It's Monday (Ribbit Ribbit). The Great Whatever Is Laughing Right Now. Crandall Got a Primary Care Physician. Hey, I Made My List of 50 for 50. I'm Getting There

I always forget that the day after a storm, life doesn't necessarily go on as normal. It's still cold outside, people are still in their homes, and side-streets and sidewalks aren't necessarily cared for. I realized this when Karal and I went for an afternoon walk, and pretty much had to rethink and redo our route because of ice, snow, and blocked passages. 

Even so, I had optimism for the day and accomplished the goals I set for myself, including dusting, dropping of a birthday present to Sonya Huber, and taking back around 6 months of cans, bottles, and plastic. My garage was a dump.

I also read a book, watched the tail end of football games, wrote, sorted submissions coming in for a special project I'm part of with Jessie Early, Arizona State University, and began organizing lists of accomplishments since 2017. It's all a blur, and with Covid stuck in the middle, it's easy to see, "Well, this was the trajectory and the zest of all things, then WALLOP! SMACK! OOPH! Here's a new trajectory in response to the chaos of the world." It's all good, but it is obvious there was a pre-Covid operation, a during Covid response, and now a Post-Covid, But Far from Covid Being Over Probationary Trial of Let's See What Comes of It If We Try This or That."

Yes, I made an appointment last week with a Primary Care Physician simply because I no longer trust anything that will happen to me. I've long resisted doctors, only going when I absolutely needed to. But now, it seems I keep going to different doctors for this or that reason, so I might as well have a central office to begin with. After being sick for the vast majority of January, I decided, "Now is the time."

Looking ahead to the week kinda, sorta, wondering well, "What moves are we going to make?" All is health and weather-permitting, as I have another book on audible I want to hear, so a road trip might be a smart decision.

It's Monday again. If I had more control of the fates, I would have saved Kenan for today. Saturday blizzards are a waste of a blizzard.

Well, Kenan, You Could Have Been Much Worse, But You Sure Put Down a Slippery Snow. Not Bad to Clear, But Tricky Not to Fall.

The winds were rough. But I took them, because for some reason they blew all the snow off the back porch (which is usually the trickiest, and most annoying part of snow removal. I went out from 12-2 to do mine and the neighbors' driveways, and was happy that I got the majority thinking the storm would soon be gone. But the winds, and more snow. I'm glad I did this, because it made the 6 pm -8 pm rounds much easier - the ones where I had to clear the cars.

Can you believe that Amazon call all its employees back last night? Edem was sent home at midnight Friday because they closed all highways to traffic. Sure enough, when this was lifted, he received a mandatory summons back to work. 

As much as I grimace about work in in higher education and the stress on K-12 teachers, I would never want to return to the insanity of hourly service work and the disrespect of employers to employees all in the name of profit for the few. I did that work for a time, and I did it well, but I saw how quickly that model is unethical. Now that I say that, I'm thinking to higher education administration. Perhaps it is the same. 

I'd say, in total, we received 8 inches, but I'll let the get confirmed tomorrow (they are saying 9.8 inches). We were at the edge of where it really got interesting for the northeast. It was a good storm, and kudos to Stratford facilities - they were out all night long and all day. Almost felt like Syracuse, it was so efficient. I remember the days of the 2 plows for an entire city in Louisville....well, that's an exaggeration, but it's not that far off. A snow event paralyzed everyone.

Within the in-between space of contending with snow, I got a crockpot roast fixed, edited a proposal and sent it off, interviewed a teacher for class on Wednesday, and even showered. Of course, the evening ended with Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019) for the 2nd time in two weeks. I'm just in love with the story of Rey, Finn, and Ben. I know what is going to happen, but always return to it as if it was brand new. Childhood, teaching years in KY, PhD in Syracuse, and now adult life is all wrapped up in these stories. 

Well, Sunday. Please to see you. At least I won't be shoveling today, but I will be reading, planning, cleaning, and doing as Crandall does. 

And I have tremendous optimism I will get my skis out to the trails today, as I want to slip and slide intentionally. Perhaps I will head to Walnut and see if someone beat me to it. Might be good to see some water for a little while.

In my head, I believe the force is within me, even if I am an aging fart.

BTW - of the 500 employees summoned to work at Amazon, only 35 showed. Edem is one of them, and he's a good man. Sort of happy for the 465 that gave the middle finger to the company. I mean, come on.

Early Gifting to Myself: 50 for 50. I Invited 50 Lil' Friends To Be with Me in February So They Can Be Given Others (As They Will...They'll Choose)

One of the greatest regrets I have is not saving the miniature figurines my Grannie Annie displayed every Christmas. Not one for a tree, but she'd take a fallen branch, sprinkle it with tinsel, make a pond out of a mirror, and decorate her winter fiesta with tiny animals and critters. My guess is they went with the Estate sale and it wasn't until year laters when I was on my own that I thought, "Dang. Those were cool. I wish I had them."

Every year, when I took senior classes to St. Augustine, Florida, I would find a little guy here or there and sort of created a miniature collection, but more often than not I gifted them to my students. They were just joy-creators and easily put a smile on another's face. 

I've looked from time to time to buy them in bulk, but I could never justify the prices. Then I finally found 50 for $50 and I said, "I'm in." My goal is to keep the Karal dog and allow all the other buggers to be repurposed to other homes. (By the way, they retail for $7 to $11...so maybe I should go into business)

The glass gladiators have been in my house for a few weeks, but I haven't had a chance to unwrap them to see my bounty (because I was sick). I did this the other day, after I saw Beth Boquet's post of a toy given to her a few years ago. I said, "Let's see what I got." Above is the shot I got. 

Yesterday, I handed over my first 3. The first two to Susan LaFrance and her daughter Elizabeth, a bull and a Pippin, then another bird to Pam, a talisman that I hope won't smash into her window. 

As we live through the Kenan dump of 2022, no, not Dennis Keenan, I will take comfort in my friends (fwends) currently standing in my dining room while I channel the spirit of Hynka.

I really do appreciate the little things in life, and this purchase makes me a tiny bit happier for this world. So let that be. It is what it is.

Staying Atop the Teaching Game. Doing What I Can from Under Blankets and Multi-tasking at Self-Care. We Got This

Another day of recovery. I did what I could, kept my screen off, and participated in off-screen obligations. It's the best we can do in these odd times. We have to carry the mission forward. 

I can't help it. I teach. I know where we need to be, so I do what I can to carry forward (thankful to the KC blanket for keeping me warm). Thankful for soups, too. 

I spent Thursday able to keep traction of going forward, but also with knowledge that I couldn't be the my true-self. So I was present, off screen, but in truth, underneath blankets and accepting the love of my National Writing Project colleagues. 

In truth, I needed to record a video to make up for the fact that I was sick and have to have students moving a little forward so that when I'm feeling well, we'll all be on the same page.

Did I mention how powerful soups are? Seriously, be healthy out there. These times are strange, indeed, and with immune symptoms compromised, we can only do what we can do.

I heard it's Friday. National news calls for a blizzard on Saturday and local news says it will blow off to sea. This is all to say I need the weekend to continue the healing process. I'm confident we got this, but I definitely need the rest. 

Warm blankets. Soup, Recovery. That's the key.

Why Not Get the Flu, Post Covid? Sounds Like Fun. Sure. 3 a.m. Tuesday, Let the the Pain Come. Then 12 Hours of Total Hell. Exhaustion Returned. Enough Already

I've never called a class off. I've never had to. Even in KY, the only times I called in sick were when I needed another adult body in the room so I could conference with kids I thought when the daggers jabbed my stomach at 3 a.m., that it would be over by wake-up call, but that didn't happen. By 5:30 a.m., I wrote my students to say there's no way I can have class. 

I then slept until 1 p.m., getting up regularly to run to the bathroom. It was torture the entire day. By 1, however, I was able to lift my head and drink vitamin water. I ran to the store to get more, and came back and crashed until 6. Then, I was able to keep chicken soup down, tea, anything warm, even if it did want to boil up through the throat.

I didn't know it was possible to be so sick, and I guess I'm thankful that it didn't come with a dehydration headache. I kept myself liquified the entire day.

And then I went online to read about stomach bugs, because I've had them before, but never like this - I wanted to know what could cause such cramping and expulsion from the body. I lived as the exorcist the entire day. Karal was good, and she rested with me. But that seemed to be a mega-bug.

Now I have to make up for the 2.5 hour class. I have an idea how to do it, and I definitely hope that the bug I got wasn't spread to the graduate class on Tuesday night. No one deserves such illness. 

Here's to a better day, today. Please. Please. Please. 

Confession. I Have To Admit It Here. At the Time This Blog Posts I'll Already Be at the Coper Getting Ready For Class. I Took This One For the Team

We've seen enrollment declining after students take earliest pre-education classes, so strategically we're trying something new. We've done this before when I taught philosophy, but this time I'm getting the first class of the pre-education sequence...the 8 a.m. Explorations in Education class. The Chair asked and I accepted. Pretty soon, I'll have taught every class in our department so I have a pretty decent understanding of the scope and sequence. An 8 a..m. turbo, however, is something new to me. 

Yes, I spent 10 years being in a classroom by 6:30 a.m., so I can do this. It's just my body has been used to wake up at 6 a.m., drink coffee and write until 10 a.m., then think about teaching. I'm an absolute grump in the morning.

Ah, but I stayed late after class last night to get everything ready, and I'll come in with my coffee cup and jokes about how ridiculous anyone is already functioning at 8 a.m., especially when we didn't end last night until 10 p.m., but I will try this for a semester. We'll see what comes of it.

Here's the good news. I'm treating this like a Friday. The class ends, I clean up the office, and I'm heading to get groceries and set up for the week to come. Thursday and Friday, I'm taking care of National Writing Project work, activities, collaborations, publications, and upcoming events. 

The other cool thing about the course is that we'll eventually be in schools. For the first few weeks we are laying low as schools don't want us there, but hopefully by the end of February, we'll be doing the service learning work the class requires. 

And this will work for Karal. She gets up, pees, eats and sleeps until 11, so by the time I get home, she'll just be waking up for real, for real, wanting a walk.

Hair cut day in the afternoon, too. So this is ALL good.

Thankful to the Great Assist, @JackieWoodson & @rafaellopezart THE YEAR WE LEARNED TO FLY. Week 2, Courses Were Just Made Even Better. Woot Woot! @nancyrosep

On my feet again, I took a trip to the Fairfield University bookstore and found the last copy available of Jacqueline Woodson's and Rafael López's The Year We Learned to Fly For a few years now, The Day You Begin has been a starting point for working with in-practice and pre-service teachers. I'm thankful to Penguin Random House's Nancy Paulsen, for her continued publications and representation of these great texts. I think fondly, too, of the year I was able to use Harbor Me with middle schools all across Connecticut. Woodson't writing is simply magical for the young people we are fortunate to work with and she is a teacher of teachers - I can not think of a greater joy that working with kids as writers, finding voice as a result of these stories....these investments into them.

Lopez's illustrations, too, are brilliant and I like to present the books with just the words before I share the visuals (sometimes I do the visuals without the words). Why? Because it benefits all of our imaginations. The curricular possibilities are endless when teaching with such texts. Sure, conversations are sparked, but the ideas/themes behind them last forever.

I've coupled with this week's classes with the arrival of "Dear You" letters I've assigned on the first night of class  my entire career. I write a class letter to them, "Dear You" and they respond with a "Dear You" letters to everyone else. It's a great way to kick off community, and helps me to learn the cohort I'll be learning with. It's also a way of saying, the day "We" begin, but now to emphasize "who wants to help our nation's kids to fly with us?"

This year, I've held the "Dear You" letters next to emails, phone calls, and texts I received from teachers who are simply at wit's end with the realities of the world. Teaching has always been a calling and the difficulties far surpass any ease. They are beat down, frustrated, overwhelmed, and disillusioned by the ways out-of-school obstacles are coming inside their classrooms. I know now, most definitely, I will be adding The Year We Learned to Fly in the professional development I do with the schools I work with. I want to see this as a yearlong theme.

In both the "Dear You" letters and Woodson and Lopez books, there is color, hope, energy, and vision - they practically coincide with one another. We are storied creatures and we build our day to day upon the giants who have stood before us: educators, family members, writers, visionaries, and change-agents. The dreamers, doers, artists, and weavers. Learning to fly is finding the way to grow wings with the heroes who have taught us their ways. How can we not set forth with excellence when so many before us have done the same? How of those before us grown wings despite the obstacles thrown their way?

Yes, there are days "when the rain seemed like it would never stop and the thunder boomed so hard," but there are grandmothers who teach us, "Lift your arms, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and believe in a thing." 

I believe in the greatness of the books co-created by Jacqueline Woodson and Raphael López, and with their genius I'm setting out today to teach others to believe the same. That is what teaching is...and it is definitely what young people are capable of accomplishing.

Go Penguin Random House Books1

They Do Look Like Little Piggies. Phew. I Thought I Was Getting My Mother's Toes. Turns Out Its Covid-Toes - a Real Thing. But Good News. Finally Tested Negative

This was not fun. I still have the after math, and I'm worried about lingering symptoms that so many others have, but I've had three good days. My brain is working, I can move, and I definitely can breathe. No longer is there a need for 14 hours of sleep a day. 

Last week, however, while lying on the couch, I looked at my toes and immediately sent a photo to my mom, "It's happening. I'm demonstrating strong genetics of toe morphication. I'm getting your toes. I have the genes." She laughed, proud she passed them on to me after all the years of making fun of Aquaman.

But then my friend Bev was telling me about her Covid toes and she told me to research it, which I did. If you're interested, check out: https://health.clevelandclinic.org/are-covid-toes-and-rashes-common-symptoms-of-coronavirus/

It's rare, but it's real. I have Covid-toes and that is why a couple of them are swelling as if there's a blister underneath the skin. They're super pink. They don't hurt or burn, and I wouldn't have noticed them if I wasn't lying on the couch without socks. Go figure. Covid-toes are a phenomenon.

On a positive note, I had one home test left lingering around my house and I wanted to be sure that it tested negative so I knew I could start functioning again. Because I had three good days and I have an installation in my house tomorrow, I decided to give it a try. I set Alexa for 15 minutes and then went to see the result. It was solidly negative. A beautiful BRIGHT negative. I wanted to do a happy dance, but then I didn't want to jinx anything so decided to continue to lay low (which I'll do all week)

And I have hydrocortisone in the house and that is what they recommend for bulging pink Covid-toes. My friend Susan got a grayish black bulge under one of her eyes which it turns out is another symptom some get. This thing was just strange on all levels. I never took my temperature because I could see steam coming from my ears and I knew I had a fever. I didn't want to get nervous if was too high. As for the hallucinations...well, that's sort of how my brain works anyway, so I paid them no attention.

I'm just glad to have a big negative. For that, I am thankful.

PS: I see the toenails that need to be trimmed. You don't need to email me.

Thanks to Lil' Sis, K-Dot-C-Dot, for Finding this Poem in Her Drawer. 31 Years Ago. "Sherburne" - a Poem Written at Binghamton in Ruth Stone's Class. Ah, Mid Life.

So, the little sis is like her big brother and has been down for the count. Covid hits Crandalls hard, I guess. In her delirium, she went through drawers and found a poem I wrote in 1991. Crazy. But she kept a copy, so this will be my Sunday post.

I was 19. She was 18. She must have been at Herkimer Community College and I was at Binghamton University. I credit my mom for typing this up. She captured history in a way that I didn't and I am thankful.

I am actually intrigued by this because it truly does capture weekends from my childhood, with details that are too true to make up. We often spent Saturdays and/or Sundays in Hamilton or Sherburne visiting our grandparents.  It's been 30 years since I've read the poem, but as I did yesterday I couldn't help but experience all those memories and a time that once was. Words do this. I'm fortunate I live a life to capture them, as time never sits still. I was an undergraduate studying with poet Ruth Stone. I'm not sure what the assignment was, but I believe I was trying to make sense of the academic world with the childhood I experienced.

I read "Sherburne" now with nostalgia, memory, and joy. That little town was central to the way I knew the world as a child, with its Lewis's, library, Roger's Mature Center, and pageant of band. To us, it was our Disney-get-away and opportunity to explore the world in new ways. It doesn't matter if the poem was good or not - what matters is I named a time in my life poetically as a 19 year-old: our lives...that we all can remember...from a time that once was.

Many of our childhood clothes were sewn together by Grandma Vera. She was a matriarch of all matriarchs (and now I'm wondering what my Uncle Milford and Aunt Bobbie remember...my cousins Patrick, Mark, and Mike). Ah, Sherburne. The epicenter to us all.

How quickly it changes. How easy now to see This is us.

Sherburne

We are the Sherburne girls, We wear our hair in curls

La la la al la. We all forget the rest.

That was dad's sung, interrupting the

your-touching-me-game

    my sisters and I played in the back seat,

        him, dangling a Lucky from his lips...

        Mom, singing too, as she dappled Avon's blue eye shadow

            pleading for us to "Just stop it, already,

                inhaling her True Blue, too.

Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go

we'd ding, knowing that grandma lived next to Chi Chi, 

in front of the old TACO building, 

and across from Ozzi's drive-in diner, 

    not over any river or through any woods, 

            but in small town U.S.A

                where you can get cheese plastic bracelets

                for a quarter at the Victory IGA gumboil machine.

Kumquat tree, Kumquat tree, won't you sit under the Kumquat tree.

    Mom and Dad would sing romantically to each other's past

    knowing the song was a speck of lust from a road trip long ago

    that created three living proofs in the back seat who had to pee

        wondering, "Are we there yet?"

Singing fe, fi, fiddle I, oooooooh, Strumming on the ol' Banjo."

we'd finish off as we pulled into Gram's Sunday-steamed windows

(humidified from her hard kitchen labor, and overly-fanatic cleaning spurts).

And grandpa's great garden, that seemed to get smaller every year

welcomed us before we could yell, "We're here," chiming as kids

running to be the first to activate Gramp's super-duper'

nail-in-the-house-don't-tell anyone-about-it garage door opener.

"Well, hello," Gram would harmonize

as she bent down to give Dusty, our dog, 

the greeting he deserved, too,

as we entered the house on 80 N. Main together, 

singing how we've been.

"Grace Runyan," we'd pray in unified chorus,

before devouring Gram's lumpy potatoes with 

only-like-a-grandmother-can-do gravy

and chicken as tender as the smell of her house.

"What's for dessert?" we'd yodel,

with cherry pie for me, minced meat for mom,

Milwaukee's Best for Dad, and a lazy chair for Gramp

who rested his eyes in a snore as some of us did dishes.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

Grandma would sing to us, rocking on her porch,

counting red cars driving by, watching us kids

trying to get truckers to honk their horns just once

and doing us with a wave to Hubert who was

heading somewhere for something

like he always used to do.

How much is that doggie in the window, woof woof!

we'd sing as Gram's best friend, Pat, came over for coffee

wearing her "damn" green coat with a fuzzy fur hood, 

while Dad and Gramp harassed her in a traditioan way,

and Rose would walk down wanting to hug us

because we'd grown so much, while we hid

because she smelled like urine

and had a beard like the little rodent-dog that followed her.

Goodbye, farewell, it's time for us to go-oh

we would sadly sing as Dad yelled, "Come on kids, pack it up,"

and we'd have to hurry up our mother 

who always had the most to say 

when it was Tim for us to go.

We'd sing our "I love you's" as we kissed them on the cheeks

getting into the car the would drive us away from their home-again waves

and we'd be on our way.

Dad would like a Lucky.

Mom a True Blue,

but now the radio would go on

and we'd listen to someone else sing for awhile. 

Oh, @Fritolay, Here's The Scoop. I Wanted to Make Meatloaf (RIP, Ol Dashboard Lights Man) But Already Prepared Chili. And Dang, Doesn't Fritos Perfect Such a Meal

I'm still in recovery mode. I'm trying to push this evil out of my system and am thankful that I never once lost my sense of taste or smell. I just was recipient to everything else. But I made chili a couple of days ago and ever since someone turned me on to the perfection Fritos makes to a chili bowl, I can't imagine such winter delicatessen without them. 

Then I was introduced to Fritos Scoops. 

Okay, world. What is this national treasure? As if I wasn't already sold.

Scoops!

Yes, the exclamation point is a necessity. One of the most perfect exclamation points I've ever encountered. 

It's Saturday morning. It is also freezing in the northeast, and with such temperatures comes the craving for comfort food. Obviously, chili goes with this territory. But for now, I'm thinking about last night and the bliss experienced on Mt. Pleasant as I finished the last bowl from the week, and had just enough Scoops! for assistance. Yes, I can say I was alive for Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy to complete my literary imagination from reading the books, and I also lived to experience all the Harry Potter books, later turned to film. But I want to add now that I also lived in a time of Frito Scoops! Look around, look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now.

So, no meatloaf, Meatloaf. But I listened and sang with my Frito-induced chili and all was well.

I couldn't take it any longer
Lord I was crazed
And when the feeling came upon me
Like a tidal wave
I started swearing to my god and on my mother's grave
That I would love you to the end of time
I swore that I would love you to the end of time!

Reading the Tea Leaves & The Caffeine, Still Thankful to My @WritingProject Family For Their Care. @easms, I Am So Appreciative of Your Kindness

I know full-heartedly that it's probably not the wisest decision to carry forward with 14-hour days as I continue to fight Covid. I was good last week, when space allowed me opportunity to give in - in fact, I slept the 14 hours, rather than work. But a new semester is upon us, and the work continues. 

This is why I was so thankful to get a package from the mailman sent from Dr. Ellen Shelton in Mississippi. I love my teas and my coffee, and she sent both with a note to take care of myself. I'm trying, and it's packages like this that are reminders to sing some Simon and Garfunkel. I am slowing down, because I can't move too fast. 

Actually, my mind and body has been going forward in incredibly strong ways, but last night it crashed. I realized that it is too much, so I need to take today, Saturday, and Sunday to revisit the week  where I was able to rest, stay calm, and recover. 

It's no joke. I wouldn't wish any of this on anyone. And I have nothing but sympathy for any and all who test positively. For those who are unvaccinated and test the same, I wish them much luck. I know how I feel with three vaccines and extreme caution, so I can't imagine what it's like to get the virus without any protection. And for anyone who is immune-compromised, or at risk because of other conditions, I can only turn to prayer. I'm not necessarily the praying sort, but it's all I have. 

Yesterday, student work started pouring in, and it's beautiful, and Tanya Baker and I recorded one of the best Write Time shows to date (stay tuned). But my greatest love and consideration goes to Ellen Shelton - her brilliance, kindness, dedication, spirit, and love for the work she does. The warm fuzzy she sent was fuel for the soul. I needed it, and I need rest, too. 

I now know that we all need to be an army of support for any and all who get infected: food, cards, liquids, medication, support - anything we can do to help our fellow mankind. This is extremely disruptive and I feel so much for my K-12 teaching population who are doing the lion's share of work during these times. Yes, medical professionals deserve extreme respect and I have that for them. But our teachers are vulnerable to the whims and fancies of parents, politics, and administrative decision-making. It's hard on them, too. They are on my mind the most. 

Follow the lead of people like Dr. Ellen Shelton. Look out for your fellows. Do your best to send love and support. 

Thankful, @JasonReynolds83. So Blessed, @Jessie_Early. Elixirs. I Needed Both Yesterday. Love & a Tapestry to Heal. The Art of Jason Douglas Griffin. Phew!

At 11:38, the UPS man walked up my driveway. Karal greeted him with hairs on the back of her neck, but didn't bark. I had an email saying that a package from Zabar's was sent to me - New York, New York. I've been there often for bagels, sandwiches, and other treats. I've never had their soup, though, nor did I know you could mail items to people in other locations. Yet, Dr. Jessica Early, Arizona State University, had to pints of chicken noodle soup sent to me. Magic in the mail. I immediately heated one on the stove and was able to drink its gold. I felt the healing powers immediately.

I could feel it containing the cough.

Later that night, after teaching, procrastinating, and trying to heal even more, the mailman walked up the driveway with the day's packages. I forgot I pre-ordered Jason Reynold's Ain't Burned All the Bright, with artwork by Jason Douglas Griffin. Three breaths. 2020. It is an experience...one similarly felt when I read David Small's memoir, Stitches, Douglas Coupland's Life After God, and the journals of Dan Eldon. When art and language move as one, all is well in the world. 

Artists. 

Writers.

Stunning. 

I stopped everything to read the book. With an Early hug from Jessie, and then the gift of Jason Reynod's one-of-a-kind mind, hope has been restored. 

We are the story makers, and making meaning comes from the randomness of a day. Coughing. Coughing. Coughing. So sick of being sick, and trying to find a way beyond 2020, which led to 2021, which led to this year as it already has been. Coughing.

A butterfly. A leaf. 

Hope. 

Reynolds.

That soup. The kindness. That writing. The warmth.

Books are family, and the National Writing Project network remains passionate about words. It's Thursday morning, and my mind has found a way to crawl from underneath the horizon.  Ain't Burned all the Bright...a wish for the world. 

Yes, Mr Wonka..."So shines a good deed in a weary world."

Love you, Jessie. More applause for you, Jason. Thank you.

Feeling Optimistic that I May Well-Indeed Be in Recovery Mode. Many Thanks to Steph & Patrick for Their Driveway (My Vet is Better Than Your Vet)

Seriously. For the first time in 11 days I didn't wake up, only to walk downstairs and crash for an additional 4 to 8 hours. Yesterday, I got up and stayed productive. I even ran to the store to stock up on more vitamin water and, oof, had to run home....was becoming Papi Butch a little sooner than I desire. I heard it begins with the commode and ends with the commode, too. And that seems about right. I made it in time, and felt like it was a tremendous purging of evil out of my system.

I was preparing for classes when I heard a tap on the window. It was Patrick, and even though I told Stephanie (his wife and Karal's vet) that I didn't need anything, they seriously came to the rescue. It was a generous bag of necessary and unnecessary stuff, including Patrick's recipe for Bourbon and Alkaseltzer Manhattan's. Also stuck a trophy in there, I am guessing for our not-so-victorious softball season. I'm probably the only one saying this, but I'd love to play again. I look forward to movement in the upcoming months. And I'll definitely have good heath, too. I will definitely put these items to work to assure recovery to its maximum level.

Karal impressed Patrick with her "Bang"-play-dead for a biscuit trick. She was a good sport while he visited. 

And I accomplished my class online last night. I was in-person since last summer, so moving to digital spaces took at little recall. It's actually a lot of fun to teach online, and with the ZOOM, Google Jam Board, Padlet trifecta, it can be just as effective as in person, if not better. 

Okay, I need to put this out there, as my next class begins at 8 a.m. this morning. Sometimes I think I need a t-shirt that says "Call of Duty," only because I'm willing to step up for the courses needing to be taught. This time, I got the early Turbo. Phew. Me, Mr. Grumpy Grump in the morning starts at the earliest time. This ought to be fun.

Damn. It begins in less than an hour. This is too early!

Going for Heart-Felt Humor this Semester with @TrevorNoah's BORN A CRIME @RHCBEducators. Literate Learners 2022

Every semester I choose one YA text to use as a mentor text with history, science, math, language, and English teachers exploring ways to develop readers in middle and secondary school. A year ago, I listened to Trevor Noah's Born a Crime and laughed out loud at his humor, but became more mesmerized by the writing and the incredible human being he is. Yes, I knew he was a funny guy and had a talk show, but I was more interested in his storytelling of S. Africa, particularly interested in possible Hoops4Hope curriculum that might come from it in the future.

Ah, that's when I realized Penguin Random House Children's adapted the book for young readers. In fact, a teacher at Harding High School made a Go Fund Me page for the book and I got on it rather quick. Then, looking ahead to my semester, and the students I had, I thought, "Why not jump on the bandwagon?" So I have. As we read Gholdy Muhammad's Cultivated Genius, Beers & Probst Distrupting Thinking, and Hinchman & Sheridan-Thomas's Best Practices for Adolescent Literacy Instruction, we'll be thinking about the content behind Trevor Noah's memoir. I am looking forward to the ways the texts talk with one another. Sad that the 2022 version of the Hinchman & Sheridan-Thomas book isn't out until February, though, as I have a chapter in the new edition!

I have found that aligning a shared reading such as Born a Crime with scholarly texts helps all of us to grow more savvy with what is possible pedagogically in content areas. And what is up for day one? A comedy routine on Tacos, of course.

Yes, I'm in a Covid slump, and no, I don't know if I will make it through the day, but I have found more pep in my step with the joy to come with a little comedy reading. We shall see how this goes. 

Not Much To Report On. Still Down for the Count. Still Delirious. Still Ready for All of This to Lift. Enjoy Today's Storms. Waking Up and Needing a Nap.

Four hours on the laptop, then 5 hours asleep. Then 4 hours staring in space not knowing who I am, what I'm able to do, or what comes next. This is no joke. Seriously. No joke. 

And classes begin tomorrow. I've got to figure something out. The delirium is at the core. That, and the final Propel water cap would not come off. I need my vitamin water. It's the one thing that brings me ease. But that cap. I finally just cut into with a knife and squeezed the elixir into a cup. Stab stab stab. Liquid of the Gods.

It's that kind of bad. That kind of life. That kind of real. 

And there's Tylenol. Tea. They're my friends, too.

So, here's the deal. If you know someone who has some how caught the 'Vid, give them respect. I'm not saying I'm not getting it, because I am, but I am saying that nothing about me right now is me. Especially all the sleep. I didn't know it was possible to sleep this much. I get up, walk down stairs, and crash for four more hours. The fatigue is insane.

I am optimistic, however. This too shall pass. It must. It appears I got the Megatron of the Omicron variant.

Special thanks to Sharon, who brought gifts from Bev, Leo, Pam, Oona, and Shirley last night. Food, cake, and liquids (well, bourbon). I don't think I will be drinking bourbon any time soon. But the thought is encouraging. 

Oh, the Suspense of a Home Pregnancy Test. Actually, Nope. I Retested for Covid and It Is Still Positive. I WANT THIS GONE.

The good news is I woke up Saturday morning and my mind was alive. I hammered out one syllabi, ordered the books I neglected to get last semester, and grew excited about classes beginning next week. The bad news is, as soon as I finished, I knew I had to lie down, which I did. And I slept for three hours. When I got up, I decided to take another home test and I failed. Ugh. I was hoping it would come up negative so I knew this thing was leaving my body.

Actually, I talked to many, who warned me to hunker down for another week and a half. This doesn't go away. "Give in to your body, Crandall. If it wants sleep, give it sleep." 

I don't know how it can be avoided. The exhaustion swings out of nowhere and there's no way to keep the eyes open.

Of course, Karal is not a good roommate through any of this. The games she plays while I'm sleeping is sort of hysterical. She burrows into the couch trying to push me off so I'll get up. Then she growls, barks, and licks. When I awoke yesterday, she also brought every toy she has onto the couch, I believe to see if I would be allured by any one of them. Who knows?

At night, I got a 2nd wind, so cleaned, sanitized, and made chili. I have not lost my taste or appetite, and simply want warm food in my stomach: soups, chili, and tea. 

And bless the Bills and Patriots for their game last night. Watching them caused me to get a third blanket to cover me on the couch. 

Not sure what today will bring. Don't send onesies or rattles. It most definitely is not a pregnancy test. Just send best wishes. I'm hoping they will help push this out of m system. 

I Chose to Avoid this Post for a Few Days Because I Didn't Want 2021 in 2022. Well, So Much for That. I Have This Cro-Magnon Skull on My Knee Now

I am stubbornly independent and make do for myself what has to be done. This includes taking out recyclables and the trash, even if it is dark, you're mentally delirious, and you've proven to be an absolute klutz in your middle years. I was tired when I headed to the garage and it was the last thing I did before going to bed. I'm not sure what happened, but I flew forward, throwing plastic bottles and cardboard all over the garage. I also landed on the electrical chord wheel I had out for the holidays....so hard...the plastic wheel broke in half. 

Alas, it cushioned the blow and when I stood up and wondered if I was going to find a knee paralleling my ankle from Fall, I found no pain. Just a lot of blood. "Good, I thought. Go to bed." So I did.

The next morning I couldn't find my glasses and I looked for them everywhere, before I thought to myself, "I wonder if you had them on when you wiped out last night" 

Sure enough, they flew forward next to the snowblower. I'm lucky they didn't break or scratch. 

No need to worry. It's been almost a week and there's no swelling. All that remains is this remnant of a Cro-Magnon skull on my right knee. I like scars, as they give something to write about. I don't like injuries, however, especially after the year that just was.

Alas poor Yorick. I knew him well.

As for the Covid update, just when you think you're on the up-and-up, WHAM! it comes back to remind you who is boss. And sleep. And necessary rest. And no choice. The body just collapses and so does the mind. 

So I give in to it. What else can I do?

My first thought this morning when I got up? When can I go back to bed? I'm still exhausted.

Blessed to Be Invited by @PequotLibrary to Discuss the Intellectual Importance of Youth Fantasy Literature with my Colleague Betsy Bowen

Dr. Betsy Bowen and I were asked to take part in a CT Humanities discussion at the Pequot Library, where they have Magic, Mayhem, and Maturity: The Growth of Youth Fantasy Literature on display, both digitally and in person. The care and focus of this exhibit is truly remarkable, and it was an honor to discuss history, qualities, and possibilities of the genre on the panel. 

"We are clever creatures, with an ability to pretend, mimic, dream, reflect, communicate, and rationalize. Youth fantasy, to me, is a way to prompt young minds with imagination, possibility, and hope. It’s a tool for developing the brain, exercising the mind, and massaging the way we make meaning of the world."

The two of us teach children's and young adult literature in many avenues, including courses, and it was wonderful to be alongside one of my favorite Fairfield University mentors for the conversation.

The exhibit is running until early February and is one that sparked my own imagination as I recalled stories that mattered to me as kid, as well as stories that matter to me out, especially in the #WeNeedDiverse Books movement. I was thrilled to see that Dr. Bowen was on her A-game and also brought attention to the need of representation, inclusion, and rethinking of how narratives guide imagination, morals, and identity.

I am in agreement with Dr. Ebony Elizabeth Thomas, who writes in her scholarly text, The Dark Fantastic, “storytelling requires decolonizing our fantasies and our dreams. It means liberating magic, itself.” p. 169

I had a bit of an adrenaline rush while presenting and for a short while my mind wasn't on the devastating ways Covid affects the body. For that, I am thankful (I hope I didn't cough too much. I was equipped with water and throat candy). 

But I do question how Alice in Wonderland becomes part of the global fantastic in ways that say, Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower has not…I think we are in a location now where thinking critical about representation in our story consumption matters. All cultures have stories. All readers find themselves in these stories. Here I am thinking of scholar Stephanie Toliver who writes critically about representation in her work. She discusses that she wants to see books so that young Black females are part of the narratives and writes, She dreams of a world where Black girls aren’t forced to minimize their genius and where school spaces protect them….where they will be encouraged to use their creativity to set crooked systems straight.

I'm happy to see, too, that they shared the conversation on their Facebook page for individuals who could not attend. Now, I am concentrating on more rest and recovery, and hoping I will feel good enough to visit Pequot Library to see the full display. I know, however, the digital work put forward by their librarians and staff deserves a round of applause!

Honestly, the real world today is more fantastical and imaginary than I ever thought it would be when I was a kid. The innocence is stripped at a much younger age, but I would think that fantasy is a panacea. Harry Potter/Voldemort and Death Eaters, Frodo/Sauron and Orcs, Marvel movies - there’s always a bad side, and a side for good. It always amazes me coming away from the stories that anyone would say, “I side with the Orcs,”  or “If only Lord Voldemort would slaughter all those bratty kids at Hogwarts.” Yet, in the real world they do. That is why we need to be cautious of those banning stories in our schools today.

Missing These Pistachios Stored in the Top Left Drawer of My Office Desk. They Were My Treat for Getting Through the Work, Yet We're Separated

Seriously. Our service to the University ended at 1 p.m. today and when I signed off the computer, I looked to Karal and said, "This is going to be a bad day." I took her for a 3-mile romp around Stratford then came home and crashed on the couch. Definitely the worst day I've had with this crap. The train-ramming-into-me metaphor works just fine. So I slept. Karal tried to keep me awake the entire time, but I slept, until she bit my nose because she wanted dinner.

My taste, smell, and appetite are just fine. In fact, I am having cravings, including the salted Pistachio packs I got at Big Y - Kris Sealey's favorite treats. She turned me on to them, but I never tried them. So, the first time I did I was like, "Dang. These are incredible."

So when I hunkered into the office past the holidays, I made sure I stocked up on packages in my drawer, Nothing like an afternoon nibble to keep the mind going.

Ah, but this mind isn't going anywhere. It is dead, bulldozed, flattened, and done. I can't afford another day like yesterday, but I'm not optimistic. My nurse friends who have also had it simply said, "Give in to your body. It's the only way to get over it. When it craves rest, rest. You cannot function at a normal pace."

Um, duh. This is obvious. I slept 14 hours of the last 24.

Okay, I"m going back to more coffee with fingers crossed I can at least think about a new semester ahead. I'm not hopeful, but I'm going to try.

Hilarious, Crandall. Who are you trying to kid? You're going back to bed.

@BookdealerSusan for the Win!!! This Covid-struck, Sinus-suffering, Mucus-Man is Going to Love these Gifts for a Very Long Time

I often channel Jean Wolph for this one. When my sinuses were destroying my head in Kentucky one hot summer morning (actually, at the school that Muhammad Ali attended), she heated up a wash cloth, placed it on my head, and said, "Relax." It was during the Louisville Writing Project when summer head and the Ohio River had my brain paralyzed. I never thought about heating washcloths in a microwave, but phew! That made a difference.

Fast forward. Down for the count. In and out of consciousness because a character from Transformers, Omicron or Covid-19, landed on my doorstep and knocked me completely out. I was talking to my colleague when she asked, "Crandall, Why are you rolling your coffee mug across your face?"

I was caught. It's a ritual. In the morning, I use a hot cup of coffee to unclog my sinuses. Yes, at times it burns, but it is a way to temper the pulsating throb I often wake up with. Dr. Susan James came to the rescue and mailed me an ice-roller, and a heat-wrap to help me break through the snot, pain, and annoyance that is my life right now.

I'm the world's worst patient. I tend to figure things out for myself and avoid doctors at all costs. Still, with this Covid crap, I've been cautious because I want to avoid nonsense when I don't have to deal with it Well, I have to deal with it. 

I am so thankful to Suzie Q for sending these tools my way...not just for now, but for sinus season, with all its gook/glob and joy. 

I can't wait to put them to use. 

I Am Guessing This Is a Performative Act and Karal (in this Covid Van) Is Simply Seeking Attention. I Could Be Wrong. I Probably Am

Truth. The Covid-world, well, I'm guessing Omicron, is one of the sneeziest worlds I've ever known. I have come a water sprinkler within my household and sneeze an average of 7 times per minute, making me realize, "There's no way in #$#@ that others won't get this soon." I'm being good. I'm staying home. I'm indoors and I'm not around others. Even so, I've definitely put molecules upon molecules into the air inside my house. I keep sneezing.

Perhaps this is why when Karal curled up in a blanket as I did online work today, and then jumped in my lap when I did some writing, that I had to ask, "Can dogs get Covid, too?" It turns out they can and I should contact my vet to see about next steps. BUT, I think she is being responsive to my less that firing locomotion. In other words, I think she's performing for me what she's picking up from me. Whereas I'm usually Thunder Over Louisville, right now I'm barely a spark from a Bic lighted that needs more fluid. I'm trying, but I'm operating in extremely slow motion. 

This is Karal. This is Karal's van. Hence, the Karalvan.

Actually, she was a low-functioning dog this morning, but throughout the day she seemed to have restorative behaviors that were not as lethargic. I put on a mask, and we walked four miles. I needed a mental break and wanted to get her outdoors. She rebounded with lots of play, barking at me when I was on the phone, and assuring her squeaky toys were noise-makers when I was on ZOOM. That is why I think she is performing sick, when she's actually not.

I will say, though, I like the performance, because it is less maintenance than a usual day. A tired Karal is a good Karal. She has been more aligned to my slower pace, which I love (despite a couple of fits of mania). 

I realized today that I begin teaching a week from today. Um, that is ridiculous. So, I'm hoping service work over this vacation break (I'll claim the 24th and 25th of December) was worth it. I cannot believe how much work has to be done now that this particular service will be over. 

I'm maintaining. Coughing, sneezing, but maintaining. 

I'm Rolling Hans Golden Dice and Calling All Patronus. I Have Frodo and Gandalf in My Corner (and one meditator YouTube video maker). And More Soup. I Have More Soup, Too.

Again, I cannot nap. It's impossible, although I try and on the rarest occasion I accomplish a little "closing my eyes" ceremony. After finishing work that was a necessity, I gave into the chest, burning cheeks, runny nose, and exhaustion. I simply stayed put on the couch with teas, lemon water, honey, cough drops, and soup. Oh, the soup. I might have napped, too, if it wasn't for the Star Wars (2015, 2017, 2019) series on TBS. Of course I was instantly hooked and fell back in love with Rey and Finn. The resurgence and joy of hope was my panacea for a long, miserable day (and I would love to see a spin-off series soon --- Finn's childhood before being kidnapped as a child).

Today is Monday and the work continues. It's funny how one this goes and I need to give it my all. I got this. There's no other choice. And it is funny how a good ol' Star Wars movie will kick me into gear (even with their cultural mishaps, insane inappropriateness, and wonky global mischief - we are humans after all...born to make mistakes). 

Poor Karal, she got no play time yesterday. She slept all day, so much so that I had to look up if dogs can get Covid, too. They can. I hope she doesn't get the doggie-version of what I got. Not one to wish this on anyone. I'm channeling my parents in Syracuse who both were hit in 2019, during the first wave. They made it through. I keep hearing my dad saying, "I don't know what this is, but it is not good. Make it go away. I don't like it. I just feel like crap." 

I now understand what he was saying. Perhaps this is nature's way to remind us, once again, who is stronger. Humans are such idiots, including me. Guns, Germs, and Steal people. Guns. Germs. and Steal. What will be written down the road? We await to see.

Hot Soup. Hot Tea. Water. More Water. Hot Tea. Hot Soup. Tissues (a Toilet Nearby). Cough Drops. Blanket. Ready Player One

Dry cough Thursday. Wet cough Friday morning, but went away when I spent three hours shoveling snow. Went to bed with nothing, and woke up with the plague. Knew I would spend the day on the couch (which I never do) and had to flush whatever this is out of my system. But then the stomach stuff started. I basically operated as if I was fountain in Central Park. Did my best to recycle water back into my system as fast as it wanted out. I kept in touch with nursing faculty throughout the day that guided me along the way. I even made soup. I never make soup, but I stocked on chicken broth a few weeks ago for some unknown reason. I'm glad I did.

It is really hard for me to nap. I try, but I never can, especially on a day where the sun was in full shine. I've always wanted to see Ready Player One, but never had the opportunity. But that presented itself yesterday, with commercials, but I was hooked. It was phenomenal, and I can't believe I didn't make the time until yesterday (because my time was forced to sit still). That is one heck of a film.

I also caught the Jason Reynold's National Writing Project event, which was spectacular. There are some minds that I could listen to over and over again. Few think with the original brilliance and craft of Jason Reynolds. His genius is 100% authentic and deserved. 

And I worked on very few needing-to-be-done projects because this garbage that is possessing my body had me down-for-the-count. Vaccinated. Vaccinated again. Boostered. And outside human contact except with Edem for 20 seconds a day when he returns from work. He had this thing, too. We've both tested negative for Covid. 

Is the Omicron that much of a variant? I am beginning to think it just might be.

First Snow Day of the Season. Around 8 Inches of the Fluffy Stuff in Stratford and a Great Day of Exercising Getting It Out the Way

The first heavy snow fall is always the most beautiful. The storm came in over night and by morning's wake, the majority of it already landed. Highways everywhere were unnavigable and poor Edem took 3 hours getting home; when his car got stuck in the grass pulling in and he couldn't get it out, I said, "Just leave it there. I'm drinking coffee and I'll soon head out and see what I can do. Just get some sleep.

He brought something into the house, but we've both tested negatively for Covid. I'm sniffling and coughing a little, monitoring every second of the day. 

My neighbor had shoulder surgery so she asked me to take care of her driveway which I did...her long, steep driveway Phew. I give her credit. I'd want a shoulder-surgery too, to keep me from tackling that all the time. 

Karal was funny. It was her first snow fall and she didn't want to go near the stuff. She kept exploring windows wondering what happened to the world she knew and finally I tricked her by tossing a ball out the door. When she learned the white stuff wouldn't kill her, an absolute canine joy overtook her. She ran and bounced and slid and jumped and buried herself for over an hour before I said she had to come in while I shoveled.

The neighbor thought it might be good to have the dogs run in her backyard, so that's exactly what I did. Karal and Buckey played for three hours. She crashed in the afternoon and I imagine she will sleep most of today. 

It was a light, fluffy snow, so easy to push to the side, albeit that there's just so much of it: sidewalks, back patio, two driveways and front steps. I didn't take my skis out because I don't want to test this sniffly cough stuff, but I hope to find space and location to do so sometime this weekend. 

I also forget how cold it gets. I worked up a sweat pushing that snow, so when I went to maneuver stuff with Chitunga who quickly visited (I stayed masked, just in case) I cursed the Gods about the temperature. We don't get the Syracuse stuff, but on occasion we do, which is lovely. I'm glad when the season finally pushes to the side. The older I get, the more I hate the cold. 

In Absolute Agreement with @NicolaYoon, @SkinOfTheSea is "Epic and original." It Is Also Brilliantly Written, Stellar, Engaging, and Timely

I need more time to sit with Natasha Bowen's Skin of the Sea. Actually, I need to reread. I actually listened to this book on my way back from Syracuse and around town since. Every second of the narrative read by Yetide Badaki has been the highlight of 2021 (that's when I started it) and will most likely be the highlight of 2022. It took me years to grow fond of audio books, because I read with pens, sticky notes, and highlighters, which I can't do while listening. It's okay, though. Because the artistry of Yetide Badaki's voice was introduced to me - what a reader! It matched perfectly with a book that, in my opinion, deserves more than its New York Times best-selling status. I don't have a way to get such a book on the radar of the numerous award committees I follow, but I don't think I know of another text that is accomplishing, has accomplished, what it has set out to do. It is clever, poignant, and original. I loved the entire arc.

I am channeling students of yesteryear when I did a brief Disney unit and ruined The Little Mermaid for them. When I had students analyze subliminal meanings behind the cartoon (a unit on critical thinking and questioning), they often concluded thoughts about Ariel that were similar to my own. The unconscious messaging of giving up one's voice for a man, and the slapstick cruelty of a muscular, Neptune, King of Triton, who slaps an Islander-speaking crab plants cultural seeds that are engrained in the minds of children. The students, too, became critical of the way Sebastian is portrayed and treated by a "God." Ah, narratives. Until the lion learns to write, every story will glorify the hunter. 

A few years later, during a unit on Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton, when we read African myths and folktales recorded by anthropologists around the world, my students also made connections to storytelling traditions, narrative positioning, and how the written text overtook oral traditions. Gathering and speaking forth tales is universal. Not all cultures, though, put the stories to text forms - they did so through art, carvings, dance, and fabric.

I don't think many of us in my circle of literacy scholars have had a book such as Skin of the Sea to do what it achieves. A way to survive. A way to serve. A way to save. Simi, a Mama Wati (mermaid) collects souls of those who die at the sea and blesses their journey home. Yet, this story shares is about emotions, strength, understanding, and exploration. It is a "What if" that explores the human bodies cast off of slave ship that was intended to arrive to the Americas. Through tapping African folklore and traditions, Natasha Bowen has brought a book to the canon of YA fantasy and imagination in a way I've yet to experience as a reader. Perhaps, more than any other part of the book, the author's note at the end of the audio recording was the most powerful. 

Representation matters. 

Storytelling matters. 

Retelling stories to counter ideological constructions within Western societies is a necessity. To uphold one tradition with particular viewpoints, glorification, and feel-good narration does little to address reality, truth, facts, and history. This is the greatest achievement of the book. I will be celebrating Skin of the Sea within the talks I give, through scholars I collaborate with, and teachers who understand the importance of #WeNeedDiverseBooks. I am tapping my inner K-12 teacher, too, wanting to bring the story forward to young people, especially with the question, "Who gets to tell stories? Who has not, historically, been allowed? Who haven't we been hearing?"

It's simply critical thinking.

The book cover, too, is exquisite. The originality, yet familiarity, of the story is superb. Skin of the Sean is simply is an incredible, brilliant book. Young people around the world will simply adore and love the work for the way it sparks imagination and offers space to explore stories of their own (in the same way Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid became central to Natasha Bowen's childhood). 

This is just a blog - a space for me to think through thoughts while in the Karalvan of 2022. Obviously I can't use this space to dig deeper into the characters, themes, triumphs, and hope for future storytellers - but I will in my academic work. For now, I am simply thrilled Skin of the Sea exists - Congratulations to Random House Children's Book for seeing the gift of this writing - definitely a favorite, one I'll be rethinking, thinking again, and returning to with thought. It's that clever.

Now...Awards committees? Are you listening? You better be reading and taking notice. Skin of the Sea by Natasha Bowen is something special that we've not seen (so much so, I've been messaging some of my other favorite writers to say, "This is the book. It's worth your time." 

And I'm ready for Hollywood to take it on, so I can see it cinematically. But it can't be just any director or any actors. It needs to be a box office sensation - one to match the quality of Natasha Bowen's storytelling.

Check out NPR's feature on Skin of the Sea from October 28, 2021.