My Plate Is Full, But There's Always Room to Visit the Incredible Faculty & Students of @Harding_High (Go, @joannagwarren, Go!)

The way yesterday went: up at 5 a.m., at the University by 7 a.m., and out to a school by 8 a.m.

This week my Fairfield University students had the wonderful opportunity to work with a few Harding Presidents 9th graders - the wonderful youth under teacher Joanna Warren's care. We've collaborated on a reading of Trevor Noah's Born a Crime, her freshman classes and 19 undergraduates thinking about a career in education. Today, our explorations included learning about school from the perspectives of freshmen, many of whom are in their first years of learning English.

Teachers always prep visitors for the ins and outs of particular classes: the challenges, the celebrations, the worries, and the love. We're always nervous to meet strangers. With that noted, the students quickly found ease. As Joanna noted, "This is great. Kids who I never see talking are talking."

We did dialogue books about our lives right now, growing up, elementary and middle school, and hopes for the future. 

I have to admit, my heart was proud. There's nothing better than seeing 100% on-task behavior period after period - if only we could find a way to mix our communities more often to help teachers reach their goals. It's a win/win scenario: collaboration, intention, sharing, dialogue, and learning. 

While in Ms. Warren's classroom I was introduced to paper-plate self-portraits and was amazed by the talent of student work. I also love her project of turning short stories into graphic comics.

It was fortunate, too, to have Vice Principal Kathy Silver thank the Fairfield University students for their time, but also to share her years of (heart) wisdom. The appreciation, however, should also go to the 9th graders who offered their expertise as we learned from them. I am thanking them and Ms. Warren for their intelligence, honesty, and willingness to work with Fairfield undergrads.

So, go Joanna Warren, GO! She perseveres toward excellence like few I've ever known. The love for her students radiates out of her room and I continue to be impressed by her drive, life passions, and joy of learning with her kids.

Opportunities like this bring joy to my world. 

And He Makes It to the Middle of the Week. He Only Wishes The Clowns Dressed More Appropriately So He Could Choose to Perform or Not

Not my circus, not my monkeys. The ****show has outperformed itself today. If you can't beat them, join them. In the end, all we have is laughter.

And then there is @AssDeans, the Twitter account that truly summarizes what life is like for the vast majority of us in higher education. Satires, comedy, cartoons, buffoonery. In the world of most writing mentors, some things are too crazy to make up.

So this is where I am on a Wednesday. Trust me, the animation above is much more joyful than the actual reality. Insert juggling music here.

Seriously, I started my day at 5 a.m. yesterday, because I had another meeting wedged into the already packed day. To prepare, I awoke early, and I knew my window for walking Karal was 8:00 to 9:00 a.m., so I did. Then I was on campus working until 9 p.m., only to stay up until 11 p.m. to get ready for my 8 a.m. this morning. It's all good. This is the part of the work I love: teaching, doing research, and working with educators and kids.

Yet, there's the rest of it...the performance of others creating an air of authority, competence, expertise, and administrative desires that, well, is nothing but meetings and blabber. At times it's hard for me not to burst out laughing. It's simply inane.

Years ago...27 years ago to be exact, I read Moo by Jane Smiley. I simply remember laughing and thinking, "Who are these insane people who are so self-indulgent in their campus life?" It was hilarious, a wee bit exaggerated, but almost 100% spot on. Of course, I read that as a graduate student starting out with a first Masters....and lots has happened since then. Now, I'm actually on the other side of the humor.

I'm going into today with more laughter than usual. How is this, exactly, my life? I've Moooooved into the very regionality of all that I've always spoofed (The Office does this....The Chair). And now I want to play with it more than ever before.

Yet, I'm in the land of utmost seriousness, where the clowns never see how clownish they are.

I will survive. Just get me through today. The impossible is possible because it has to be.

Thrilled to Hear @djfspeaks at Fairfield University...a Motivational Speaker Colleagues Brilliantly Brought to Our Campus Last Night - Superb!

The invitation to come hear David Flood speak inhabited many of slides for spring courses in 2020, as he was to be a special guest to our campus then. Yet, like all of us, it fell to the world of cancellations, online realities, and the changes of day to day home-stay. 

Last night my colleagues Emily Shamash and Alyson Martin stayed ahead of the game and saw to it that Flood delivered a message to our campus, one of kindness, love, and inclusivity (which, by the way, are synonymous to the individuals they are, too).

The conversation worth the wait, and spoke to the hearts and minds of the Quick Center. I laughed as David Flood poked fun of himself, and told the times the kids he's worked with has said, "You look like Squidworth...or you remind me of that guy from Back to the Future." As I watched him grace the stage (I was two rows back), I kept thinking, "Hmmm. I guess I see that, but I see the little brother of Henry Winkler and Ted Danson." What an amazing man, father, motivator, and visionary.

David Flood's honesty, truth-telling, and joy for his family, especially his autistic son, was the theme for the evening and I couldn't help but think of the research my colleagues Kelly Chandler-Olcott, Liz Lewis, and I have been doing on inclusive writing communities. I was to teach at the Brown School in Louisville, Kentucky, where diversity and inclusivity were an intentional mission. As a result, we worked collaboratively to raise the bar for all kids, with or without learning disabilities. The collective mattered more - it was the curriculum, and Flood's message definitely resonated with the shared values of the school and my intentional scholarship today.

There were many lines that I jotted down from his talk: "Look at things with your heart, not your mind;" "Loneliness can be contagious;" "Casual conversations are important;" "Smiles go a long, long way. Fist Bump. Elbow touch;" "Be vulnerable;" "There's an extreme importance for teachers to attend extra-curricular events;" "Do deep dives in the interests of kids;" "There should always be clubs for inclusion;" "No one should eat alone;" "Your life is not about you. It is about all the people around you;" "Connect with others;" and most importantly, "Show up."

Show up. Show up. Show up.

I was also touched by parents and kids who spoke at the end of the presentation simply to thank David Flood for his words. In my doctoral program, I remember Dr. Ferri began a first night of class with us writing a response to the question, "When is the first time you knew dis/ability?" - it is a prompt I use often, myself, in courses and during professional development. The point is quickly made: no one goes through life not knowing dis/abilities because dis/abilities are a way of life.

Show up and embrace them. Choose love.

I'm thankful for Drs. Alyson Martin and Emily Shamash for making the event happen. It as well worth the wait. 

Always Chuckling, If not Distraught, By Daffodil Blooms on a Very Cold Day at the End of March. The Promise of Change (and Hope) Is on the Horizon, Though. Patience.

I'm celebrating a rather productive day...thankful for Chitunga, the accountant that he is, for doing my taxes, for my early-morning drive to clean, declutter, and reorganize spaces on bookshelves and in cupboards, for the 5 mile walk with Karal (brrrrrr) and for a day of grading and catching up.

I didn't even know I had a daffodil patch in my front garden, but apparently I do, and they were singing on the edge of freezing temperatures, laughing as they are designed to do. I am thinking of Syracuse, though - I sure hope snow didn't fall as the Weather Channel predicted. I always feel bad for the buds that, like us, jump the start of the gun every spring. They will make it. We will make it, too.

We have another day of these dipping temperatures, and then we return to the regular scheduled program (even with knowledge that April, too, can be cruel).

I want to write, as well, with a special shoutout to St. Peter's Men's Basketball team. I'm a March Madness madman, and it was your run this season that gave me drive, hope, optimism, admiration, joy, and appreciation. May our world always know the story of what you accomplished. It didn't end well in the elite 8, but you have played with heart, dedication, and purpose. We see you.

It's Monday, and since the daffodils are chuckling let me type a couple of spring jokes before I head out into the day.

Does February like March? No, but April May.

What do you get when you plant kisses? Tulips!

What did the tree say when he first saw spring coming? Oh, what a re-leaf!

Happy Birthday, Shirls! Here's to The 21st, 28th, 35th, and 40th Celebration of Your Existence. You Deserve Nothing But the Best Today

Saturday turned out to be even murkier than expected....torrential downpours, sleet, and ice (causing me to sit in my car for 30 minutes before I stepped into the celebration, but the games, silliness, happiness, and partying in the honor of Shirley Klein was worth every second of the wait. 

I gifted her The 5 Second Rule and That's What She Said (two games that incited laughter) and we had a good time with with inappropriate fill-ins and naming three items within 5 seconds for the majority of the night.

Red velvet cake, manicotti, and snacks made for a wonderful Saturday evening after both Connecticut and Louisville Women's Basketball teams won their games. I have my L's up for the ladies of Derby City.

The party animals also came in handy. 

But now is a day of grading, planning, writing, and ordering, all the while we can send birthday songs for the official day. I'm in hopes, too, that Chitunga will work on my taxes (while I clean the house)

It's a Sunday, finishing March with a winter that was calm (and we are all thankful as a result). 

We love you, Shirls! Your friend and family in Connecticut. Here's to the next decades of your incredible life! 

Truth Telling 2022. There Was No Way I Was Going to Be Able To Lie, So I Came Clean. I Took a Mid-Day Moment to Myself and Still Made It...Just in the Nick of Time

My morning began with a 6 a.m. shower, getting myself ready for the day. I knew I had to visit two schools, had a doctor's appointment late morning, and a very important 1 pm rational meeting. After I got my wasp stings at the dermatologist (Kennelog for my psoriasis, which is 200 stabs in my leg that makes me bleed but does what it should), I came home and said, "Karal, We can hike along the beach."

This was fine, but a wonderful woman hiking with her long hair, Irish wolf hound stopped to talk with me and Karal and her dog got along marvelously so we let them play on the beach. 

Tick tock. Tick Tock.

I lost 35 minutes in canine play, and when I looked at my watch I said, "Holy #@$#, Crandall. You have a 1 p.m."

Now, I know I've not been running because I'm afraid my intestines will come out of my eyeball and nostrils, but I had no choice. Karal and I ran hard for twenty minutes. I got to my car and said, "I'm only 8 miles away." Of course, I hit every light and train tracks that I didn't know hosted trains seemed to have trains, so I was stuck with that. Then I got behind a handicapped sticker car going four miles per hour (it wasn't Papa Butch, but it might as well have been) and I got into my house with 60 seconds to spare.

Dang, I was hosting the national meeting. Phew. I made it happen, but I was almost late to my own party. This is the cost of taking a few minutes to the self! But Karal hiked and guess what, I ran like I haven't run in a year (even faster) and no eyeballs fell out, blood was shed, or small intestines were dripping onto the pavement. It felt good.

So, I'm entering the weekend with a sense of calm (not going to discuss afternoon faculty meetings) and for that I am thankful.

Friends, we HAVE TO TAKE TIME FOR OURSELVES, even if it DOES create chaos. That is of utmost importance. The 90 minutes along the Long Island Sound saved me...my week, and my weekend. So, if you get a chance to get outside to move, I say GO FOR IT. Everything else can wait. 

Live Footage of Me Yesterday at 4 p.m. after Running Books to Schools for Eight Hours. I'm Not a Napper, But with the Rain and Gray...Phew. This Head Was Heavy

I snuck into my house at 4 p.m. after covering 48 miles of driving to deliver more materials for the Cultivated Women's Collective. I was doing well, knowing there was a recording of The Write Time scheduled on campus at 7 p.m. I entered my house and said, "I can't stay awake," so laid on the couch and poof! I lost an hour to napping. That is so very, very Crandall-rare. I did wake up in time to make dinner and head back to campus. 

The best part is I awoke with Karal curled beside me on the couch. 

"I'm just resting my eyes. Just resting my eyes," I could hear channeled to what my Grandma Vera and Grandpa Ken used to say to me.

Teaching is exhausting. K-12 school hours matched with graduate school late hours catch up rather quickly, and without enough time in the day, I had to give into my head when it said, "pillow, pillow, pillow."

I have to say, however, that I'm super excited for the next episode of the The Write Time, because we found the perfect match to the guest writers and the 30-minute show easily snuck up to an hour...it was worth every second.

Ah, but today is Friday. I have another round of school trips, more book orders to be made, and continued grant labor. This is why March Madness is so important. Weekends are for the much-needed distraction. 

I look forward to being distracted.

Maybe the Recommendations Are Spot On? I Can't Duct Tape My Entire Body Until May Nor Can I Create A Bubble Shield, but I Can Pretend, Can't I?

A week ago, at a regular cleaning, I was quickly whipped into oral surgery to have an abscess tooth abstracted. I was sent home with minimal instruction except, avoid infection. There was not prescription, but a warning not to drink out of straws and to avoid almost every food imaginable. It didn't say for how long, but I follow directions. Soup and mashed potatoes it has been. I still feel there's this slight infection running along the gum-line down a nerve, but it is not swollen, nor is it read or ridiculously painful, unless my tongue does some probing. 

Yesterday, however, I started getting this sharp pain under my eye and I quickly recalled my little sister's post-covid sty. I am beginning to swell like she did. I don't see it, as it appears to be more in my upper cheek than my eye lid, and after a 14 hour day yesterday I both heat packed and ice paced the area (insert the word mother fucker here). I don't need another ailment. 

My chair wrote to say I need to be duct-taped together until May, but I was thinking, "Shoot. September until May are my easy months...July-August are where my life takes off for the good." Perhaps I need a bubble. I know I definitely need sleep, mindlessness, and calm. It's definitely been a year and then some.

Today is Thursday. I have appointments in 4 different schools in separate parts of the state, plus lunch with an Emmy-winning script writer who wants to discuss a collaborative idea about working with teachers and kids (this is Fairfield County....when you have messages left on your office phone requesting an appointment and when you do the research you learn, "Okay, so you wrote this....and you wrote that...and now in your spare time you're thinking this....and thinking that....."  It's hard not to go along for the ride to see what is possible. 

I just hope I end looking like Popeye by the time the meeting rolls along. I will try to live in a bubble until then.

Fake It 'Till You Make It, Mr. Courtier...You Need To Self-Fashion a Fantastic, I Am SUPERMAN Kind-of Day, Even If You Know It's Impossible (If Not Comical)

Got home late from class because I had to get ready for class (the trouble with a late graduate schedule and an early undergraduate one....we 've already covered this territory...never again). Now, add the fact that the school we were to visit cancelled so a shift in plans needed to occur quickly. Done. Now balance that with meetings from 11 - 6, back to back, each with heavy, heavy responsibilities and conversations. 

I will do my best. Although I need rest. It's been nonstop, and it continues to be (and yes, I know it is normal for some to take breaks when they are given breaks, but college breaks don't match up with K-12 breaks, and summer breaks don't match up with when kids and teachers are looking for workshops and opportunities. The work, though, I love. 

The meetings? Not so much

Most important for me today is to make it until 11 a.m. - I have to keep the morning class on track and moving ahead, even with the cancellation of visiting a school - there's only so many more weeks left.

I also am approaching the day with optimism, as I predict much of today is going to be educational, while I learn how structures and infrastructures REALLY work.

It's been a fascinating year. Everywhere. Still claiming the lifelong-learning thing. I keep learning, but I need space to think, rest, and reflect. I believe our systems are in need of major, major change.

Going with a Frog-Theme for Tonight with Optimism and Hope for All the Peepers Who May Have Sprung to Life a Little Too Soon

I hit the lottery by choosing Gholdy Muhammad's Cultivating Genius, to pair with Beers and Probst, Disrupting Thinking, and K. Hinchman and H.K. Sheridan-Thomas's Best Practices in Adolescent Literacy Instruction. This is probably my 12th time teaching this particular course and shifting to Gholdy's book and changing it up for a new Beers & Probst one may be the best decision I've made as an instructor. Every word of each chapter talks with the others, and I'm in awe at how much influence this has on the products created by my graduate students and the ways they are already thinking about instruction.

Of course, Alfred Tatum remains central to the framing of the class through the promotion of textual lineages - it is the heartbeat. Always props to him.

Whenever I sit down in a panic to think through what I'm going to do to build upon the previous weeks, the authors simply provide all the language and thinking I need. I simply can point to them and conduct in-class activities that are logical, timely, and relevant. 

Now, today is also National Goof Off Day, and I was thinking about the poor tree frogs, the peepers, who came out of their winter rest to start singing love music over the weekend. They have been extremely loud and beautiful. I worry, though, because winter always returns and the warm temperatures are unlikely to remain. It's not as harsh as Syracuse and I remember fearing for frozen peepers on my tiny house on Eastman Ave. They would freeze, yes, but also would thaw. I just don't want them harmed.

And each week I choose a theme of photographs to frame the conversations and although I thought of spring flowers to freshen the mood, I went with a frog theme, hosting a different piece of frog art for each slide. I was thrilled to find Kermit in a photograph when I typed "Frogs Learning" in Google. He will help me to round a grand slam for the evenings shenanigans.

It's not shenanigans, really, but if there's one thing I try to leave my classes with, it is joy...that learning can be fun, and that humans are better humans when they are enjoying their learning and growing together (tears fall from pain, but also from laughter). 

I also benefit from joy, especially after a spring break that was loaded with work and the absolute panic that there is no time to accomplish all that needs to be done this week. It is an overly loaded (and serious) one. I just hope to maintain my integrity and leadership.

So, Kermit, I'm channeling you. You were center of the Muppet Show and have always been a daemon of sorts to me....frogs it will be. With some goofiness. It's serious work, but when things get most intense, my natural instinct is to find a way to laugh...or at least hope to. Today, I begin with a spastic Kermie yay!

To Plant a Garden Is To Believe in Tomorrow - A Lawn Sign I'm Stealing as a Motto for the Upcoming Year, Especially After the Busiest Spring Break I've Ever Had

I feel like a wilted plant that needs new soil, more water, and better sunlight, but I did what I could this past week to give myself some semblance of a break. I mean, I did go to a concert, had an emergency tooth removal, watched NCAA basketball (albeit it while grading and writing), and did walk 6 miles a day with Karal (that was a priority, because I could)

Down by Long Beach in Stratford, I saw a sign in a lawn that caught my attention, especially since it was a graying, decaying spot and I thought of the humor that one would have a garden sign there. But it was spot on. Ironically, I took photos of crocuses blooming in my yard to write about this morning, but none of the photos showed up in my library, so I'm going with the mantra about planting - one I've sent to a few of my favorite people who are in need of a similar mindset. We're ready to plant a better world, and to move forward with what we know works best.

I was talking with K-12 teachers this past week, telling them that the same administrative, top-down mind-control has trickled into higher education. Rather than respect the expertise of faculty, more and more administrators are hired to come in and control the expertise of faculty. And rather than invest in more faculty expertise, they are hiring more and more adjuncts and positions with alternative titles so that faculty doesn't get too much power.

Imagine not wanting your educators to be the professionals they've studied to become. Oh, wait. K-12 educators have been experiencing this for 30+ years. Devalue the work that exists on the ground and the collective wisdom, and hire new people to come in and tell you how it should be done better, even though all those who work know it is a terrible idea. 

But the garden metaphor, the crocuses, and now the hornier-than-hell birds singing at 4 a.m. are reminding me that rebirth is coming as it always does. Heck, even the peepers are out there bellowing their music. I guess the natural world should be thankful that they don't have others overseeing their chirps, soil movements, and blooms, because that would likely lead to a crop failure.

I got my 40 miles in this week and Karal, who is sleeping in this morning, I guess, is thankful for the longer than usual walks. But I'm looking for leadership and spaces that allow gardens to bloom, educators to be experts, and young people to excel without all the bureaucracy. 

Learning is natural. I wish we could simply return to what is good for everyone. 

Spring Purge, Part #1, Thanks to @KrisSealey and Her Post About a Clothing Drive to Support Stratford High School Musicians. I Was In.

The day of rain, actually turned into a day of fog, warm temperatures, and blue skies. Okay. So when Kris posted on Facebook there was a clothing drive at the local high school, I went to town. I filled the Hulk from trunk to hood with pants, shirts, hoodies, sneakers, towels and even comforters that this man's body hasn't touched in several years...um, no. I will never wear that prom tuxedo again...the one I wore to chaperone many a dance at the Brown School (and I'm wondering how I ever fit into such a thing). 

Gone too are dress clothes from another era. Although I kept the majority of ties, I realized I'm good with my sport coats, sweaters, t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers. If my feet didn't step inside a kick for over a year, it also went into a box. 

The purging felt great. 

Then Tunga proposed a hike, we grabbed Karal, and we did the Short Beach stomp, followed by a small gathering with friends at Pam's. All the while, I caught as many games as I could (okay, UNC...not bad under dogging against Baylor. That was a game).

Vera vacuumed the house and I prepped the bay window for the next series of staining and cleaned out the garage knowing Chitunga needed to store items while he transitions into his new apartment. 

I really do love the madness of March. Saint Peter's beats Murray State. I'll take it. 

But Sunday is meant for the crockpot, grading, organizing, and dreading the work week ahead. The good news is that Karal is wiped out. I think it's hard for anyone to see that Karal calms down and is chill in my house, especially when her inner-toddler kicks in outside the house and she spent most of the day enthusiastic to be around others. She is zonked out for sure. 

Wait. Will there be more basketball today? I believe there will be. Phew. That 2020 Covid season really was a bummed period of time, wasn't it? 

Glad to have the madness back. 

The Pictures Never Do It Justice....Full Moon Rising Over the Long Island Sound...the Last of the Winter Season...All Tangerine and Orange and Nice

Okay, Friday. I' worked my way up until the Fairfield / Texas game, walked Karal along the shoreline, and returned there to see the moonrise. In the photo, it looks like a pimple, but in reality it was huge and gorgeous...definitely worth the road trip to the sand.

The rest of the day was spent grading, ordering, organizing, painting, and making scrambled eggs - the only thing I can take down on my left side, because my right side is still healing.

But today is Saturday, and it's supposed to be a rainy day. I anticipate plopping on my front porch to grade and plan all day - that's what I do when the temperatures go from high 60s to low 40s. I'm also hoping Chitunga will say, "Hey, Dad. Why don't we meet at xxx for dinner?" That would be great. I could use a meal out, and hopefully one I can digest...was going to right 'suck down,' but there's no sucking allowed when a blood clot is healing. 

And don't tell anyone, but I'm caught up with the laundry. I put the last load in the dryer last night before I went to sleep, and I suppose today will be one of folding and putting in the closet. Shhhh. It will pile up again, but a benefit of not having to teach is that you gain numerous hours to catch up on the other things you're supposed to accomplish. 

Here's to the weekend. Crying real tears that the week off from teaching is already over. I love the teaching part of my job, but it takes a toll on all the other work that is expected....the break is definitely a gift. Some of the panic disappears.

I hope you are gifted with time to do what you want to do today. And if that includes NCAA March Madness, I totally get it. It's the ultimate distraction.

Sam & Lou, you accomplished much! The Longhorns were ranked high for a reason, and you persevered well. You both represent the better side of Fairfield and I'm proud of you, your athleticism, your achievements, and what you stand for.

Goodbye, #31. I Didn't Know You Wanted to Leave Me. I Thought It Was Remnant from Covid...a Mouth Sore. Nope. You Were an Abscessed Tooth

And here I was thinking that the string of grey crowds was subsiding, and I was heading to the up and up. 

NOPE. #31, the tooth before #32 (I still have two of my wisdom teeth), fractured where the root canal was done several years ago, and became infected. Slowly, the bacteria has been eating at the jawbone, so when a gumboil formed on the inside of the tooth by the gum, a mouth version of Covid toe, an infection trying to get out. That explains why two weeks ago, my bite didn't feel right - the infection was trying to eject a tooth...one that was dead, crowned, and defunct anyway. 

So, at my annual cleaning yesterday, Dr. Kudish said, "This needs to be pulled right away. She sent me to an oral surgeon and a couple pinches of novocaine and 45 seconds of pulling, #31 was gone. I wanted to keep him to make a necklace but they didn't allow that (I was channeling Jake who still has one of the teeth he had pulled - of course, he's a dog). 

I was sent home with cotton, strict orders not to eat much, no to chew, no to suck a straw, and definitely not go line-dancing with chickens. I had to simply chill out, biting on cotton until the proper blood clot formed....which took all night. It just kept bleeding.

Joy. 

I'm just glad it was in the back of my mouth and not in the front. I'm also glad for insurance. My dentist told me one price, and Dr. Sood offered another (his actual cost was one fifth of what I was told it would be). When you your mouth is worth more than you actually are, you pay attention to the price tags.

The hardest part of it all was I lost a day. I had a day full of plans, goals, and joy, and it turned into another 18 hours of falling behind. It is what it is. It's feeling like I'll lose all of today, too.

What else can I say?

RIP, #31. I have to wait 6 months before possibly having a fake tooth put in. We'll deal with that day when it comes.

Taking a Walk, Mid-Week, to Recenter the Universe, to Allure Vitamin D, to Focus on What Matters, and to Enjoy Fresh Air

I spent yesterday in my campus office, and hid from the majority of people who were there (which were not many) simply to accomplish what I set out to do, and to get on top of the tasks that came my way. I came home at 3, took Karal for a walk along the Long Island Sound, and simply enjoyed the crisp air, the exercise, others trying to find comfort in movement, and thoughts about the steaks that awaited grilling at home. 

As I walked along the sea wall, I came across a rock pyramid which seemed to be the perfect Zen collective that I really needed. 

A highlight from the day was reconnecting with mentors across the nation and fellow National Writing Project directors - individuals I love, respect, admire, and gain inspiration from...it's not easy for any of us right now. 

When I returned, I grilled the steaks, sautéed vegetables, and made mashed potatoes for a mid-week dinner that can only occur when there's space in the day to care for such preparation.

I'm still riding high from the Cory Henry/Tank & the Bangas concert, which was truly incredible and necessary to put pep into the step. It's so wonderful to know musician do as they do, even when they too have hunkered down the last few years.

I was also struck by how clear the water was. I mean, I looked out for a distance and could see fish swimming, seagulls feasting, and sea water sparkling to the base below. It was nice, as there were few people, little action on the sound, and a simple peace that was rewarding for the few walking along the shoreline. 5 miles. I will take it, and so will spastic Karal. 

Of course, I returned to social media, news, soundbites, and the insanity of the world. Ah, it needn't be so complicated, but our canines cause us to do as we do. 

Today, rain and fog. I have hopes though: Doctors appointments, check-ups, and hopefully a few seconds to spend with Chitunga in Stamford. I only can hope that he'll have serenity in his lifetime to parallel the luck I've had from time to time.

To whoever it was that made the rock pile, I thank you. It was a perfect bonus to the day. Happy Saint Patty's Day.

Finally, The Twins Make It to Mimi and Papi's Only to Get a Photo of Papi Butch at the Clam Bar, so They Can Replicate the Photograph For Me

The twins finally arrived to Amalfi Drive. The teaching life has take then away...no time to sit still, unwind, or do as they do. So now you have a photo of the twins with Papi Butch from the Clam Bar, but with a photo of that photo in Cherry Heights. Lossine is dressed like my father, too. They apparently were twinning

All joy, All love. 

I wish I could be there, as I thoroughly enjoyed the phone conversation which followed. They stopped by as a surprise (we all know how mom is with surprises) and finally picked up their Christmas gifts.

Last night, I met Kris, David, and Leo in New Haven for Tank and the Bangas with Cory Henry. It was an amazing night so today's post is going to be short. We didn't get home until midnight, and I couldn't fall asleep until one. It was a great show and I'll likely post more on that tomorrow.

Love Abu. Love Lossine. Love Papa Butch. Love sleep. 

This made my day. 

And now it' back tot he grind. Much to accomplish in a very short amount of time. 

 

Finally Got to the Bay Window They Installed in January. Still Need to Get the Last of the Wood Frame and the Curtains Up, But Not Bad for a Weekend Job

I stopped to get paint on my way home from the University and am sort of shocked that two-hours later it doesn't look that bad. I went for the blue in a painting of New York's Finger Lakes and it picked up the blue in the carpet. Karal, of course, needed to be in the center of it all...every...single...move...that...I...made. It feels good to at least get one chore done at home - this is how wonderful it is not to have to teach. There is space to be a human being for a week.

Now I need to move to other spaces in my house. We shall see.

I also went through grant files, 2017-2022, as we were kicked out of Canisius and only there a few months before Covid kicked us off of campus. I needed to close up several files (well, be sure we finished the grants) and I now can see my desk again. I even deposited checks that have awaiting my attention.

Woot woot. Spring Break. When I have time to catch up on some of my jobs. 

Today, I'm going to try to get as much grading as I can, so I can actually think ahead to the rest of the semester. I have to catch up on what has set me behind.

And I went with Giddon one-coat, primer/paint in one. I can't believe how little I had to use. I'm very impressed - and dang, I even had time to walk Karal for an hour. I figured it was going to be an all evening job. Nope.

Okay, Tuesday. Bring it. Tonight it is Tank & the Bangas!

Whoever Sent the Socks, I Am Thankful. And I Will Tell You Why - I Didn't Want to Walk All the Way Back Up the Stairs

The rituals are what they are. I wake up after Karal does yoga stretches across the bed, I come downstairs, I make coffee, and I kick off the day. Typically, I take it easy, do the writing stuff, plan the day, clean a little, and when it is time, I go for a walk. 

A problem, however, is with socks. I don't sleep with anything on my feet and I have no idea how anyone does. So, I come downstairs more often than not barefoot. I don't own slippers, and I usually don't put anything on my feet until I'm heading out the door.

And I usually forget to grab a pair of socks, so have to climb back upstairs to get a pair when Karal and I leash up and head outdoors. 

This is why I was thrilled to have an unmarked package of Holy Shit! I'm 50! socks sent to my door. Not sure who sent them, but they came in handy on my weekend romp outdoors. I was heading upstairs when I saw them on the table and said to myself, "Well, look at that. You were saved this morning, Crandall."

I was. 

I know it is break, but I'm heading to campus. I have to get on top of the CWP part of my job: grants, book deliveries, orders, schedules, and organization. It's hard to play the role of academic as well as Director and I too often feel I neglect all needing to be done. This, of course, was not as much a problem when I had assistance and support from State grants, the university, and the school. Those days disappeared, however, so I have to be the administrative assistant to myself, adding a 3rd job to all I'm responsible to maintain.

So, I will inhale and do what is best for the teachers and youth I love tremendously.

Yes, I'm 50, but I still have work to do, and I will do it with a smile. Hello, Monday. We got this.

Day One of Alleged Break: Finishing the Bay Window with Special Guest, Maude...Karal, Of Course Was Central to Every Step of the Process

My morning started with a 'beat the stormy mess' round of shopping, but it was unsuccessful. I came home and caught the MAAC Women's Basketball Championship game and was super excited to see the Lady Stags take home the trophy - so many of these girls were central to Ubuntu Academy and our Young Adult Literacy Labs - Literacy4Life/Ubuntu project. Well, deserved. Such great playing and incredible coaching. 

Patrick arrived in the afternoon and we took on the dry wall gap left from the installation of the new bay window. He was a a great teacher, as I wanted to learn every step of the process. I'm pretty sure I can handle the rest, as he coached well, even with Karal having to be part of his every move.

Was super happy to host Ms. Maude for the day, and was pleased that Karal saw her as a friend in the house and not a snack. There were times when Karal wanted to know what she was and why she was there, but they found comfort and grace with one another. Maude's truly adorable, as we learned when we purchased supplies at Home Depot. Definitely a dog that attracts attention. 

Also loved having Chitunga for the day and spending time with him for dinner. Thankful he found a new apartment, albeit costly, so he doesn't have to commute from Mt. Pleasant. 

Today, I'm doing the compound, sanding, and smoothing, so that on Monday I can paint. I have an idea of what I'll do to make the room compatible with colors, even if I don't have Cynde or Pam here to guide the process. I have faith I will do the right thing. 

Patrick Kelly is a great educator. All I had to do is sit back and watch, as he tackled the trickiest parts, which I now know how to do. 

And the Lady Stags. That was simply incredible and I hope I can barbecue for them again before they graduate. They are an extremely special group of young women. I can't speak any higher about the human beings they are. 

Riding Into My Saturday, the First of a Week of a Supposed Break, With My Hopes to the Sky, The Great Whatever, That We Can Make Things Better

I'm not sure if I'm spent or recharged to do better as a human being. I have my sense of history, of social justice, of good, and of possibility, but I'm cautious of the systems, the narrations we tell ourselves, and whether or not we waltz on the dance floor of hypocrisy, or we actually stand for what we believe in. 

My colleague and I painted our classrooms in Kentucky to replicate the last scenes of The Truman Show, and we challenged our students to exit Plato's metaphorical cave to go out into the world and to put into action what they believe, preached, and stood for. Do good. Do right. Do you.

I live by the motto that actions speak louder than words. Words go out into the universe and disappear. Yet actions, and words dedicated to page, become spaces to replicate what we truly believe. How we behave, what we choose to do, and what we create for the world means more than anything we might commit to verbal promises - if actions don't follow the language, they are nothing but words meant to disappear and be forgotten. 

We must act on our beliefs and if we believe in a better world, and claim this, then our actions need to show this, each and every day, so they represent the words we stand behind. 

Higher education is as odd a location as anywhere. Cuddled in privilege, opportunity, language, and ego, such locations establish the tomorrow we want to see...that is, if they choose.

That is what I hope I stand for and what I hope I die for. There is a tremendous amount of work to be done as generations before us have demonstrated for us to follow. We owe it to them to bring forth a better world for youth and the Earth they will inherit. If it is only talk, then it is useless.

Actions. That's the answer. Create the world you want for others...for all. If you are dividing, condescending, manipulating, and conniving, you are the problem. The only answer I've ever found to be true is LOVE, and that is a LOVE for all human beings, no matter the nation, the time in history, or the social status.

Do better. That is the way. The only way.

Just do better.

Braved the Backed-Up Traffic of I-95 on Thursday to Tour Kendall College & Career Academy in Norwalk, a K-5 School Making a Tremendous Difference

There was something that happened to cause a parking lot on I-95, and I was stuck on the high for 2 hours, but I made it to my office and eventually to Kendall College & Career Academy where I met the 1st graders we mentored from EDUC 2201 - Explorations in Education (and their wonderful teachers) and was able to tour the older grade classrooms. A highlight was being shown how one copy of POW! Power of Words inspired student writers to compose their own writing, which was showcased in window displays throughout the school. All a teacher needed to do was use the 3-12th grade writing from POW! with their kids, and suddenly, WOLA! the young writers were inspired to compose, too. 

That fueled my soul.

And I also received a video from graduate, Stefania Vendrella, of a writing celebration she hosted at her school that resulted from the years she worked with Little Lab for Big Imaginations. She and her students turned their space into a writing emporium, and the parents were invited to an event in celebration of their writing success. Words everywhere, and genres galore. The happiness was obvious.

Yesterday was Dave Wooley's 52nd birthday, and what an honor to celebrate with their family: good food, good company, good stories, and great friendship. I'm thankful to have him, Kris, and the kids in my world. They are spectacular.

This morning, I need to finish recommendations, grade, fill out dispositional forms for new Educational minors, and then attend an afternoon faculty meeting.

I am waking up, however, knowing that the investment of summer programs that CWP does really makes a difference in transforming schools.

That's what it is all about. 

And the sun is shining...that makes all the difference in the world. 

Symbolism. I Can Take It. I Live By It. 6:30 a.m. on Campus Getting Ready for a 3-hour Turbo. It's Symbolism. We All Get It.

Tuesday night, I came home at 9 p.m. from teaching and transitioning to an 8 a.m. the next morning I realize, "Fudge." There aren't enough hours in the day, especially when you lost two days doing the administrative biddings of a Dean's Office that needs you to work for them (without any favors in return). I stayed up until midnight to catch up. The result? I also arrived at the University at 6 a.m. with 4 hours sleep, so I could prepare for a turbo course that I'm actually paid to teach. I needed two hours to finish preparation. My time was taken up by uncompensated administrative requests (who, by the way, were absent because they were stressed out by having to make requests, so took yet another day off)

But, on the way up to my 8 am. class, the bag of dry-erase markers exploded and without enough caffeine I found myselff] picking up markers. It's symbolism I tell yourself, and knowing there's always a good reason to exercise, I made the explosion into a an aerobic opportunity. And one, and up. And two and up. And three and up.

You don't make too much noise because you realize the hallway is empty and you won't disturb anyone, and truth be told, it will be this way from 6 a.m. until 5 p.m. because no one will be in your hallway. You can scream in agony as you pick up your markers, but it doesn't matter. Who's there to hear you? No one. The halls remain empty for the entire day. 

Honestly, I think faculty are done. They're sick of the narrative given to them by administrators who claim they have the back of others, but who never come to campus, unless it looks good for the narrative they want others to believe about them. And faculty recognize that their students aren't okay, and are doing everything in their power to maintain and upheld the instruction they need.

A week before break, almost 50% of the students were absent. Why? They're lost. They're wondering why they and their parents are investing what they are so they can attend a campus that is vacant and almost 100% online. It's desolate. There are no faculty. The University marketing is that it won't be this way, but it is this way. And the kids are frustrated, perplexed, stressed, and full of anxiety. It doesn't matter because the hallways are empty and they'll talk to anyone who is present and wlll listen. That is what happened to me for 5 hours yesterday, I listened, simply because I was there.

So, I think a hallway full of dry-erase markers is right. I picked them up, taught a class in person, and thought it was successful. Then, after class I was met with the angst of students who feel faculty and administration has left them neglected and behind. I wonder the same.

Empty hallways. There's no there there.

I wonder the same. 

And how much do these kids pay?

I Wish It Was Easy As Simply Wrapping the Sun As a Gift and Presenting It to Others to Enjoy and Heal

The past three days have been revealing.

Principals reporting, "My teachers aren't all right." Teachers reporting, "My students are hurting." I even experienced how one school has restructured its entire day in support of the young people they are teaching, needing to process the past few years.

Then today, because I was in my office after teaching an 8 a.m. turbo and my door was open, Three different students stopped by my office asking for help, and simply reported they were not okay. Two of the students I've had in class before and one I didn't know, but they said they needed someone to talk to and "all the doors are closed."

Reality check. 

Between 700 and a 1,000 people continue to die each day as a result of Covid. Russian is invading Ukraine. Our campus is what our campus is. Kids who do not fit the upper, middle class, suburban personas, feel threatened in every step they take. Everything is triggering them. They don't want to leave their dorm rooms.

All I can do is coach, mentor, ask questions, and guide these young people to the professional counseling services on campus, although that is the site of what has been triggering them because they don't feel they matter. What a ruckus. I had to tap my inner-high school teacher and trained peer counselor days to be an active listener and to take in all that was being processed. Most often I restated what I was hearing and put questions back to them.

I realize this is what Principals are getting from their teachers, teachers from their students. Home lives aren't what they should be, and the world is upside after several years of vitriol, wrath, and unprofessional banter from the top making it seem that cruelty and no accountability is okay. 

Thick skin comes from enduring...getting up...building layers to protect the self, but also knowing that one's self-esteem comes from resiliency...trusting that the self is much more than what is being narrated upon you...us...them. It doesn't matter. The heaviness is extra heavy right now and everyone is looking for ways to make it lighter. Some blame. Some lash out. Some curl up with ignorance and spit venom at anyone that comes near them.

It's hard to say, "Just be the better man. Just be the better woman. Just be better" when you're still finding out who you are and where you belong in the universe. 

I always think of a colleague of my mom's who disappeared for a while when the world became too much for her. I was still young, but whispers of concerned people searching for her came across our phone and I could hear. Eventually they found her in a hotel eating Oreo cookies (good choice), but she needed to get away from it all. To nestle in a safe space until she could process the world would be okay.

I think the world will be okay. There's never been a time without turbulence, and even when you think there has, that might not be true for other populations around the world...other cultures....the person next door. 

So, I listened from 11 a.m. until 2 p.m. - missed lunch and didn't accomplish what I was on campus to do (I arrived at 6 a.m. to get on top of the game, taught, then thought I could work in my office). I missed meetings. I missed phone calls. I missed texts. But I listened.

And I hope this was enough light to guide these young people for another day. I know many might say, "Well, your problem is you'r ein your office and you leave your door open." 

Actually, I consider it my blessing. I feel fortunate to be in the right spot at the right time, although not what I planned for my day.

I Need My Hour Every Day, and I Took That Hour an Hour Earlier Than Usual Last Night...That is, the Hour I Write For Me & I Unwind

This is year 15 of blogging and I don't have an audience or a purpose, really, just an outlet to think through my day and make connections where I can. Although these post in the a.m., I typically made a decision at 10 or 11 p.m. to push everything aside so I can write for me. I write all day: proposals, articles, emails, texts, more and more emails, inquiries, responses, edits, etc. but I need at least one hour of my day to simply write what's on my mind. Truth is, I rarely take the entire hour; instead, I write for however long it takes and then I try to shut off my brain so it will sleep (some nights this is easier than others).

Those that hear me rambling in the halls or see the piles of distractions I keep in my house and office must think, "Crandall is the most disorganized human alive." It's not true, though, as I wake up working and tend to work all throughout the day trying to get done as much as I can in numerous projects. That one hour though, this hour, is for me. I need to dump my end-of-the-day thinking somewhere.

And when weeks exist like this one, when every second of your day is consumed by doing work for other people (caring for their needs and desires), you have to be extra organized. I knew it was coming and that my time would not be my time, so I hunkered down over the weekend to get everything in place so that I could give to others what they need from me. It's not my agenda, but it is the game of academia and what we have to play.

Which is interesting, because I don't think I've ever been the person who makes more work for others. If something needs to get done, I sit down to get it done. And if I'm collaborating, then I am truly collaborating. We're working together, not relying on anyone to get the work done for us.

So my white flag went out at 8 pm last night because I couldn't think another thought for other people...I simply needed to process the universe for me. I needed this hour to rant a little, but also to be mindless with a Words with Friends game, the dog, and maybe some t.v.. I know when I am not going to be of any use to the piles at my side. 

Grant edited. Check. Classes planned. Check. Chapter edited. Check. Meetings about upcoming journal collaboration, done. Proposal to Academic Council. All good. Grading? Um, two things got done. A journal article review....I'm halfway there. Advising...loving ZOOM for this. Food? Glad I prepped this weekend. Socializing, being human, checking on the news? Um, no. Those are distractions. But I'll get to that this weekend.

It's on the agenda. And today, I tour schools before teaching. We got this.

Dog vs. RoboVac Vera. The Sweeper Wins & the Canine Hides in Fear. This is a Good Thing (She Could Bark and Try to Kill It, But Doesn't)

Chitunga gave me a RoboVac for Christmas and I finally found a few seconds on Saturday night to figure it out. It's been charging since Dec. 26th so it was hyped to get out of the saddle. The directions that came with it were as vague as possible, but it did have a QR code which led to an APP. There were no instruction, so I did research for a week and finally found out that it needs to be operated through the phone APP, and I had to find online all the ways it can be operated. 

I named her Vera after my extremely tidy grandmother Vera. 

When I finally got the App to work, I commanded Vera to sweep and she took off. I expected Karal to jump at her, bark at her, and try to destroy her. Instead, she ran to me cowering, hiding between my legs, and eventually sitting as close to me as she could while she watched. As Vera swept, Karal avoided her at all costs. 

And Vera did sweep, reminding me often of Stan, one of the men in the group home in Indiana, who often yelled, "Help me. Help me. Help me." She'd get stuck trying to climb over a dog toy, or trapped herself in between chair legs. Her command was, "Alert. Alert. I need your help. I need your help," in which I had to get up, see what she did this time, and fix her so she could continue. She didn't enjoy swallowing the sliding glass door curtains, either, as she inhaled them with her thirst of consumption. "Hack Hack Hack. I'm dying."

She also says, "I think my underside needs wiping," which is something Grandma Vera never said to her grandkids.

I was impressed when she finished, though, because her little kangaroo pouch was loaded with dust dinosaurs and dog hair. I thought she'd set out to memorize the space, but she's sort of a mad, random woman who goes at it until her battery dies. Most of the carpets she can get across, but the chairs drive her nuts. I did appreciate that she could maneuver underneath the dining room hutch and living room t.v. stand, though. 

I didn't expect her to be so noisy, either. She whips forward her long lashes swiping everything she can grab into her insides. For a while, she got in a fight with picture frame that is still wrapped n plastic from the store. I don't think her sensors understand when the lashes come across plastic. Rather than give up, she seemed obsessed with attacking the frame until I moved it. It was like breaking up a girl fight at school.

Perhaps Vera is what we need to get out whenever Karal gets extra spastic. The machine seemed to put the dog in its place. Here I was having fantasies of Karal wearing a shark outfit riding Vera around the house like a cat, but she is not a happy puppy with this thing is in our house.

Happy Monday. Once again, there are no words for all that lies ahead. 

Happy 80th Papa Butch, From your Son of a Butch! Phew. 1942 to 2022...There's Definitely A Few Stories To Be Told. Love You, Dad.

I remember driving to Sherburne and celebrating my Grandma Vera's 80th birthday party (someone gave me a camcorder and I made it a documentary on hearing aids). Last night, I started my robo-vacuum and when it asked me to name her, I called her Vera. I don't know anyone who was clean as her. I miss her every day. And I realize that I am around the age my father was during that party and I recognize the grays. Long gone are the days when my father comes home from work with a perm - we used to say he was trying to be Mr. Brady or a character on Mash.

Yes, today is my father's 80th celebration of life...1942 to 2022. It's almost crazy to comprehend. Born during WWII in Sherburne, New York, living through Korean, Vietnam, Panama, Gulf, and now Ukranian wars, this man of pit crew dads, little league, Clam Bar, Chubby's, Oneida Lake, Bud Light, Amalfi Drive, Karl, mowed lawns, and snow-blown driveways is 8 decades old. It's pretty amazing and you can't help but applause, love, and cherish such a milestone.

He is vintage, 1942. And I'm thankful for all his love, support, guidance, shelter, coaching, mentoring, yelling, yelling and yelling all those years ago in Cherry Heights. He's the Superman of the Crandall crew, and we love him very, very much. 

What?

DAD! WE LOVE YOU VERY, VERY MUCH. 

Huh?

BUTCH, BRYAN IS TELLING YOU THAT HE LOVES YOU!

And I'm wishing my father a very Happy Birthday today, wanting to be there for cake, family, love, and cheers. You deserve all the attention you'll receive today. 

Here's to you, Dad, and another 80 more!

Well, @TorreyMaldonado...a Morning Post Simply to Say I'm Thankful for Your Brilliance, Leadership, Love of Youth, and Craft.

I hope nothing but greatness showers on Torrey Maldonado this weekend and for the rest of his life. Yesterday, the teacher-author, author-teacher presented to a room full of Bridgeport educators and youth participating in the MLK Youth Leadership Academy. His talk was beyond engaging, so much that students stayed afterwards to say they had no idea that individuals like them could write and publish books. At one point, when he asked how many of the students have not seen stories that represented them and their families in school and almost 100% raised their hands.

This is the heart of where we are in the 21st century. As the world talks about democracy and freedom, we have to be cautious about who really had freedom and democracy in U.S., especially now with the book-banning surge of parents and the gerrymandering of a narrative that hasn't been true for all. That is the power of a Torrey Maldonado's text. His books represent the stories of kids, and families, trying to find their way in the United States, when there stories haven't been told.

As I worked with the kids before and after Torrey Maldonado's presentation, one doodle in a notebook caught my attention. It was a young girl sketching the face from the main character of What Lane with a Martin Luther King, Jr. quote, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." She then wrote, "We are all born with a voice so if that is taken away from us, we are not able to emotionally show what we think, want, believe in and care about."

And that is the heart of yesterday's event - one hosted by CWP with the greatness of Rony Delva, Upward Bound, in the Oak Room full of beautiful teachers of Bridgeport and their students. Very appreciative of Yolehema Felican for being a leader, too, and stopping by to greet the students. 

The open mic at the end of the day was as it always is: beautiful. The writers read with new composition started by the models of great writers (yes, Torrey Maldonado offered us two). 

I'm inspired as always. 

Thank you, Torrey. You deserve nothing but joy, greatness, and the power of the next story to come.

Writing Our Lives & Choosing Our Lanes with @TorreyMaldonado - a @CWPFairfield Event for the @FairfieldU MLK Youth Leadership Academy

I have numerous days a year which are my favorite days and one of them is the MLK Youth Leadership Academy for youth in Bridgeport, Connecticut, where they come to celebrate the brilliance of Martin Luther King, Jr., learn to think of themselves as community leaders and writers, and participate in workshops designed from some of the greatest YA writers on the planet. This year we are Writing Our Lives & Choosing Our Lanes, because of the inspiration of no other than Torrey Maldonado...the Mandalorianado, himself.

Frog gets to tap his inner-Yoda all day today, and the beautiful middle-grade humans get to fill a writer's notebook with writing possibilities to turn all their frustrations and hopes into brilliant manuscripts. This year is extra special because every kid is receiving a copy of Torrey Maldonado's What Lane, which he scripted with Martin Luther King, Jr. in mind.

The show begins at 9 a.m. in the Oak Room at Fairfield University, with numerous finger snaps for Rony Delva, Upward Bound, and his irreplaceable hard work for the MLK Committee and the young people of Bridgeport (I hope, too, that the one and only Todd Palazzo makes an appearance - it will not be the same without him, as he always gave so much to the many communities around our campus for so long - a champion above all champions). 

What is beautiful, admirable, amazing, and stupendous about the day's special guest is that Torrey Maldonado not only writes incredible books that young readers devour,  he also remains in the classroom as a teacher - advocating for the excellence of K-12 schools, the importance of writing and storytelling, and the necessity of #WeNeedDiverseBooks (I have Phoebe Yeh to thank for introducing me to his outstanding work).

It's a party, that's how I roll. 

If you are at Fairfield University, believe in the genius of tomorrow's generation, and simply want to be inspired by excellence in all capacities, we'll be in the Oak Room doing our thing.

I need moments like this to rekindle hope and wonder  - the possibility of absolute excellence. I am thrilled, too, to be in-person, not online, and back to the Writing Our Lives tradition (all love to Dr. Marcelle Haddix at Syracuse University). This is my 9th year of hosting the Youth Leadership Academy, after learning from the best for two years, Dr. Yohuru Williams. He was one of the greatest minds our campus has ever known and I'm proud to keep his tradition and friendship alive.

We gotta write, a'ight!?!

I'm Ready To Crawl Under a Rock with a Surrendering Flag...But I'm Also Ready For So Many Others to Crawl Under the Rocks From Where They Come From

I have no problem admitting I'm overwhelmed. There are 24 hours in a day and 7 days a week, and anyone who knows me understands I'm pretty much at it most all of these times....until I'm not. I realized when I woke up this morning that I don't have much bandwidth for much more. I'm spent: intellectually, emotionally, psychologically, and physically. I continue to shake my head in disbelief.

Disclaimer: I've always worked in public schools, with public school years, in pubic settings. I run a National Writing Project site at a Private, Jesuit Institution. I teach education courses and we are in schools all the time. I have to shake my head at times, though, when I hear about the culture shock my students experience as they go into schools in the U.S. -...they are simply amazed to, gasp, see American schools exist as they do. 

Granted, I usually teach graduate students and not the initial, introduction classes. I am doing it this semester as a favor to the Chair (and hence the Department). I'm used to in-practice teachers, academics, and pre-service teachers in their last courses. I didn't realize I'd get so much shock, confusion, frustration, disbelief, and bewilderment from sophomores and juniors. 

I guess this is where the prisoners first see the light, Plato.

I'm almost overwhelmed by how overwhelmed they are that the realities of our nation are not what they always knew them to be. Their shock is shocking to me, because I can't understand that the reality of what schools actually are would be alarming to them. They don't believe their eyes (and it's funny, because I'm seeing these spaces as wonderful, thought-provoking, joyous spaces where incredible teachers are investing their lives to make stunning children more exceptional.

They only see deficits - can't get past the privileges they grew up with. As I see assets and attributes at how incredible the teachers and students are, they look at the spaces with disdain and blame. I don' t understand privilege or how, in 2022, one continues to think that the world is kind, genuine, safe, and hopeful. It's a narrative I want to believe in (and can, because I've been a public school educator my whole life and know the greatness that exists)...but this awakening for undergraduates paying what they pay to explore teaching and, for the first time, realize the inequities of the world is sort of shocking my system. I'm not sure how to process it.

You want to teach...but don't see the world around you....and it bothers you to have to see it? I'm at a loss for words and need to process this some more. Definitely reaching out to mentors across the country on this one, because I've never taught a general education course....not to I wear a set of frames as they do. It is something.

I think I might need to stick to Grad Student who come to us with more worldviews, but I also know I need to talk with my department and the Office of Social Impact on what they intend with this work...for what should be gained...and merited. I've never been in the business of poverty tourism...my life has been dedicates to public school bliss. So, when I hear their hiss, it just gets me angry and disappointed in the human species.

Rant over.

Joy Comes From The Excellence of Fantastic Teachers - Gratefulness - Excitement - Pride - Passion - Thankfulness - & Hope. A Moment to Reflect on What Counts Most

I was fortunate to host afternoon office hours yesterday, where teachers participating in the New Era Women Writers Program - The Cultivated Women's Collective - stopped by to pick up the first round of materials for their girl writing groups. These are teacher leaders who are the best of the best, and have been doing amazing work beyond the craziness of the nation and world. As each stopped by and discussed their excitement about what has already been accomplished, they shared wonderful things.

I'm also excited. I was going to crate the first round of materials, but then found the cloth boxes at Targets that were 1/20th of the price and much more stylish. They are starting with Ibi Zoboi and getting their writer's notebooks. I have set up an appointment with Dr. Marcelle Haddix for next week and, fingers crossed, hope I can get her to record a writing prompt for me. Gholdy Muhammad is next. 

It's National Women's Month, too, so this seems like the perfect opportunity to make things happen.

What I'm already hearing:

• The girls are super-excited to be selected. In fact, word has spread and more want to get involved? Can I ask more girls to join?
• Last week, I created a Padlet for the girls at my school and it is already filled with ideas and possibilities.
• I feel like this project is saving me. We are being super policed right now and can't teach much at all. Because this is extracurricular, I can actually teach. I am getting books in the hands of my writers. This should be what it is about.
  
• You would not believe what they are banning at my school. I'm hoping this club will get girls talking and books will be spread to others by word of mouth.
• There are so many teachers at my school that want to get involved. They are 'jelly' that I'm a part of this and wish they could be to.
• We spent all last week discussing, "Who is Octavia Butler? Why don't you know her? Who should? It's been super educational for the girls to realize that so many women writers are off the radar. We want all our girls to be on the radar. They need to know the shoulders upon which they might one day stand.
  

I had back to back classes, but an 8 a.m this morning, I feel like I gained so much life, joy, and purpose in one afternoon. Here I am simply allowing teachers to teach. We all can avoid the bureaucracy, the social positioning, the power structures, and the games. I can simply say, "Here's what I got, here's what you get, now what can we do to empower girl writers?" 

It's so easy. I've said it for what is approaching three decades now....cut out the academic bureaucracy, remove the k-12 school bureaucracy, listen to kids, and put funds into the hands of teachers. Teachers remain the most amazing, resilient, hard-working, and energized people on earth. If we invest in them, we invest in futures.

Sorry, higher ed. 99.9% of how your existence is self-serving and without any purpose other than to justify an economic structure that DOES NOT help society in the ways it think it does. Invest in the doers...not in the talkers.

It's that easy. 

We Are Always the Stories We Tell Ourselves - Some More Grandiose Than Others, Most Glorified By the Hunters on Their Roads with Best Intentions

If I didn't experience it, I wouldn't believe it. The fabrications we've watched over and over again these last few years that have made us go hmmm, subsided a little (ha! never), so witnessing the storytelling where I work is alarmingly amazing. How do we weave a story about our stories which are totally untrue and ridiculous, and create a narrative about our falsehoods to convince you that our narratives are better than the ones you've been living and experiencing yourself?

Nope. Not 1984. 2022. Newspeak. Let us tell you the story of everything, even when the story isn't true, but we want you to believe it. Let us convince you that what you think you are seeing is not what you are seeing because, well, our NARRATIVE is superior to yours, and we don't want you to see what you're seeing, because that is what we've created for you to be seen.

I am hearing Michelle Farrell on this, a colleague who often calls me with he phrase, "Oh, my head." This is her expression when she's trying to figure out things that make absolute NO SENSE.

How I am reading the story continues to be the same way I've been reading it since 2011. We have fantastic faculty who are brilliant at what they do. Our students continue to be rather amazing, for the most part, albeit homogeneous and not a reflection of the world. There are numerous people who have worked tirelessly to make change, only to be humiliated or let go. It's exhausting. Yet, the one consistency has been their narrative needing to be sold to the world: one with sunglasses, rules for how you should sign your name, and what is okay to promote and represent. 

This is where narration becomes fiction. It's not real. It's fabrication. We who live and see and experience what we live and see and experience, should be allowed to name it as such. 

Nope. We get a narration that says, "This is what you should see, and we want you to see, because we have this narration on pens, sunglasses, and t-shirts to roll out to the next generation who we want to believe in this narrative. 

My lord...how the heck did I ever end up in higher education at a predominantly White, wealthy (definitely not healthy) institution? I just shake my head and think, "Huh?"

But the kids make me proud. Colleagues make me proud. There are so many who see what I see exactly as I see it. So when they come forward with the narrative they want me to believe, I know that it isn't true. Why? We're historians, writers, researchers, sociologists, scientists, philosophers, mathematicians, nurses, educators, and thinkers who LIVE a narrative every day. It's just not the one they want us to believe is true. It's the most insane thing ever.

I think what they really meant to say is FICTION or FABRICATION, covering up the lies they want us to believe. It's 1980 again...4 years before Newspeak was supposed to happen. THE GODS MUST BE CRAZY

 My head is just spinning.