddenly Time Explodes in a Text and All You Can Do is Smile

When you're young, you never think a day will end, summers will come, or holidays will return. Everything operates in slow motion, and you have memories of this baseball game, or that pick-up football game, and riding ten speed bikes. Then high school hits, you get a job, you go on to college, and you hear stories of the little kids who used to live down the street who were football and track stars, eventually play Division I, and make it to the NFL. 

And you just remember the mom and dad who you always waved to, understood as the fabric of the neighborhood, and then like you, their time moves on, too. Nothing sits still.

So when Joanne visited my mom and I ask, "Did you get any pictures?" she sends photos of JR, Calvin, and Curtis as adult men, with their own kids, and all you can think is, "Wow. Look at time...will ya?"

These were the boys that replaced you and your friends on Amalfi Drive...the days of Kenny and Chrissy Williams...their little nieces and nephews who, like you, grew up. It's absolutely amazing to see the adult versions of their younger selves and to see smiles, happiness, and joy....all radiating from the same that Joanne and her husband always radiated from down the street. I've kept up slightly through Shawny, and always remembered Neesy, the oldest, who used to sprint down the street when she was in high school and I was in junior high. Now, all these years later, and knowing of their athletic careers and growth, a photograph arrives. 

It's pretty remarkable to see the way days, months, and even years become a blur and then to suddenly see lifetimes before you...beautiful lifetimes.

We are all raised by the neighborhood families, even when we don't realize they're keeping an eye on us. So much of my childhood was visiting with the parents and keeping an eye on the kids as they were outside playing. Then, Wola! They're adults, and their family story goes on just like your own.

I remember the announcements of razz-ma-tazz hair, and the time I hit homerun and Chrissy was on the sideline cheering me on like I was a huge stud. She was in high school, and the the oldest cousin from the other end of Amalfi Drive, and I remember how much gushing came from me knowing that a high school girl was pretending I was the greatest man on earth for hitting a home run. 

This ended 2022 perfectly...seeing time as it moves forward and knowing the happiness remains with their family. 

Here's to them...the Crandalls...the Altiers...and all those that were Amalfi Drive at the time. This, I believe, is what beautiful is all about.

And I'm so glad Joanne stopped to visit with my mom. That is extra special...there is no other word to describe it. This is definitely the bow wrapping up the year that just was...we are all connected by time, space, coincidence, and family. 

This One is a Punch to the Gut. I Am So Fortunate to Have Had the Mentorship of a Legend...a Sage...a One-of-a-Kind Genius.

Sue sent me a message yesterday. Gay Rapley passed away. I'm in shock, a bit disillusioned, and so terribly sad about her leaving. So much of my teaching career is owed to her and it doesn't seem possible that her zest and pizazz are no longer with us.

She was the Queen of being a free spirit. Her influence on decades of young people cannot be measured. As I've reached out to alumni, they've said, "She's the reason I became the person I am. She invested so much in us."

In 1996, I did my student teaching at the J. Graham Brown School and was mentored by Sue McV, but also taken under the wings of Gay Rapley. She, Neysa, and Sue were the high school English Department and when I joined in 1997, Gay was my mentor, my laughter, my vision for what is possible, and my hope. She was the English teacher who wore feather boas with Keds, pushed all the boundaries of what young people could do in high school, corrected my grammar, and who offered Maude-like humor and energy with eccentricity, brilliance, and love (we showed Harold & Maude every year in her honor). Not a day went by when I didn't learn something new from her. Her retirement crushed us, but she deserved it, and my colleagues and I did all we could to live up to her reputation, funk, and joy (yes, she loved to play the role of cynic and doomsday-ist, but that was not the educator who she really was for so many). She was the light of the school.

I can only imagine the life lessons she offered throughout a full career as an English teacher. Her influence on me was always astronomical and I think about her all the time. She retired, moved to Florida, but planted numerous seeds in the human being I am today. Those seeds grew in my time in Kentucky, during my doctoral work in Syracuse, and now as a National Writing Project site director.

I remember after she won teacher-of-the-year, and announced her retirement, that at graduation she locked her keys in the car. After parents and students left, she asked me to go with her to her car for help, but we ended up calling someone to break in. His license plate said, "Pimp-Mobilie" and I always laughed that she was rescued by this kid with that plate, and flipping a feather boa behind her and leaving the Brown for the last time, saying, "Crandall, it's time for a new journey to begin."

She wined and dined me. Said she wanted to be me for Halloween (we swapped clothes and let me borrow a moo-moo), and reminded me that nothing was more important than mentoring and loving students. In her last year, we shared a beautiful student who lost her mother. I remember how delicate Gay was with this student, especially with helping her to keep faith through tragedy, and finding a reason to laugh. She was always an angel on earth.

Here I was, simply starting out. There she was, investing a lifetime and career to this newbie with a wild desire to teach and an ambition to keep the Brown legacy going. She often told me, "You're too ambitious to stay in the profession," and I always hated that. She was right, though. As I witnessed things crumbling with new leadership and national trends, I needed to find a new tract that would allow me to ask additional questions...to push against systems a little more...and to keep my spunk. She was such a wise woman. I like to think that so much of what I do is because of her.

I'm crushed to learn that she no longer with us, and I was sad that she grew distant after her retirement. But I'm always talking to her in my head...in my deepest thinking...and with all I plan for others (because that is who she was).

Gay Rapley was always larger than life (I loved that we had a Rapley-Ripley connection). 

I never thought I'd see a day that I left the Brown School, but when I did, I vowed to keep the Brown School alive in whatever I chose to do. That was Gay. She was so much the heart and soul of the school. The connections I made for a decade after she left was because of everything she modeled. I always wanted to live up to her legacy.

So smart. Often on the edge of outrageous. And such a beautiful human being. I am a better man because of her. Dang...this life thing is rough at times.

This is a punch to the gut that will take some time to process. 

The best years of my life were at the Brown. That place, and its teachers, are extraordinary. Wow.

I Made It Out of the House. It's a Crandall Tradition to Hit Clearance at My Favorite Places to Stock up for the Next Season. I Feel Accomplished

After walking Karal yesterday morning I decided to jump in the car and hit a few places where I knew holiday goods would be 50% off. At several stores I expected the lady to say, "That will be $240," but she usually said, "$24.00" - I'm that good. I put all the purchases into a big tub and it will sit in the basement with the tree and ornaments until next year. Truth is, I will forget all about it, but when I get it out at Thanksgiving, I will be sure to say, "Cool. Glad I did this."

Why pay $40 for a sweater when you can get it for $4? That's my motto.

Today, I need to get back into teaching mode, as the winter-session begins and I'm the one signed up to teach it....well, half of it. Tues-Thurs, 6 pm to 9 pm, I'll be online with graduate students! Fun times. 

Chitunga's on his way to Louisville, and Milford and Sue are heading to Ft. Myers to get warm for the winter months (jealous). The older I get, the more I feel it in my bones why people snow bird as they do. And I can't believe 2023 is right around the corner...we were just singing like we were partying in 1999, and now all that partying is in the rearview mirror. 

Okay, time to prep for the crazy.

In Honor of Her Birthday, I Did a Cynderballz! All Holiday Stuff Is Boxed, Put Away, And Over With. No Bah-Humbug...Just Happy Birthday, Cynde

The tradition has usually been to stick around Syracuse until Cynde's birthday on the 28th, but since I didn't have a Christmas this year, there was no sticking around. Instead, I sent a package via Amazon yesterday, and awoke to pretend I'm Cynde. Within minutes of the Christmas shenanigans being over, she has always wiped away the evidence as quickly as it went up. It'a a way to restore order for a new year. 

Now, I had my goods up the day after turkey, and I was counting down the days until I could drive to Syracuse and unwind with family. This, of course, was kidnapped by the flu-of-22, which finally seemed to step aside yesterday around 11 a.m.. Sitting up and not dying under a blanket on the couch, I decided, "Well, this year was a bust, and I proceeded to take down the tree, put away all the lights, and box the nativity set. I cleaned the first floor, sprayed Lysol in every room, and hopefully shocked the house's system from stomach crud, hacking, and phlegm. 

And as I did this I sang Happy Birthday to Cynde, channeling her order, cleanliness, and precision. As far as the eye can see, there is no evidence that the holidays were even a thing. I finally unwrapped the presents left by Chitunga and stored them away (a power washer for spring and a security camera that will take some research to install).

This will always be my favorite picture of my older sister: red curls and big, pink Barbie glasses. It's hard to get her to unwind and be silly, but when it happens, it's always a blast.

I'm thankful to Bev and Pam for dropping off a care package of Christmas dinners that I missed. I sat down and actually ate like a normal person (it felt good not to have to slurp from a bowl)

Safe travels...by this time tomorrow, the twins should be landing in Monrovia! First time back in 15 years.

Let there be cake! Happy Birthday, Cynde! I hope you enjoy the celebrations.

Why Shouldn't Tuesday Be Like Monday & the Last Week? Karal Seems to Love This New Lifestyle of Couch Potato Upon Couch

I successfully spent most of yesterday upright (even went for a long walk). The garbage moved up to my nose for most of the day, but then found its way back into my chest last night. The result? Well, back to the couch for soup, Theraflu, and blankets. Karal was thrilled. She's gotten way too used to this. 

Talked to Cynderballz, too, and she said, "Have you ever spent a week lying on a couch watching t.v.?" and I had to think about it. Nope. But I officially can announce to the universe that I spent an entire week under a blanket watching Netflix.

I have a story for generations to come.

And I've packaged the guilt in a bag to put away for a later date. I will unleash it eventually. 

But it is true...my t.v. has had more use this week than all the other weeks it's had in my house since it was first purchased. 

Here's hoping that today will be the day it finally leaves. I thought it was yesterday, but I relapsed.

Whaaaaaaaaaaa.

I did eat a cinnamon roll for dinner, however. That was nice. 

Meanwhile, Monday, in the Land of Soup and Chicken, Your Couch Has Never Appreciated Such Use....on the 7th Day and Counting

If today is like the last seven days, I will post this blog and immediately fall back to sleep on the couch...that is, after 10 hours of sleep. I can celebrate, however, that yesterday wasn't a day also spent in the bathroom. Whatever this is finally gave me a break.

Soup. Ginger Ale. Thera Flu. Repeat.

I am sitting up today, which is a nice change.

The good news is that also I saved on a week of gas (well, not personal gas - that turned catastrophic on most days). My car has sat in the same place without going further than Big Y for more medicine and soup for over a week.

And I know this is getting pretty old as far as morning reporting; not like there's much life going on with a head on a pillow and a blanket upon the lap...that's about it.

There were two red cardinals outside the window. They were entertaining for a short while. The one wasn't pleased to see the other and a chase ensued. 

I took a shower. Perhaps the best part of the day is coming out and rubbing Vics all over my chest, then I head back to the couch and sleep for a while. Good times. 

Netflix. Survival. Sleep. And Soup. 

And best travels, Abu & Lossine. They are traveling back to Liberia for the first time in 15 years. I wish them the best....I have gifts upon your return (hopefully by then this will be gone).

Merry Christmas, Everyone! May You Enjoy the Day with Loved Ones & Find Joy in the Company of Others

I think the two-week bug-diagnosis is about accurate, and I settled with finishing Dead to Me, eating wedding soup (thanks, Beth) and snacking on cookies (thanks, Pam). I also was fortunate to hear a reading of A Flake Like Mike and Dave the Cracker, before settling into an evening of coughing and Holiday cooking shows. Karal seemed to sense something was amok, as she made sure to keep my feet warm and brought me toys from her basket to share her love. 

I could hear cheer from the house of neighbors and even peep in from my upstairs windows, which was nothing voyeuristic, just something I noticed.

All was merry and bright, which it should be

Cynde read a Christmas poem and rhymed Yahtzee with Pepsi, and all was on par for usual.

I do hope, however, that when they did the "Brady" tree and had to hang "Bryan's" ornament, then there was a moment of instrumentation for cinematic effect knowing I was not  going to be there this year. 

I tell everyone that I get two days off a year and they are Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I look forward to it year around, and it is always the goal of all the other days --- to make it home for Christmas. It hit me early in the week that I was not going to be healthy enough this year, but I did enjoy the lights in my house, the company of the dog, and knowing that Chitunga brought the sleigh up north for delivery without me (although I didn't nearly finish shopping....just ran out of steam). 

It's all good, as it is what it is.

Merry Christmas, Everyone! From our home, to yours.

Looking on the Bright Side. Sure, It's the Holidays, It's 2 Degrees Outside, and I'm Stuck on a Couch, But There's Dead To Me & It's Keeping Me Alive

I used to watch Christina Applegate on Married with Children because it used to come on near the Tracey Ullman Show. It was full of cheesy one liners, over-sexualized humor, and Ted Bundy shoe salesman jokes. It was a quite a dumb show, actually, but Applegate was sexy...hot...she played the part well. That was the purpose.

Last Friday, out with Harding teachers and administrators, they started talking about Dead to Me and I gave it a shot. Okay, I binged. I fell in love with the storyline, characterization, and performances. It's brilliant. I checked to see if Applegate has won any awards. No, this isn't Kelly Bundy....it's so much better. Her talents are remarkable and I've just been in awe. 

It's Patsy and Edwina, Laverne & Shirley, Kate & Ally, Frankie & Grace, Judy & Jen. Brilliant comedic performances portraying silliness, eccentricity, and twisted humor. I just love it.

And I needed the laugh/need the laugh. I want to sit down with the writers and simply learn how their brains work. This is probably not the greatest Christmas Eve post, but it is totally representing joy in my bizarre, comical position these last weeks of 2022. Kicked it off with Covid & and a cracked head, and ended it with burst kitchen pipes and the Flu from hell.

I think we all could use a few laughs. 

And so I'm laughing.

Last Night I Was Visited From the Tree of Christmas Past. Actually, It's This Weird Glow Effect from a Nighttime Photo. But Spirits Have Visted Me.

You know you've been sick when you high five ghosts in your house congratulating them for the success of making it 10 hours without a fart requiring a change of clothes. I also didn't wake up only to sleep for another 8 hours, either. Instead, I awoke hacking up chunks of porcupine that somehow burrowed into my chest. It came up like that all day long, and into the night. Fever came and went all day, appetite came back (good news, I have curly fries to survive the winter storm), and a few brain cells started to churning. In fact, I turned in grades, which I didn't foresee happening until Christmas Eve Day. 

Of course I'm cursing myself, too, because as I write this the intestinal gurgling is playing some sort of gastrula symphony. Music to my ears these day. Actually, the curtain opened and today's orchestration has begun. The band pit moved to the chest again.

I did bring packages downstairs to have under the tree, although they may simply lie dormant until all this passes. I'm considering it symbolism at this point. The gesture. The what-should-be. 

I should probably turn on the Weather Channel and catch up on all the doomsday predictions that are causing schools to close and governments to warn people from traveling. The Syracusian in me always raises a skeptical eye. I mean, it's not Watertown with a possible 4 feet with 65 miles an hour wind. Now that would be something to be afraid of, especially with freezing pipes and white-outs. That could get rough.

Newsflash. I think Bumble, the abdominal snowman has chosen not to leave after all (and that pun was by accident...love a good typo when it works).

I shall keep the tree lit all weekend so I have something to entertain me ... to shine a little light. Hoping the teary eyes, body aches, and phlegm tsunamis will subside, but I've thought that every day this week, haven't I?

Here's to last minute shoppers...I gave up the idea of fulfilling any holiday gifting a few weeks ago...no time, then the curse of this flu. Just riding it out as it comes...

...watching the ghost of a Christmas tree float above its presents.

and ready for another nap ... after all, I've been away for two hours. It's time.

Going for the Gold this Holiday Season, Wrapping up the Semester with Investments in the Medicine Aisle and Prayer that Soup Will Stay Down

I still find it remarkable that I can sleep 12 hours soundly, only to wake up and need another six hours of sleep on the couch. I awake, take more medicine, grade one project, then nap for a few more hours. And here we are on day #4.

Nostrils still clogged. Chest still aching. Muscles tired from coughing and aches in my head, despite all the hydration I've given this monster. I know. I know. But he blogs. Well, I have an addictive personality, and my routines are what they are.

I ran out of self-medications, so ventured out to Big Y to get more...I was hoping, too, that movement would stir things up some. It did not (except for my sweats fell to my ankles, but that's normal while grocery shopping). It just made me need another nap.

Don't worry. I put on my Michelin man army suit like the days of full-blown Covid. Anyone who saw me in that store would tell to stay away from me. I am oozing mucus goo from my every pore. 

But I can say that the graduate projects have trickled in slowly and as they did, I quickly graded them so I could return to the couch. I'm still determined to stay on top of the game, if it's at all possible.

The Lypton soup, too, was a good purchase, as I managed to keep it down. Everything else has wanted to leave my body as soon as it was digested. The soup at least waited until 3 a.m. before it rocket-launched from my body.

Yes, I've read every website imaginable about length of the disease, how long I might infect others, and when I can expect any of it to go away. Hoping the frigid cold coming down from Canada this weekend will crush it out of my system.

I'm an optimist. What else can I be? 

More rested. And that is what I shall do. I was praying I'd wake up this morning with good news. That, unfortunately, is not here. Just a gurgling chest, fever, and more exhaustion.

Another Day on the Couch, Another Box of Tissues, At Least 20 Hours of Sleep, But At Least Now My Brain is Out of Its Fog. God Bless, This Was Nasty

On Monday, I went to bed at 9 pm and slept until 8 a.m. - I came downstairs, made coffee, but didn't drink it. Instead, I slept on the couch until 4 in the afternoon, when I decided I needed a steaming hot shower and some soup. I took a shower, but didn't have any soup. I had no appetite. The shower tired me out so I slept until 7.

By 8 pm, I decided I should take a Covid test, because I want to be sure I don't have Covid before heading to Syracuse this weekend (I'm optimistic). The cough was severely bronchial, my head is in agony, and the sweats are at an all time high. I was soaked from the fever, but I think that was because whatever this crud is, it was working its way out of my system.

In the mean time, I haven't coughed this much ever, or been more clogged in nostrels, throat, or chest. If I was able to wrestle any thought, I'm sure they wouldn't go anywhere because my ears were plugged up, too. My muscles ache from all the coughing.

Okay, humpday...I'm simply going to ride you out to see how I begin to feel....hoping I get to the up and up. It's not starting out good, but at least I got toast down...but, I think it's time for another nap. 

Nope. This Isn't Me, But It Might As Well Be Me. Sunday Night at 11 p.m., the Crud Came At Me & Hit Quickly. I Slept on the Couch All Day

I am hoping I will feel better today. It is highly rare for me to lie under blankets and pillows for an entire day, but I had no choice. My head filled up with fluids, my chest gave occupancy to a porcupine, and my temperature when up to fire pit, and right back down to igloo. All I did was sleep, drink fluids, take medicines, drink fluid, sleep, drink fluids, and rest. 

And all the fluids meant a lot of peeing, which was annoying, because as soon as I'd fall asleep, I'd wake up again to use the bathroom. But liquid was all I could keep down. 

My eyes teared all day, too. I couldn't keep them open. 

I'm a day behind what I planned for this week, too. I just want to sleep and make all of this go away.

I Missed the Syracuse Gathering, But Happy Birthday, Mom, & Congratulations, Nikki. So Much Festivity in 24 Hours & a Week Before Christmas

I had one request, "Get a photo of Chitunga with Mom and one with Nikki," so I got one of the three of them with Papi Butch. Yesterday, my niece graduated from the St. Joe's Nursing program and they turned it into a birthday party for Mimi Sue, where Casey got an early Christmas gift and Tunga got a belated Birthday one. I missed out of the restaurant and cake, but I did get my photo!

And in the true tradition of mom, she wasn't looking in the camera (what else would be new?).

Never fails, for me, that when the holiday break comes around, I get a sniffle in my nose and a scratch in my throat. It's the immune system of an educator...when we see light at the end of a tunnel, our bodies say, "Now is a great time to get sick." I hope this passes. Too late. I am down for the count. Head, throat, and chest completely garbled and I'm talking through my ears. I need sleep.

Got to talk to mom twice yesterday, the first time for her weekly update on Days of Our Lives (it took a threesome to help her conclude the show is dumb, in which I replied, "You're just figuring this out after 50+ years?").

I'm super proud of Nikkerdoodles, too, who has been ram horns down to achieve what she's been after. She loves working in hospitals, and she got to graduate at the Landmark Theater, which is a beautiful venue for such an occasion.

Tunga represented the Connecticut crew, and is being treated like a king by the Kurtz's, who have been an extended family for him all these years...I'm so thankful. 

Now, I'm hoping that graduate students get their final projects in early, so I can have them graded and hit the road before the inclement weather expected this weekend. Trust me, as soon as they roll in I will have my eyes on them for feedback.

Last night, too, Pam made a ham, I brought over mashed potatoes, and the first of too many holidays feasts were had. She also made a cheddar cheese, broccoli dish which complemented everything wonderful.

Finally, congrats to Argentina. Not sure what we're supposed to do without anticipated World Cup games. What a finish! Worth every second of the last month of viewing. The best team was triumphant, and oh, what a game!

And She Chooses To Not Only Be My Best Friend, But To Crowd My Every Space as I Work Tirelessly To Catch Up, Just to Get Ahead for the Next Few Weeks

Here's the rub: I need to not only get ready for the winter-session, but prepare for the Spring semester, all while finishing out the Fall semester. I know this may seem strange for those who aren't in this line of work, but organization is all there is. In order to do whatever I can to do the best for students and teachers working with youth, I need to be twenty miles ahead of myself so a foundation is in place. 

This requires plop-down planning, even when one is inflicted with a stomach bug in the middle of the night, is in need of groceries, and has a sunny day to walk the dog. 

Did I mention it was the NCAA Volleyball Championship and Louisville was playing Texas? That's what kept me motivated for the day. I figured, if I got the work done during the day I could enjoy the game at night, which I did.

And throughout these goals and initiatives, Karal chose she didn't only want to be beside me, but wanted to be on my lap watching every move my fingers made on the keyboard. She curled up and nested, while I kept going, productive.

I can say the winter-session syllabus went out to my students (an overload on a 15-student course) and I drafted a solid syllabi for a course this spring in which there are two sections and I'm mentoring a junior faculty member as she joins the work for the first time. To keep things flowing, the calendar needs to be in place every week, and planning backward is the only option.

Focus. Determination. Passion. Love. Joy. Intent. That's what I'm operating with, as did both the Texas Longhorns and Louisville Cardinals teams last night. I was never a coach at the level that these girls play in college, but I feel the game, the practices, the drills, the skills, and the desire to play one's best. It's why I love this sport. 

And Texas with a 3-0 sweep. They came to play. You can't discredit that in any way. For the love of the game....Congratulations. Louisville should be proud. On a different day, it might have gone different, but last night, the better team one.

Another Crandall Tradition: Each Year I Update Christmas Family Cards on a French Photo Board, Keeping Track of Human Growth and Beauty

I got to add Oliwia this year, the latest addition to the Crandall board of family holiday cards. Although the rumor is of crankiness and fussiness, she really is an adorable cherub. I can't help walking by it without smiling. The same is true for the Isgar cards, the Barnwells, the Herzogs, the Johnsons, the Marsicks, the Chandler-Olcotts, the Stevens, etc. etc. etc. I never throw them away. I simply keep them for evolution's sake. 

Last night I met Bridgeport educators for dinner at Dockside then bee-lined to BJs before calling it a day. Truth is, I stayed up until 1:30 a.m. for the U of L volleyball matches on Thursday night, and slept until 9 a.m. on Friday, but because I don't stay up that late any more, my sleep was awful, and my body was confused. It wants to be lights out much, much earlier. 

And then last night, a thunderstorm arrived to my stomach at 4 a.m. creating a biblical 90 minutes. Could it be the caramelized onions from the Black & Bleu burger at Dockside (those fries, though)

Rumor is Chitunga made it to Syracuse okay, even with the inclement weather, so he'll be there for Mimi's birthday and Nikki's graduation, which makes me smile. I love that I can be represented through him. I will get there, but not until late in the week (and Sue McV and Dave will get him for the New Year's). 

Today, I will be watching the NCAA Volleyball final and trying to catch up on grading and 2nd semester planning, all so I can be ready for the winter session research course...not that I want to teach it, but the classes need to be covered. Thankful to Pierre for picking up the other half (I'm sure he's exhausted like I am). 

Also looking forward to a day without rain. Poor Karal hates going outside when it's wet, but then misses the long walks so its antsy. I, too, can't stand when I don't get outside for the fresh air. 

Hoping the stomach bombardment is over. It was so rough that I started laughing. I didn't know noises like that could come from a human body!

I Am Forever Thankful to My Bro-In-Law, Michael "Thor" Isgar, for His Expertise and Support of My Connecticut Home-Ownership Chaos. I Wish He Lived Next Door

I was two for two on sleep. I went to bed at 11 and slept straight through until 6 a.m. when I went to the bathroom and decided I should start my day. This was yesterday, of course. When I came to the kitchen to make coffee I saw a towel soaked by the dishwasher and two of the rugs pulled to the back porch. Granted, I was like "WTF?" but Edem was sleeping, I had several ZOOM calls that were back to back, and quite frankly, I wasn't in the mood to deal with one more thing. As the coffee brewed, I went to the basement, and was crestfallen. There was water everywhere. 

Needless to say, I did the ZOOM meetings from 9 until 12, and then I yelled up to Edem. "Are you up? Do you want to come downstairs?"

He did. He explained that he got up to pee at 4:45 a.m. and heard a downpour outside. He looked out the window and didn't see any rain, so he ran down the stairs and said the gushing noise was under the sink, so he reached in and turned off the water valve. It stopped the sound. He then used towels to clean the water and pull the few soaked rugs outside. He then went to bed, because he was exhausted. 

Long story short, the plumber said, "You're so lucky the kid thought about turning off the hot water line. It saved you from so much more damage." 

The cold water worked all day and, truth be told, the hot water worked in all portions of my house but the kitchen. It was the pipe under my kitchen sink to the dishwasher that sprung a leak, which eventually turned into gushing water. I'm lucky Edem heard it and caught it before it could be much worse. 

What's interesting is that the water came through the heating vents in the kitchen and soaked the ventilation wrapped around the heat vents in the basement. The water traveled along the ventilation and leaked at it's lowest point, flooding the basement in a single location. Weird. I should note that eventually the water weight was too much and the vents and installation just fell off. 

Needless to say, I called Mike. Who else would I call? He's like the Yoda to my Luke Skywalker stupidity. "Let me see. Um huh. Um huh. Shine the light over there. Um huh. Um huh." He then coached me for what I needed to do. 

I am lucky. I know these things can be so much worse. I faired well. Home ownership can be for the birds at times. I'm thankful for Mike for coaching me and Edem for being smart enough for putting an end to what might have been a disaster. 

Check written. Plumbers deserve what they're paid. Water and piping are central to a home. Ah, humans and their habitations. We work, I suppose, to afford tragedy as it arrives.

Grad Class Taught Until 9:15. Drive Home 30-Minutes. Frigid Wind Bit My Bones. Needed to Make Dinner & Then Lights Out. No Meetings Until 10 A.M.

There's something eerie about being the last adult out of Canisius Hall on Wednesday Nights. Usually I see my buddy Jay who teaches a couple doors down, but I believe he gave them a take home examination. After Alfred came by to see if I had any trash (which I didn't), it was eerily quiet in the building. I could tell it was cold outside by the way the undergraduates were scurrying from place to place. 

I left the building as undergraduates were finding nooks and crevices to get last-minute cram time in...studying, getting review sessions from peers, or writing papers. The building was loading up with undergrads who camp out, unattended, in the building with what I image are overnighters. They have blankets, food, coffee - they're equipped.

Still, the couple having sex in their car parked next to mine....well, let them be warm. It rocked like the carriage at a Hogwart's Ball. I just got in my car and left, embarrassed that I even had to pass them.

My mind was done for the evening. I wanted warm blankets, a good meal, and my pillows. I celebrated the fact that Tuesday night I fell asleep by 9:30 and slept until 6 a.m. - a huge achievement. I'm not a napper, so good sleeps are always rewarding for the day ahead. 

Today, back to back candidate interviews, followed by back to back student conferences, followed by one recording of The Write Time, and finalizing with one U of L final four tournament game (a tough one, indeed). 

Tomorrow...morning and then afternoon meetings. I know we all want a break, but meetings seems to be the way we operate. Don't worry. I usually bring work to get done.

I envy, terribly, those who teach in southern and western schools -- they start in August, yes, but they get out in time to have a break before the holidays. It seems delicious to me, and I can't even imagine the joy of having down time before family time. But then I feel terrible for K-12 schools this year, most of whom are running until the 23rd. Ugh. Those pour teachers. They need breathing and healing space, too. Parents may have one or two kids in their homes (okay maybe a few more), but teachers have 100s....it's exhausting, and there is never rest.

They deserve the rest more than any of us. I hope they find it. 

Going Into This Wednesday with Only One Wish, "Please Make It Stop." The News and Updates and End-of-the-Semester Blues Has Been Just a Little Intense

I'm heading into the end-of-the-semester slide without any words to describe the chaos and insanity of graduate students, undergraduates, and colleagues. I keep chalking it up to the fact that we're all still in the Covid-era, and perhaps all the PTSD is coming out now, with symptoms none of us could ever predict.

My theme for last night was meditative Zen. I'm trying to stay in my lane, focus on the good I've been blessed to do with teachers and young people, and invest in what I can continue tomorrow. All the other crazy - the language, the claims, the storytelling, the mythology, and the absence - well, those are for books others are writing. I hope their narrative end well, with what the universe decides for them.  

I simply want to survive to the holidays so I can enjoy Christmas Day. I deserve that one day off each year where light and joy are central to everything. 

I know it's a crazy world, but every once in a while I need a taste of partial sanity. For some reason (Book of Job), I still keep my faith. 

This has been a week to remember. News flying in every direction. Emails. Phone calls. Zoom meetings. The infrastructure has been destroyed over several years - perhaps intentionally, perhaps not. And now we simply ride it out.

And That's a Wrap with My 2022 Meatball Pre-Holiday Break Cooking Bonanza - Always Best After Sitting in Sauce for a Couple of Days

Yesterday was nuts. I had to read to prepare for the week, stopped at Big Y to get bread, came home and worked for a few hours, then having to make a call I reached for the phone and, nope, it wasn't there. I immediately retraced my steps...all the rooms I walked in, all the movement around outside because I put more outdoor items in the shed, a search of every crevice of the car, then remembered the last time I had it was at the grocery, when I was doing self-check out and a lady said, "I can take you in my lane." It was that exchange that discombobulated me. 

I inhaled, I exhaled, and I ventured back to the store to see if I left it on the counter. 

When I got to the customer service, a girl with no lips said, "What color is it?" and I said "black." To be honest, I thought all phones were black. Nope, the one we have isn't black. "What's on the Home Screen?" I answered, "My son and my dog." She studied me and looked into my eyes. She saw the Home Screen and was a little perplexed. "It's blue," I remembered. "Blue." 

Sure enough, she had it.

Anyway, I promised I'd take a break at 5 to bring Pam the last of the meatballs and pasta, which I did, but I couldn't get the game via the ESPN app because it said my provider denied me. I was going to airplay SU/Indiana NCAA soccer championship game on her t.v. while we ate. That didn't happen. 

I returned home, having eaten another great meal, then tried to get the game on my laptop. Same denial. Of course, when I turn on my t.v., I find the game because I DO PAY FOR THE SPORTS package. Cable is outdated and has always been horrible to its customers.

I don't know why I stick with it. Was glad to get the game on my t.v., but I should be able to stream it on all my devices without frustration. I mean, I pay what I pay so I can watch games.

Okay, the griping is done. My belly was full and the game went into overtime and penalty kicks. In sudden death, Syracuse took the title. It was wonderful to experience...always a pleasure to experience pure joy.

Tis the Season to Club Husbands! Whacka-whacka Woo, a Whomp Whomp Oomph. Playing Games Like Neanderthals. Whacka-whacka Woo, a Whomp Whomp Oomph

It's been way too long before gathering with Kris and Dave, and when I learned Justin was home, I knew I needed to make something happen. They've been on the go with college visits for Val and Isaiah, plus teaching, plus conferences, plus parenting...it's just been impossible to get together. A week ago I said, "Name a night you're free and I'm cooking for your entourage. 

Well, last night it was. I've been prepping for a week. Chitunga arrived, too, and I said, "Can you imagine cooking for a house of 7 every night? Oi Vay. I'm including Juliet on all of this, as she was with Justin and visiting from Memphis. Sadly, they didn't bring their dog with them.

Spaghetti, meatballs, salad, mushrooms, sausage, and a gorgonzola sauce for those that wanted to experiment (we all experimented, so good). 

Perhaps the highlight was that Dave brought IPAs and one was called Polish Champaign. Justin said, "Whoa, this tastes like roasted kielbasa," and I thought he was joking, but sure enough...it tasted like smoked kielbasa, indeed. What an odd beer. Actually, I wouldn't be able to drink it.

Ishy found Neanderthal Poetry in my game table and wola! The next thing we knew we were writing mono-syllabic verses to get others to thing what it was they were trying to say. 

We all recognize that Kris took a little too much pleasure in whomping Dave over the head for breaking the monosyllabic rule -- too much fun. 

And with that, a weekend ended. It's back to the grind this morning and full force drive to finish the last two weeks. I'm not sure who thought it would be smart to have the last class for graduate students on the 21st, nor who decided school systems should go until the 23rd, half day. That's just insane. We should all close down for a month and give ourselves a break.

That is what we did last night and it was a blast, which I hoped it would be.

Here's to the week, y'all. You got got this. Tonight - SU in the NCAA soccer championship - Tuesday - World Cup, Wednesday - World Cup, and Thursday - recording a new episode of The Write Time and then NCAA final four women's volleyball. There's so much to look forward to and December's been a blast. 

It's All About da Meata Balls on This December Sunday. Happy to Host the Sealey, Johnson, Wooley Crew Before the Holidays

The older I get, the more I realize it's about planning. On Friday, I prepped food in a crockpot for a Saturday gathering, and Saturday morning, during the first World Cup game, I thought ahead to dinner for Sunday. My mom & dad make incredible meatballs, so I channeled them before making a sauce and letting them soak over night. I also stole a couple and brought them to Pam's where I made a gorgonzola sauce that was also great for the chicken I prepared Friday and the potatoes she made - an impromptu food fest for friends.

Sometimes I think I get more done when there are sports to watch as I'm able to sit still, take in a game, and work on projects that need to be completed. Even better is having time to cook, too, especially in crockpots and with vision. It all seems to work together well...all from home...all void of meetings...all absent from incessant talk and promises that go nowhere.

The World Cup games were spectacular, Syracuse beat Georgetown, and after a heart attack and several bitten nails, the Louisville Women's volleyball team defeated Oregon in the elite 8 of the NCAA tournament. I love watching them play and will be with them Thursday night at 9:30 p.m. as they take on Pittsburgh in Omaha. No, I'm not going to Omaha, but Omaha is coming to my t.v.

It was an eventful Saturday, the kind I wouldn't mind replicating every day if I could.

And this morning, I know all I have to do is work on the courses ahead, offer feedback on projects that have come in early, and write for what is coming in the new year. I suppose this will correspond with a few football games, today, too.

Of course, there are the walks, where I get all my thinking done and where my soul is most at ease. In fact, I am writing this after taking Karal for a stroll, where the first flakes of winter are beginning to fall.

Celebrating a Full Moon Rising Over the Trees as I Look Out My Campus Window with Hopes an Escape is Coming Soon

POW! is edited, revised, and sent to the publisher to go. After a day of searching for the FedX package I had another day to catch last-minute errors and to make color changes on the cover. I'm good to go, knowing I'm as exhausted as ever at the end of the semester and I need days for grading and planning the last classes. This semester is right up to the edge of the holidays, and with the research course right after (followed by a spring and summer loaded with work), I'm trying to keep my sanity.

That's why I benefited from howling at the moon last night while it rose, only to get home for my attempt (first attempt) of making maple bourbon pecan shortbread bars. The two World Cup games that went into penalty kicks (how's that for a memorable series) kept me entertained before I departed.

Epic fail. I think I made maple walnut bourbon pita chips. Not even close to what they should have been.

This morning, I'm meeting with my neighbor who moved to New Hampshire, then settling in for two more World Cup games and the NCAA Women's Volleyball Elite 8. Great day for sports on t.v. (and hoping I get it...yesterday's games were not available on my cable and I had to stream them from my computer - all that money for nothing). 

Meanwhile, my knee is still full of fluid. It's no longer an orange; it is now a pear. The doctor said, "Oh, there's nothing wrong. Ice it and use arthritis cream and it will go down." 

Um, okay. 

I guess the Atlantic article about AI perfecting writing and putting all writing and English folks out of business is something to pay attention to -- if there's no longer work, perhaps I'll have plenty of time to sit around with nothing to do. It's definitely not been that way since I entered college and made a career out of writing instruction. 

Hoping it's a chicken little scenario; we've heard the sky is falling many times before in our profession.

There are days I'd welcome the sky to fall.

Thanks, Karal! Love @elizabethboquet and I Suppose You Are Right. Academics at the End of the Semester Need Symbolism to Add Emphasis to the Reality of the Work.

The exchange occurred rather haphazardly. Friendship with Dr. Beth Boquet has been this way for a few years now. When dogs are sick, we drop off packages and leave them at one another's door. When life gets us by the neck, we think of one another and do drive-bye with love packages. On the worst nights, we send photos of Old Fashions and tip each other's cyber-glasses. It's all in the gestures...I see you...I appreciate you.

At some point this year, Beth was thinking about Karal and, driving by one another on some road or other, she said, "Wait. I've had this for Karal," and she launched a teddy bear from her car window to mine. It landed safely on my lap and then we drove off. This is the way the friendship has occurred for almost three years now. Obviously, it's Covid-influenced and both of us are cautiously pragmatic about not being ridiculously naive. We talk more by phone than in person, but we did get one nice evening at the home of a mutual friend (Thanks, Kris & Dave). I also saw her in The Writing Center on campus one morning.

Yesterday, I received a 6 a.m. notification that a FedEx package from Florida was arriving around 10 a.m. on campus. I wrote the Dean's office to let them know to be on the look out for it around 10 a.m.. At 10:17, I get a notification that the package arrived, but the office didn't have it. I guessed they sent it to receiving and it would be delivered by noon. At noon, I went to the Dean's office, but it was closed up and there was no one there. I swiped in and looked for it, but nothing had been dropped off. 

So, I call FedX and they assured me it was on campus. I looked at the confirmation and it was signed by someone I never heard of. I investigated and found out he was on the mail room staff. I walk down, and they looked it up, and they tell me, "Nope. Our records show it was sent to receiving." They gave me a number, I went back to my office and called, and they looked it up and said "No. It was signed by the mailroom." I returned, it was not there and so I go back to receiving. This continued for a couple of hours, but by 4:17 pm I heard a lady say, "Oh, I signed for that this morning around 10 a.m." 

She went to a shelf and retrieved the package. Granted, the response (edits on a 200 page manuscript) were needed by 5 p.m. - with 43-minutes left in the day to get them done. I realized, "That ain't going to happen." 

I got an extension. 

But when I came home, I found these cute little feet in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Oh, no. Karal. You decimated the bear."

Yet, she left the feet. 

I had to photograph it simply to document, "Beth. Yes. This is the career we've chosen for ourself and, of course, I'm feeling exactly the same way. It's the end of the semester. We got this" 

Cheers. It will definitely be another bourbon night tonight. I just made the call. 

Just Two More Classes to Go (Well, Four) But I'm Collecting Projects on Those Nights Hoping I Can Grade Fast & Get Up & Out to See the Family

I did another online class tonight because I want to limit my chances for getting sick before the holidays; the last thing I want to do is to get my parents sick. Gallagher's last chapter in Write Like This continues to be a superb ending to a course on writing. I love that he bullets out his final thoughts to explain that the Wizard of Oz would be a lousy writing teacher. Why? Because he hides behind a curtain. The best writing teachers come from behind the curtain and share the difficulties of writing with their students. I always love this teaching this particular class, and his last chapter seals the deal for us all. I paired it, with the workshop on scriptwriting, naming why such writing has always been effective with ELs and students with learning dis/abilities.

Of course I have the Scarecrow saying, "Bryan, you don't have a brain, either." 

I'm waking up today in anticipation of numerous items coming to campus and at home - ones that need immediate attention and that I must turn around quickly. This is the editing world. I need hard copies of what it looks like before I hit send for print. 

I'm also on search committees and, of course, we are meeting in the last weeks of a semester to interview candidates. There should be a moratorium for no meeting the last two weeks of a semester, but that is never the way it goes. I suppose I should be thankful that any zest for holiday parties or wishes for department joy disappeared a long time ago, so I don't have to put any of those on the calendar. Not sure who would show up anyway, and truth be told, it's probably for the best. 

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

And I'm very much looking forward to being in my home as things wind down (the lights on the tree...the lights in the window), as well as heading to my childhood home for a few days while I have a minuscule break. 

And I'm loving the espresso, European coffee I happen to pick up because my usual coffee was out of stock. I always by my coffee at Ocean State Job Lot because it's usually $10 cheaper, from overseas, and a billion times more flavorful than what we get in grocery stores in the U.S..

Time to sip and get going. Happy Thursday. 

Just Thinking Out Loud - Part Two. Totally Digging Online Teaching While Exploring Fantasy in Sci-Fi, Dystopic Stories with Young Adult Literature

I moved to a digital space last night for numerous reasons: sick students, the weather, saving everyone time to and from campus, and the fact we were talking about the future (or predictions of it) so why not do our learning online. It seemed logical. And it was fun. I even gave bonus points to any student who wanted to dress in Potter-inspired Steam-Punk, Armageddon, Cyber-nerd fashions.  

I practice what I preach and showed up ready to go. 

Actually, the readings and diversity in student choices took over the evening and although I thought I'd let everyone off early, we went the full length because the conversation was simply engaging. I owe this, of course, to the scholars we read, but more importantly to Dr. Sean Connor from University of Arkansas. His piece in Study & Scrutiny was perfect, and his page of questions to apply to such literature was magnificent. I didn't have to add or delete any them because they were perfect. I did, however, because of time, give them options on what they wanted to address when presenting their books. They took on classics, but also explored a few short story collections I've missed, which is totally cool (and I will be adding them next year to my syllabus - perhaps a night of short stories for teens, which I'd love).

I didn't realize I was going to enjoy this particular night as much as I did, but I have to give credit to Sean Connor's article. Not only was it helpful, it also is one I'd like to share with doctoral students wishing to do literacy analysis with YA literature in a research-oriented, thought-provoking ways. I love when you find a piece that has multiple purposes.

Of course, the night classes also ended a 14-hour day and I have another one tonight. I'm exhausted, thinking about how I will make it until 10 this evening, and fully aware that it's the time of the year and I should just ride with it. 

It's in the pacing. It's in the dedication. It's with the love of knowing that in a few weeks, I can take my Christmas Day off and enjoy time with family. I look forward to that most. 

I am very ready for a day with ease.

Just Thinking Out Loud Here, Probably Because Tonight is Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and Magic in my YA Lit Course & I Need to Wonder About my Own Tech Use

My I-Phone reports my daily consumption of use in the percentage of 2-3 hours a day. I find that hard to believe, because I'm usually on my computer from sunrise to sundown (and then into the hours of darkness) and really use the phone to check the time and respond to calls/texts. But seriously, the only time I'm not digitally connected in a day is when I sleep, I pee, or I drive; otherwise, I am digitally consumed, indeed. Not sure if this is healthy or not, but it is where we are as a species. 

I'm also not an avid Sci-Fi, fantasy reader, but when I come to think about it, I love Sci-Fi, fantasy, and magical movies. Yes, I've read the books that surge throughout our schools and enjoy them, but I'm much more a fan of realistic, everyday storytelling...or am I? I need to think about this more. Maybe I am a LOTR book nerd. I just don't think I've self-described as one before. 

Last night, before I went to bed, I actually thought, "You know what, Crandall? The original, one-of-a-kind educator of the future will be the one who detaches from technological tools and, for a very short while, asks students to detach and enjoy their humanity without digital tools" Or does technology bring us closer to humanity, as browsing Twitter, Facebook, Snap Chat, Linked In, TikTok, and Instagram also keep us mortal in this very human, yet unhumane phase of our evolution.

Many of the authors this week write about Feed by Anderson and Suzanne Collin's Hunger Games series. They both are successful on multiple levels, but I'm trying to tap the human teacher side of these things...what does it mean to be human in a digital age? I mean, AI is getting so good, I might even have it post morning blogs without me having to type or write a thing. It can do it for me. Ha! Maybe that is exactly what you're reading right now. A robotic script composed by a machine. 

I know, for me, it's when I'm working with writers during #VerseLove or #WriteOut, detaching from technology for a while and collecting my thoughts, that I am most blessed. Then , I return to digital platforms to share, which is totally delightful. This, of course, leads me to think about ways to write of the outdoor world in the future. As always, Google didn't fail, as people have already been working on that...we'll have robots to assist our ecological meanderings. Cool! Cool? Cool.

Of course tonight's Sci-Fi reading included Foucault, surveillance, K-12 schools, and what adolescents experience as a position of their entire existence. It makes my head spin. We are all minuscule int he giant apparatus to control bodies (and finances). My life spans between On Golden Pond and Arcane. I definitely will not be alive to see how any of this will roll out, but the boys will...my nieces and nephews will....and so will their kids...and their kids...and their kids. It's really interesting to think about, if not disturbing. 

And it's funny. My 1998 Masters Thesis opened with a scene from Total Recall where the outdoor world is totally experienced from screens across living rooms that are simulacra of what the outdoors used to be. It's all a facade offered visually through a screen. It's absolutely fascinating to be in such in-between spaces as my body ages (aches) and I enter the last periods of my life. I'm not sure if it is mesmerizing, perplexing, or maddening. I just take it all in. 

Tonight, of course, we have two hours to talk about such things.

There is No Such Thing as a Crandall Sasquatch Sanctuary but I Do Sport the Hoodie and Toboggan That Represents Such a Space

The truth is, I didn't know I had a cap to go with the hoodie. I've been wearing a hoodie for a year, and when I went into the cubby today to get a hat to walk Karal a few miles, I pulled out a match and thought, "Well, look at that. I'm stylin' on today's walk."

The better truth is I've been in this hoody for a few days because I haven't taken a shower. It's the weekend and I'm justified.

Tunga and I had a successful, albeit it Crandall-style, shopping excursion yesterday. "Yo. Text me when you want to leave. This store is huge," I say. "Oh, I'm good to leave now." We only picked up one item, but if that is good to go then all power to the experience. I'd rather not be there either. It's too overwhelming and the crowds were insane. Nothing like a Marshalls to make you think, "Oh, Shit. The Grinch underestimated the insanity of what the Whovillians consume each season." Such garbage. Such crap. Such excess. And so much a return to pre-Covid insanity. I much prefer the ordering online phase of our species (I mean...look at my Sasquatch Sanctuary attire my mom found for me online last year). 

We did get a couple of things at the Mellow Monkey in Stratford, a local art-shop by the water that really is a cool place to check things out. I also picked up two Queen pillows that he wanted. "Here. Why should I drive them all the way to Syracuse so you can drive them all the way back to Stamford? What else do you need?"

We stopped by Pam's for meatballs and sausage...well, I did...Tunga was too stressed about the week ahead to have an appetite. He passed. What a moron. Pam's meatballs are delicious. An England win over Senegal, a Jets loss, and a Cleveland up at the half later....we departed and called it a Sunday. Any day where I'm not behind a screen for 14 hours is a good day. I enjoyed every second.

Ah, but it's Monday. Lucky for me I'm jam-packed with meetings that will do nothing but take up time that could have been sent in an email. I already know the day will be a bust, but I'm off. This, I believe, is what adult life is all about.

A Nurse, A Linguist, and A Literacy Nerd Walk Into a Bar...Okay, It Was an Impromptu Night on Mt. Pleasant and There Was Wine...a Home Bar

A colleague of mine was having a rough month with family loss and children away at college and I said, "I am crock-potting chicken and have coleslaw and wine," so an evening was created (with more wine). I'm the one who didn't have to drive, but I tempered myself in case they could use a lift home. Always amazing to see what a couple of bottles of wine can do to brighten a Saturda night.

They were good. There was plenty of time to let the wine move through. They safely left around 11 pm.

I like sitting at my laptop with holiday lights and I am totally comfortable in my silence and solitude on a Saturday, but it's also wonderful to have company and to laugh at fellow foolishness, silliness, and the incredible need to let loose for a little while. No books. No writing. No editing. Just talk, which has become a small tradition with Drs. Planas and Farrell. We were all hired around the same time so we have a collegial bon. When we need to process where we work, from time time (besides, Jessie's kids went though CWP), we get together. 

Oddly, Karal avoided this picture besides being obsessed with Michelle. She is such a high-energy dog.

But now it's Sunday. The kid and I are heading out to holiday shop and then I believe meatballs are on the horizon. Day of rest, but I'm sure there's a few more World Cup games to serve as a distraction, and it's beginning with France and Poland.

Make it a great one. I will try to, too.

Blue sky and sun. I will never argue with that. 

It is True. I Had Popcorn for Dinner and Thoroughly Enjoyed an Evening of Christmas Lights, Editing Submissions for an International Journal, and Being Home

I imagine there might be a survey taken of childhoods and the histories of how popcorn operated. I think I was in 1st grade when I learned to make popcorn on the stove. On nights of Little House on the Prairie and The Waltons, mom could send me, Cynde, or KC to make the ritual. We didn't think twice that our popcorn bowl coupled as our sick bowl for vomit. It was a multi-purpose bowl and I can tell you it still resides exactly where it always was. I could find the bowl blindfolded in a told blackout.

In my adult life, however, I don't multi-task my popcorn bowl. I use a salad bowl and if I have to vomit, I use a trashcan in my room like normal people...or I make it to the toilet. I definitely differentiate the space for popcorn and the space for puke.

Last night was a popcorn night. The idea trickled into my head while attending a day of faculty retreats and an evening mission to finish  editing responsibilities. I'm going to have popcorn for dinner, and that is okay. I am always impressed at how professional I can be making popcorn. I once made it for adults in a GED course while working as an undergraduate intern - whoa! he's making popcorn without a microwave. Did you know you could do that?

I could. And I did. I still do. First a little oil with two seeds in the pot...when they pop, I add additional seeds, and then I govern them while they get all spastic, flip-floppy,  an orgasmic in oil-entrenched ecstasy. I aim for perfect poppage and hope to only have only a few (less than 20) seeds that don't make it to full bloom. I usually succeed. Last night, I did exceptionally well. Only three seeds didn't pop.

And I also took a photo of my house lit up for Christmas, but opted for this photo, because Karal is clingy and didn't know why I would go outside at night with my phone and a bowl of popcorn. I was on a mission to get a photo. I finished editing several pieces and, proud of myself, I went to the front yard to capture the joy of white lights (which are a popcorn yellow color, if you come to think of it). As I did this, I also saw that Karal's head was in search of me, so I walked closer to get a photo of her. She's the reason why people stop in front of my house to get photos....look at that dog in the window (she has adopted and perfected Glamis's ritual).

If ever anyone needed to write my eulogy and say a few things about me, I suppose this blog post is as close to my true self as it might get. I dappled in childhood, barf-bowl memories to recall the happiness that comes from a popcorn dinner, all to celebrate an academic accomplishment with my dog within the holiday lights. That is, after all, exactly who Bryan Ripley Crandall is. That is the joy he wanted throughout his life.

This is as good as it ever gets. 

Thankful for a Thursday Night Impromptu Dinner with Friends in Front of a December Tree to Let the Mind Chill Out of a While

I got up early and charged ahead: deadline, followed by deadline, followed by deadline, followed by meetings, followed by a celebration of a grant writer in Foundations who has been a blessing, but who is following her heart for a better world, followed by a long walk with Karal, and the culinary craft of Pam, Oona, and Jake the dog who is recovering well.

We look for such bliss to center our universes.

Jake had an ACL surgery and has been rather lame, but tonight he had more pep in his step and seemed to be his usual loving, curious self. 

Perhaps the same can be said for me, as I was comfortable eating with friends, having a glass of wine, and catching up on all the changes still to come.

Today, I am trapped by numerous University obligations, the majority of which are time-consuming I know that Monday is even worse. I have additional deadliness to meet and plan to work while pretending to be attentive, so I can accomplish what I'm paid to do -- one of the many jobs that are on the plate without the support one would expect. 

I finally got lights for the 2nd floor, so I came home to a fully lit house so that the holiday glitter is complete. I love watching volleyball, World Cup, and beginning basketball seasons while entertained by a tree, the transitions to a new year, and a reimagining what is possible for another year (through the comfort of Christmas decorations). I'm still partying like it is 1999, but it is about to be 2023. Who'd of ever thunk it?

Here's to all still to come. 

And on the Billionth Day of His Academic Life He Is Questioning Life Choices, (Re)Vision, and the Reality Check That a 50-Year Old Body Can't Do These 14-Hour Days Any Longer

I think John Tesh used to be a t.v. personality. Maybe he dappled in electronic music for a while, or perhaps his true claim to fame is as a radio host offering research and life hacks that you should know as you're driving home at 10 p.m., including the triple-deck productivity model that (according to him) shows that people have an early two-hour productivity window, followed by an afternoon surge, and finishing with a pre-bed excursion...

...research shows...

...the argument for working all day in fits and bursts.

Well, my days typically begin at 6 a.m. and end at 11 p.m. with all I'm accountable for doing, so I'm not sure where I am peaking and where I drizzle, I just know that I'm fizzling with the ability to keep up with this pace. 7 days a week, 364 days a year, and I still fail at what I'm assigned to do. There is definitely something wrong with this picture. 

The best part of each day, though, remains with graduate students, discussing their classrooms, their work, and what is possible in K-12 schools. This part of my day on Wednesdays is from 7:15 to 9:15 at night, following a day of national calls, school visits, grading, meetings, preparation, and the actual class. Teaching remains a highlight of my week and I'm thrilled to work with professionals and pre-service educators who run laps and circles around the majority of academics that are paid to prepare them. They are my heroes. I learn more from them in two hours than I typically learn from a semester of reading the  research I must keep up with to maintain my job. 

Last night's focus was on (Re)Vision & (Re)Working and we looked at writing rubrics, best practices for student writing assessment, and protocols for giving student feedback on their work. As usual, I contacted a local teacher and gave the prompt, "Give me authentic student writing as it is in your classroom right now," so I was able to show real-world, in-practice reality. 

I got a writer's notebook prompt and several student pieces, so my in-practice and pre-service teachers might respond. I was after the conversation on feedback to student work, more than assessing student work.

As predicted, the conversation was rich, engaging, and pertinent. "Guess what, people? I'm sharing your feedback with actual students. This is for real!"

The truth is that most educators shoot from the hip on what quality work is, what kids are capable of, and what to offer to improve student writing. Yes, a decade of Kentucky Portfolio assessment set me ahead on what students are actually able to do. No, the majority of U.S. schools have no idea that kids can write like that. They don't know how to teach writing, their schools assess writing incorrectly, and most teachers don't teach as writers, themselves.

National Writing Project, 101. 

Is there any other answer? Can we trust any program or "expert" that hasn't taken part in a summer institute? I don't know. 

What I do know is that teachers are out there doing the work and they are doing all they can to invest in youth. Our systems, however (including higher education) do little to support them. And that is why this NWP director is simply exhausted by the amount of work that needs to occur each day, especially if you choose to invest in teacher leaders and their students.

And with that, I need to get back to work. It's December, y'all! Enjoy every second of it. 

Tunga Asked, "Do You Watch All the Games?" Yes, I Do. I Try to Keep Track of the World Cup, It Is One Way of Explaining the World (the Good, the Bad, and the In-Between)

I know my high school had a soccer team, and I remember going to my first game when they made it to regional championship my senior year...I was a Northstar and I had spirit for the class of 1990. But I don't think I ever kicked a soccer ball in my life.

Brown School had a soccer team and I loved it, because it was co-ed (at the time) and included the super-diversity of our school. Didn't understand the sport, but respected it. Louisville/Syracuse/Kentucky basketball held my attention more.

Football, as a universal sport, however, didn't make sense to me until I worked with Abu, Bior, Muhammad, Werdi, Edem, Kanyea, Lossine, Akech, and all their teammates in Syracuse. They helped me understand the spirituality of the sport, and its history, and from that point on I was convert. Yes, I love college basketball, but through listening to the brilliance of young people, I learned the faith of fandom and how much soccer really DOES matter. 

Bring on Ted Lasso. Soccer, football, is storytelling. World Cup is a narrative. The Olympics are part of the story. Athletes continue to be amazing.

In the years I taught back and forth in Denmark, I also remember that the football matches were like a religion, and listening to fans helped me to get a grasp of what this meant. It was there I realized, "Crandall, why have you missed out so much on this sport?" 

The boys, obviously, taught me more. 

I get it now. The passion, the drive, the inclusivity (and exclusivity), and the reason why the game universally unites (and divides) nations. 

This is why I now watch the World Cup, sir. When I was doing research in Syracuse, I remember vividly how the games made classes stop in their place. A school of many nations, these games represented home, culture, drive, and intentionality. Teaching was attempted during the games, but the kids were following an alternative literacy lesson. It was sort of like NCAA tournament time (the madness) and how it was impossible to get many to concentrate on academics when a game was being played. 

Reading Warren St. John's Outcasts United  brought me closer to the universal language of kicking a ball on a field, too - what it means for a global village (and the millions of people we tend overlook). I was easily hooked, and although the U.S.A. has not been a powerhouse until the women's team began rocking it in recent years, I think more and more people will join the phenomenon. Reading Franklin Foer made it clear. 

I'm a convert. So, yes, I do watch all the games...and I learn from them with admiration and respect.