A Little Holiday Festivity Driving Up to Big Y: I Saw the Wheel Chair & Skeleton, but Didn't See the Dog or License Plate Until I Got Home. Happy Halloween

I'm sorting this snapshot in, "Well, that's an adorable coincidence category. 

And I'm hoping I have enough candy (and books) for this evening's round of trick or treaters. Some years, the kids flock to my neighborhood and some years it is quieter. If today's weather is anything like yesterdays, I imagine I will be out of goods rather quickly.

I also saw this meal from a NYC restaurant that caught my attention: seared chicken breast, crumbled Italian sausage, tomatoes, & pepperoncini in a creamy lemon white sauce with roasted potatoes & basil. Well, there was no recipe online for that, so I made it up, and also added yellow, orange, and purple carrots. Boom! I succeeded, and doubt I'll ever be able to match that flavor-fest again.

Last night, I fed Oona, Pam, Leo, Bev, and Jackie and we were all wiping our Italian bread into the sauce until it was all gone (and Bev & Leo don't eat meat...accept when friends prepare it for them). It took four hours to prepare, but it was worthy every bite. 

Today, it's grading and prepping until the classes begin anew for the week. Of course, I have also grilled chicken last night for the week, and what tiny bit was left over I left in the fridge on Mt. Pleasant. Let them fight over the last bites.

I didn't realize the purple carrots would turn the potatoes and cream sauce (in the vegetarian dish) purple, but it sort of worked for the Autumn weather. Jackie went to her herb garden and got me fresh sage, and Pam gave me lemon balm, so I'm going to research possible recipes for that to serve with shrimp and gnocchi next weekend. It's hard to find new flavors and tastes when you're 50, but I like experimenting and seeing what might be possible.  

It won't be long before I'm bones in a wheelchair, spewing into the universe, "Mehhhh," so I'm going to play while I can. I've never used pepperoncini before, but I'm guessing that was what added the feistiness to the dish. It was so, good. All night I was licking my teeth for leftover flavors...that is until I pulled out the maple cotton candy also found - something to cleanse the palate. So...so good. 

Tricks or Treats. It doesn't matter. Just enjoy yourself today. 

It is the Way. Gorfu from Froggorf Successfully Received Grogu from Luke & Is Now Traveling to a Galaxy Far, Far, Away

The tradition of dressing up with no place to go was switched up this year, as Leo and I did our usual, but this time instead of running the beach, randomly doing shots in a bar, or walking into a Chinese food shop, we actually went to a Halloween Party hosted by the wonderful Joanna and Justin McKenzie in Trumbull, Connecticut. Bev and Pam were left home with Patrick and Stephanie's baby.

The Book of Boba Fett finished with Luke teaching Grogu the Zen of Frog-baiting, when Frogu arrived from Froggorf to take Grogu onto his next mission. The child must be protected at any cost.

Where we are heading is up to the force, but we know the Mandalorian will be involved and, perhaps, a baby Chewbacca. We are waiting to hear from the producers.

Meanwhile, we had a great time at the party, played darts (been a minute since I've won) and ate good food with Daphne, Scoobie Doo, witches, Wilma Flinstone, Betty Rubble, Beatlejuice, and a couple of serial killers. That's how they roll in Trumbull. 

Perhaps the best part of the evening was when a banshee came down with syringes full of gin, and we mixed them into a bloody cocktail that made the head a little higher. They were delicious. 

On Monday, the trick or treaters will come, but Saturday nights are made for caterpillars, fools, and playful shenanigans. 

But today we rest. It is Sunday, and that is what it's all about. 

This Morning's Post Was Posted Last Night Before Going to a Friend's House For Dinner In Anticipation of Some Sort of Shrimp Dish with Peas

I'm accustomed to eating in the traditions that I eat. 

Fridays are for pizza, usually, and if I was in CNY it would likely be Haddock fish. A colleague, however, invited me to dinner and so I headed out to adventure land, as I've sat in the same spot yesterday since 5 a.m. editing (but I think we are in good shape with the international journal - we are getting there). 

Of course, at 5 p.m yesterday. I hadn't had but a cup of coffee and I wanted to eat. I waited two hours, however, but by the time you read this, I will have eaten. It was shrimp. Peas. onions. Pasta. 

The pumpkin bread was good.

I like shrimp. Usually eat it at Christmas and also cook it on the grill during the summer. Occasionally, I'll pop them into the Crandall special. Not a typical meal, but I don't mind them, especially when prepared by someone else.

The good news is I didn't have to cook. The bad news was I had to leave my house on a Friday night when I wanted to sit in my underwear drinking beer and scratching my ass. Didn't happen. 

Better news. I was home by 10:30 p.m.

It's Saturday, and I slept in to 9 a.m.. The sun is out. And tonight, I get to dress up like a frog. Life is good.

Happy Weekend, folks. Get thee a good meal.

Some Crazy, Middle-Aged, Dad-#@$@ Last Night As I Ran Up to Big-Y to Get Milk for the Morning

I knew when I got home from the University yesterday afternoon that I was done. My mind was not going to cooperate or work. I needed to find something to distract me, because I felt guilt for not being able to accomplish all that is in my to-do pile. That's why I decided I needed to get milk, as I had to do a bagel without any juice for the cereal. I drove to the north end of town to get my cow goods (lactose free....trained  by Tunga), then decided I wanted to see the sunset, so drove to the other end of town simply to eat a burger and look at the wafting clouds, the colors, a few seagulls, and the water.

Karal was with me. Initially we were going to a friends, but the friends got called away in an emergency, so the beach run was spur-of-the-moment and a way to be away from the laptop and the work-guilt. It's still there, but I put it to the side and decided I needed a television, blanket, and stupidity night. I watched baking shows, of course.

I went to the Ortho-Care after two months of being told to do so and my leg will not need to be amputated after all...it's just prepatellar bursitis, and the x-rays showed nothing else. She said it is caused from jamming or banging the knee, which could of been from Joanna's wedding, but likely flared up because of the Catholic funeral I went to Thursday. Up, down, kneel, pray, Up, down, kneel, pray. That, I'm guessing is what put m over the top. It's been like a squish-ball and I've been massaging it and pushing around.

That, however, is a no-no, I was told. No playing with the prepatellar bursitis ball, even if it is squishy.

So, it's back to ice and now I have to rub in anti-inflammatory cream. Middle age. Middle age. Middle age. 

Joy. 

Hoping my brain comes alive again today, because last night it was done with the world. Aidos. Ciao. Aufwiedersehen. It probably was the 3rd cup of coffee. If I go over two cups, I end up miserable for the rest of the day. But I needed something to get me through the faculty retreat on assessment. It backfired.

I Answered a Call from Room 301 in 2007. Two Years Later it Was Published. Fiteen Years Later I Share It with a Colleague. This Time Traveler Has Me Thinking

From 1997-2007, I was fortunate to work in a Coalition of Essentials Schools, urban-missioned, K-12 public school in Louisville, Kentucky, who hosted senior research and culminating projects for all of its graduates. The work aligned well with portfolio assessments, college-readiness, inquiry, and the vision of the school for diversity and inclusivity. I wrote about that from my classroom and "Senior Boards: Multimodal Presentations from Yearlong Research and Community-Based Projects" came out in 2009 in Teaching the New Writing: Technology, Change, and Assessment in the 21st-Century Classroom. 

I recalled this chapter last night when I was reviewing a piece for a colleague and offered it as a model of how they might want to frame an article they are writing. My OCD kicked in, because I didn't have a .pdf of the article and couldn't find the book in either of my on-campus offices. I ended up finding it in the library, 2nd floor, and to calm my fixation, I took photos of each page, turned it into a .pdf, and mailed it to her. Of course, I also reread the chapter. 

I've been out of the K-12 classroom as a teacher (still there as a giver of professional development, workshop presenter, and researcher) since 2007. I've been all over the country since then. And that is why I am laughing, somewhat, because I've yet to see schools doing what my team and I did at the Brown. And it was 15 years ago...using technology and advancing writers to be successful beyond high school. Of course, we also had portfolio assessments in Kentucky to guide us. 

Community-engaged learning was the mission of the school, and doing better for the world was a cultural norm. High staandards for all kids were expected, but flexibility on the faculty was a necessity. We didn't track. We loved our kids and we guided them - - - helped them to grow. They succeeded.

15 years out from those days, I'm finally understanding why so many of my students from then have contacted me to say they used their writing from my classroom for projects in college. Many have said college writing was easy, because our school set them up for success. 

Meanwhile, 15 years have gone by, and what I knew as normal is highly abnormal from what I witness in schools elsewhere. Covid came and many were perplexed by the changes, but those who are technologically-savvy simply rolled with the inevitability of classroom change. I feel like a dinosaur, truth be told, but what we were doing 15 years ago in Kentucky is still decades ahead of what I see most states doing now. I'm still not sure what I want to do with this...because another truth needing to be told is that administrations came in and destroyed such excellence at the local and state level. Both the portfolios and the senior projects have disappeared, very much like most of the faculty who worked their at the time.

But it is my memory and I have that history within me. 

I'm preparing for an NCTE panel on 30 years since the New London Group's thinking on multilitracies and I'm like, "I was in London, England, Literature to Exile and the Black British Experience while the New London were esoterically pontificating literacy in New Hampshire." My entire career was with digital technologies and the need to adapt to changing times, and I continue to laugh to see how digitally behind higher education is as compared to K-12 schools. Our K-12 teachers and their students rock...yet the University continues to hold the claim on knowledge. It boggles my brain.

I didn't pursue technology, though, in my doctoral studies because it's like catching a moving train. It's inevitable. We adapt or we lose. It's old schools as soon as it is new.

Yet, when I think of normal in my K-12 teaching days, and what Universities are just now coming to terms with, I'm scratching my head wanting to sing, "Ten years later found them in the Delaware, chewing on their underwear, couldn't find another pair..."

I think it is because publications in higher education take so long, and K-12 schools change much quicker than they can keep up. That, and for the most part, academics ignore the realities in K-12 schools (even when they are in Schools of Education). 

All this is to say, "Trust teachers. Trust youth. They will keep you on top of what works and doesn't work. Expertise in higher education? The verdict has always been out on that. I'm more inclined that University life is more a jockeying of privilege, power, and projection than work of authentic change-agents. Ah, but I digress. That publications out of my classroom is 2007 was pretty good. I've moved away from Kentucky and stayed away from digital research, but rereading it, I still see that the piece is still way ahead of most of what I'm reading now. That I credit to the mission of the school and the brilliance of its design. If only such schools existed everywhere. 

Thankful to @ALANReview (2022) for Publishing Michelle Falter's "When the Shoes Don't Fit: A Critical Empathy Framework for (Young Adult) Literature Instruction"

Last night, I had one of the most amazing graduate classes of my career. The readings for the week were YA novels with adolescents with dis/abilities and the "textbook" reading fell short doing anything mindful with such texts. So I went on a Google rampage. Wola! ALAN arrived to the rescue and I sent Michelle Falter's article on critical empathy out to the students and said, "I know it is bad practice to send a reading last minute, but I really want to talk about this in class. This article is what I want to discuss." 

I have an amazing crew of minds this semester, and that is exactly what we did when they arrived. I should point out that although we have a few shared readings of YA texts for the semester, I've created the course so that students choose the book that speaks to them and I share websites like that from Epic Reads to give suggestions. I'm amazed at how each week the students come in having read completely different books, and how powerful the conversations become. I anchor the weekly conversations in course readings, with prompts, and other teaching activities, but for the most part, the students host the conversations as they piece together responses each week and present to one another. I eavesdrop as we all learn together. What results is the grip they can't afford any more books. After the discussions, they run online to order all the texts the others read.

For my YA Literature family, I can't emphasize enough how important Michelle Falter's article, "When the Shoes Don't Fit: A Critical Empathy Framework for (Young Adult) Literature Instruction" really is (Beth, if you're reading this, it would be perfect for a few of the courses you teach, too, even if your classes aren't geared towards YA stories). 

I can't describe why it was so amazing, except for I framed the points of Falter's argument with questions she poses and it became two hours of lightbulbs going off. It was amazing to me to see how that article moved through our conversation of text, but also the way our schools institutionalize others in ways that are detrimental.  The conversation was authentic, new, necessary, and impactful. I wish I videotaped it so I could replay how it unfolded. It was simply overdue and profound - one that could only be instigated (prompted/initiated) by a brilliant mind who is thinking deeply about empathy, sympathy, care, and respect. And she does so critically.

Ironically, I found a piece (the first academic piece) I published in 2009 that asked some of the questions I also wanted us to think about, and we discussed S. Donovan and "Navigating Characters, Coursework, and Curriculum: Preservice Teachers Reading Young Adult Literature Featuring Disability," where she writes, 

“We must also consider what argument or commentary about disability we are making when selecting or assigning texts that represent disabilities. Are we cultivating or disrupting? The reading life of teachers influences how and why they select the texts (e.g., to consider #ownvoices, to address diversity within disability), and that holds implications for how they conceptualize curriculum” (2021)

My students already know I love when things are magical, and I left saying, "This was just beautiful. I wish Michelle and Sarah were here to see how this rolled out....to see how much their writing matters."

The evening began with  a conversation about Sadeck Waif's choreography for the 2024 Olympic Games, where I posed the question, "Who decides who gets to perform, make art, write, and be heard? And what role does a teacher have in making sure all students create?" --- in my opinion, the choreography speaks for itself. It's really not about who decides, but who is invited. 

I also need to shout-out to Dr. Beth Ferri at Syracuse University who, with the genius of a single course on dis/abilties studies changed my outlook on the world forever. Her instruction remains on the back of my mind in everything I do. Oh, if only all my classes were this mind-blowing.

The Tenant at Mt. Pleasant is Becoming Aggressive with the Boundaries I Set Forth - I Pay the Mortgage & She Simply Spreads Out (& Crowds My Space)

I admit it. It's mid-semester, and my time to chill-out is null. I still make time to walk Karal daily, but otherwise I'm on my keyboard writing, grading, planning, or editing. Every day, she pulls everything out from her toy box and spreads the goods around the house so I can trip over them. Then, at night, no matter where I am, she insists on jumping on my shoulders to fall asleep. 

When she does, I benchpress her off my neck to the pillows so she can sleep in peace. I am one giant pinched nerve when she's lying on my head. Dogs belong on the floor, not as head-dressing.

I have much to learn about from her, though, including why it's so easy to zonk out at the snap of a finger. She suckles as if feeding, making these tiny puppy noises. It cracks me up. I should also learn how to mooch...this pooch has three bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, and a porch fully paid. All she does is shed. Doesn't even wash dishes.

And as soon as I hit the stairs to go to bed, she wakes up, flies by me, and is in my spot before I can pull over the covers. It's an annoying ritual, and her way to make claim on my every move. 

Okay, Tuesday. I know you are going to be brutal, as will be Wednesday, and Thursday. I am just going to inhale and channel Karal's inner-Zen, although I imagine she's a nervous wreck when I'm away from home, hence the reason for getting every toy out. It's chew-therapy. 

Time to get off the blog and get to work. Argh. I'd rather be curled up on the couch with a blanket watching mindless t.v. on this foggy day. 

The K (Dot) C (Dot) Little Sister is Entering Her Last Years in Her 40s Today - Free To Be You & Me Didn't Prepare Either of Us for Middle Age

It was one thing to turn 50 this year, bu when I realize my little sister is nipping at my heals with her 49th birthday, the reality settlesa little more. Perhaps her clothing style has changed slightly since our elementary years (collars not as long, a little more orange) and yes, she no longer where's crotchless, warn-out, cut-off sweats, but she still looks exactly the same. The hair, of course, a lot longer, and both her sons have taken on her looks to bring the Crandall forward in Barnwell land. I also thing she's doing something different with her bangs these days, and I've never seen her as the floral type.

K.Dot. C. Dot. Karyn Dee Crandall. Casey D. Barnwell. 

I got a notification from Amazon this weekend that her birthday gifts won't arrive until Wednesday, but it's all good as I'm sure she'll spread her wings and have a fantastic day anyway. She has the love and protection of the Triceratops (with a longer beard) and I hope the boys are at the age when they know how to make a proper cake. There's a hint in this paragraph of what's to come.

Yes, 49 is the year of a soon-to-be senior and another heading that way, too, where running around as a mini-van Uber driver is what life expects of you. But she's surrounded with great friends,  Manlius and Alexandria Bay traditions, and White Claws. All is well, as it should be.

Today is also my cousin Mark's birthday and he's in Zimbabwe doing his thing with Hoops4Hope (even handing out copies of Rhyme & Rhythm to the coaches, a celebration of poetry for athletes).

It's crazy to me to know that we're at the age our parents once were when they had to get the groceries, order school supplies, worry about our friends, and wonder what the hell we were doing as we took off on our banana seat bikes and ten-speeds.

Ah, but that is the way life goes, and often it is full circle. Perhaps Cynde and I should get Casey a similar outfit this Christmas so she, like Justin Timberlake, can bring Sexy back. She looks so much like my dad, Aunt Bobbie, and Grandma Vera. Not one of us could have predicted we'd one day be here, with our mid-life selves, but that is just beautiful. Those collars though. I imagine the geometry teachers at FM could some might mathematics with them.

Happy Birthday, Casey! Happy Birthday, Mark! You are loved!

#WriteOut 2022 - The Post After the Post (Okay, Crandall is a Liar), When He Learns There Is Just One More Day. No Brainer. This is for Karen

Dear Karen (Raccoon),

From the second I first saw you present to a room full of teachers (great recommendation, Denise) I realized I met a kindred spirit. You were so knowledgeable, curious, interesting, and - best of all - visual. You wowed the teachers (changed the way they teach, in fact) and I knew I had to retain the excellence with more opportunities for educators.

A year later, we brought you to work with kids, and you shared your #Antarctic Comics and we witnessed the total success of inclusive instruction. We brought kids from varying districts, some with special needs, and all sorts of learning styles. Wola! 100% joy with everyone. Doodling, thinking visually, brainstorming, and finding a way into their own questions.

Naturally, as we learned about #IWasAKid we were super-excited to have you back. Not only did this catch the attention of nutmeggers, but the National Writing Project wanted in on the action, too (see the video below - it was 60-minutes of phenomenal PD for teachers). I will be assigning this in my content are literacy course next spring for sure.

And then there was yesterday. You did a doodling exercise borrowed from Lynda Barry, talked with teachers, and demonstrated the power of visualization to find exactly what the mind knows before it sets out to write. This past last week I've maintained a digital notebook on this blog, and it's going to be hard for me not to brainstorm in this fashion from now on. This IS how my brain works and I imagine a lot of our students feel the same. 

What fascinates me most about doodling and sketching is how it leads to the questions and inquiries I am actually interested in this is what the X'd, four-spaces exercise showed (before you, behind you, and at each side). One little opportunity to sketch, unleashed another 20 stories I could tell. It was amazing. 

So THIS is my final #WriteOut Post for 2022...not yesterday...a collage to thank you for visiting with our teachers, participating in the Bryan is a Potato-Head game (he's a Predator, too), hiking the pond with me, and simply opening our minds to so many possibilities. 

...so, so, so many possibilities.

I officially dedicate the success of Reading Landscapes & Writing Nature: Doodling and STEAMing Ahead to to you. The inspiration has been monumental to all of us at CWP-Fairfield and Weir Farm National Historical Park.

Thank You, Thank You. Thank You.

Ribbit Ribbit (Frog)

And With This, I Bring My Personal #WriteOut 2022 to a Close; As Always, I'm Thankful to the @WritingProject Family for All the Inspiration

By the time this posts, I'll be in The Hulk, my Crossover, driving to Wilton, Connecticut, for our last gathering with teachers in this year's Reading Landscape & Writing Nature workshops. We are fortunate to have the beauty of this National Park treasure in our backyard, and even more to have Karen Romano Young living nearby. She will grace our time together with a workshop on #IWasAKid. 

The past 12 days have been a tribute to her influence on me as a Director of a National Writing Project site. I've always been a notetaker and writer, and moved to digital composition 15 years ago. Karen, however, has helped me to learn the impact that digitally doodling has on my thinking. Each post of the past twelve days has been a location where I focused my hula-hoop, a gift we gave teachers during this year's workshops. I never knew what I'd capture each day, but it was always the inspiration for the words that followed.

This morning (well, last night), I focused on the evening sky, knowing it was clear and today we'll keep such luck at it turns to blue (note: I stole a picture from the Internet. The was no full moon last night). For me, prayers, thinking, and dreams launch into the air whenever I look upward for inspiration. That is where the Great Whatever resides, and I love to believe in such hope.

When I was in the classroom, my the kindergarten students began calling me Mr. Moonbeam, a nickname I cherish and that captured their All Stars theme. Monthly, my senior students would meet with them in support of their own literacies, and often we went outside to be inspired by nature and their discoveries. 

As always, I'm thankful to Rich and Kristin who have helped navigate the workshop work in Connecticut for the past six years. We know our collaborations have not ended, and we have enough experience to find new possibilities to offer teachers and young people. 

Seriously, I cannot applaud the work of the National Park Service enough. Who would have ever thought that their Rangers could also be some of the most amazing literacy educators around? Of course, they've also guided the STEAM-iness of this year, as they know more of the science, technology, engineering, and mathematics than this English major every knew.

A round of applause goes to the National Writing Project network and all at the Park Service that makes these opportunities possible. All of us are better people because of one another. Ubuntu. These memories are irreplaceable.

I've got a big ol' flannel jacket on. Winter is definitely around the corner. Stay warm.

#WriteOut - Day 11: Live from Fiji! Well, Not Really, But Sort of...Doing PD Online Opens the Door for Options Including Traveling Educators

This one's for Kelly, a teacher from outside Albany who joined us from a family trip to Fiji, but still managed to call in for @WriteOutConnect professional development (and on the National Day on Writing). I've never been to Fiji, will never likely get to Fiji, and to be honest, I had to Google its location so I could put a place in my mind from where she called from.

It was fascinating, because Rich started with a simple prompt, "What's a word that's been on your mind?" and 40-minutes later we realized that prompt got all of us writing, sharing, communicating, and discussing.  Truth is, we also learned new vocabulary words and found out that there's a .gif for everything. I learned, for instance, that when seagulls leave their marking across the windshield of my Subaru Crosstrek, I can shout, "I've been strafed." Even better, if a flock of seagulls are shoaling, my windshield doesn't stand a chance (that's biology 101, especially when studying body functions - mechanical digestion is scientific and, I supposed, can be rather mathematical).

We learned quickly, however, that our PD needed to move to the Twittersphere and we joined the WriteOut twitter chat rather late (but we got there). Tomorrow, we meet again at Weir Farm National Historical Park for our final day of this year's Reading Landscapes and Writing Nature, the 6th year of the CWP-Fairfield/NPS partnership. We are going to continue our collaborations because, well, it just makes pedagogical sense. I feel bad for any educator in Connecticut who hasn't had the opportunity to learn the environmental possibilities of this incredible resource. 

Yes, today is Friday. No, I'm not on top of my game. But I'm looking forward to a day of minimal meetings to catch my breath and to steady myself for tomorrow. 

Make it a a great one, everyone. Find a word on your mind, and start writing. It's amazing the places it will take you.

#WriteOut - The 10th Day, In Which I Put 100% of My Focus on @AbuBility & @LBility, Especially in Celebration of 3 Decades. #Ubuntu at Its Core

It's the National Day on Writing, which is funny, because it is also Abu and Lossine's Birthday. A big one, too, after a trying year...crazy to know how fast their 20s went with all the trial and tribulations. But they got a degree from SUNY Brockport, tried a few jobs here and there, settled down with two wonderful human beings, and found joy in teaching at Syracuse Academy of Science (what they're meant to do). Also proud of their coaching and all they are giving the young men on their soccer team. 

The irony is throughout my research twelve years ago, they were always like, "Why are you asking us so many questions about writing, Crandall? We hate writing!" Well, I wanted to learn (and isn't it ironic that they've spoken at conferences, led Young Adult Literacy Labs, worked with CWP teachers, conducted interviews with authors, and even publish a poem, "Education. Education. Education" in S. Donovan's Rhythm & Rhyme: Poems for Student Athletes (2022). 

They hate writing, but they love living their life as a story, which is why I love them both. This morning, I am thinking about the night when we were hanging out on Eastman in Cicero, eating chips and drinking coke, simply talking about Monrovia, Liberia. Lossine discussed a documentary on Vice about the war, The Cannibal Warlords of Liberia, when he said I should watch it with them. As we finished, and I was processing the violence, they both started talking and I asked, "Do you mind if I record this conversation." Through them, I began to understand the complexities of nations, colonialism, European imperialism, and the after-effect it has on African nations. It was that night I realized my history as a U.S. White, College-Educated male was  aligned with their story as young men torn from their home during a brutal war. The history that afforded me a space to do as I do in the U.S. is directly tied to the history that started the civil war that landed them in refugee camps.

Education is what brought us together, though. The rest is history, and even if we all recognize that facing the ugly side is extremely important, the three of us bond over the fact that we're 'cut-ups' and clowns, although they'd say "Clowndell" is more clown than they are. I was disagree, but that's another story.

I put the Hula Hoop on a beach of Monrovia, simply because it is beautiful and serene. Yet, I recall the night my Explorer almost hit a rabbit, and Abu said, 'I remember the first time I saw a dead body. It washed ashore on the beach." That was another night of heavy conversation that has always stuck with me.

But we focus on the good. The joy. The importance of integrity and having a purpose in life. 

Yes, I miss them on Mt. Pleasant and all the craziness that was our lives the past decade in Connecticut, but their beards finally came in (even Abu's) and I realize nothing sits still. Life has made them step up in big ways this year as their father passed away. There were many years we didn't know he was alive, but he was brought to the U.S. once found and just in time for college graduation (that's another story I'll never forget). The emotions felt were genuine and moving.

Writing out is not only exploring insects, bugs, trees, and fallen leaves. History should come first, and we can't ignore that much of our environmental tendency in our nation goes hand in hand with Western privileges. Save the Trees! (here's a t-shirt), No More Pollution (get a keychain), What You Can Do (here's a book, brochure, conference, and several papers).

We often forget that tragedy abounds in this world as a result of war, famine, environmental destruction, and poverty. I'm sure individuals trying to survive in those circumstances would scoff at the fact that I've been hula-hooping for a week to find new things to focus upon, while maintaining a daily blog. 

Rich always reminds us that rambling needs to be critical, too, and we can't hide from the realities of the world. I have the twins to thank for that, and they remain two of the most important humans in my life...a lifeline to my soul and a way to be a better human being.

Happy Birthday, Abu & Lossine! Allah (God, Buddha, The Great Whatever) only knows what I'd be with out you. Elephant Shoe! Always have, and always will. 

Make the day count as you always do and, in the meantime, take care of Syracuse for me until I can return.

And because it's National Day on Writing, what are you working on? How good are you at world history? Have you been able to draw any connections to the way you live life in the U.S. and how so many, elsewhere, live entirely different? What responsibilities do you have to speak out? What actions have you taken that speak louder than your words?

#WriteOut Day 9 - When Crandall Thinks About Centering (Hula-Hooping) The Work We Do...Digital Doodling the Epicenter, @ElyseEA

Somewhere along my environmental studies, I discovered rhizomatic perennials, which are blooms that come back every year. They can be cut up, divided, and sent to new soil, always ready to begin anew: Hostas, irises,  Lillies, black-eyed Susans, etc. I am living in my third home, and at each I have been intentional on spreading the joy of such plants. First year seep, second year creep, third year leap. 

During my Ph.D I began reading Kevin Leander, a man who blew my brain with rhizomatic thinking and spatial theories of literacy. It was heavy, but it made sense. Nothing is linear as we once thought, and connections, distractions, possibilities, histories, complications, rhythms, and wormholes abound. The tree of knowledge, where all is connected with common roots, isn't necessarily the best metaphor. It's a popular image, yes: tattoos, emblems, Celtic symbols, and circular, a recycling of life. 

Rhizomatic honesty, however, is that one can't assume another shares the same roots. Rather, there may be separations, new shoots, varying foundations, etc., that result from divisions, relocations, separations, and (to be blunt) colonialism. Roots are much more interesting than what one assumed. They are historical, crossed, changed, dispersed, entangled, and complicated. 

This brings me to Elyse Eidman-Aadahl and why I placed my hula hoop on her this morning. The photo is of her at the NYS Fashion Week, when singer John Legend hosted the NWP Executive Director, a CWP-Fairfield teacher who introduced him at the event, and me...the piece of toilet paper that dragged at their heals. It was a once in a lifetime experience and one of the greatest evenings of my life, with an even better award: the opportunity to invest in 400 youth in six schools.

Fast forward to four months before Covid hit, when NCTE/NWP was hosted in Baltimore. Elyse took me out to dinner and asked, "What might NWP do to connect with the YA Author world?" At the time, I pitched 50 authors with mini-commercials for NWP. Obviously the pandemic changed that and The Write Time resulted....something bigger than I could ever imagine.

I am thinking of rhizomes this morning, Elyse, and the importance of both. The NWP network (just like the NPS network) have common roots like those characterized by a tree. The power of the National Writing Project, thought, is that it is rhizomatic by nature. A shoot can be broken off from one site and planted elsewhere, so that new teacher leadership and writing excellence can grow. It's not still connected to the original plant, but is safe and ready to do their thing elsewhere....to become something anew.

When I think of Elyse, I think of digital literacy, fake news, critical thinking, and online possibilities. I remember at a Spring meeting in DC where she gave a talk about checking facts, finding resources, facilitating conversations about cyberspace, and interrogating the availability of misinformation. It was a fascinating presentation, but I remember wondering why this was the choice. I had no idea that she was a soothsayer. I did know, however, she was an incredible mentor to us all, and a phenomenal leader.

There are many layers to NWP, but there are also numerous root systems where every site can build their own gardens. Elyse has been our core, our moon...a light for the darkness, as well as a believer in space ships and our launches. She's also kept us in a community with her digital insight and vision. She stabilizes the waters helping us to find a flow in our canoes, especially as the water is most turbulent.

Ubuntu. We all are because of her. As I continue my digital doodling for #WriteOut and placing my lens on something worth exploring in words, I couldn't help but center Elyse for a bit. Leadership is a tricky position to have, especially while working with a nation of many voices. Yet, she does so with ease...pizazz...spunk...and brilliance. 

For all of this, I am thankful. It's always a delight to know that what I do in Connecticut is an offshoot of the history and tradition. What's even better is that we all stay connected and look to the night sky for the light. 

#WriteOut Day 8 - During the Evening Hours While Writing On My Porch with the Glow of a Lamp, He Chooses to Visit with Fuzzy Antennae and Wings

Mom joke. "Bryan, have you ever smelled moth balls?" 

Uh, yes. Mom. Why?

"But how'd you get their little legs apart?"

Okay, that's not scientific, technological, engineering, artful, or mathematical. I suppose it could be STEAMy. Starting my Tuesday a little inappropriate, but Writing Out, nonetheless.

I have not yet identified the little guy who came banging on my porch screen last night as I was grading graduate projects and working on tonight's class. He was frustrated, however, that he couldn't get to the light inside....moths to the flame and the story of my life. 

Many a therapist, tarot reader, witch, and friend has made the analogy of my life and those moths to the flame. As I've aged, I've gotten better at keeping clingy, aggressive, and overly psychotic people away from my life (boundaries), but I still remain fascinated by the metaphor, the entomology, and the nightly workings of moths. They fascinate me and have fascinated me since I was a little boy. Yes, I was the type of kid who turned on the back light and studied the evening bugs that gathered. And, I still do this. Insects are mesmerizing, and if you happen to see a lunar moth you'll thank the Great Whatever that you're a weirdo, too, and you turn on porch lights for fun.

Actually, as this guy visited last night (hula hooped him), I remembered a short story I wrote in the early 2000s called "Moth." It was about a kid who couldn't help destroying himself through his bad choices -- a conglomeration of the many students I've taught over the years. I used to teach it to my students, but haven't revisited the story in numerous years. I think I'd like to pull it out and re-examine it. Put it under the porch light, if you will. There are so many moth-kids out there.

The next forty-eight hours are heavy-teaching days, and we're creeping up on the National Day on Writing, which is always a lot of work. I'm excited I've maintained my I Was a Kid - inspired doodling and am not sure I'll have the energy in me (or time) to be so creative as all this rolls out over the next couple of days. Still, I've fallen in love with visual brainstorming on my digital notebook before pushing my thoughts into words for this morning blog. I've always known I'm a visual learner, and I do think in images. It's been fascinating to transition from composition book to a screen.

A moth led to lightbulbs led to Godzilla led to Twins led to Mothra led to Mothball joke led to memories of bugs and kids. 

Speaking of twins, Abut and Lossine celebrate birthdays on The National Day of Writing. The Godzilla twins reminded me. That's the reason these prompts and journals are important. How do we know what we know if we're not committing our ideas to page? Reflecting? Rambling?

#WriteOut Day 7. It's October, But I Still Have Summer Blooms, Which I'm Hoping to Be With Me Until the Holiday Breaks

As I walk around Stratford, I notice the majority of homes are skeletal, pumpkin-lined, and mum-frenzied, but I get to elate in the fact that my front yard (all hail the pre-hibernal sun) keeps my annuals blooming in purple, pink, and swirled delight through December. This I owe to the great warmer in the sky - the sun! (I'm sure there's a reason for this, one being that we haven't had a frost just yet).  Mr. Jack Frost hasn't planted his footsteps onto the lawn just yet, and I'm still thrilled that the Cosmos from Kaitlyn and Dominik's wedding that I threw into the soil last spring continues to work its magic. 

Ah, the sun. It is the energy that fuels so many of us: heated, internal car temperatures, front porches, grass growing, and annuals-thriving. 

That is why my Hula Hoop landed on the front lawn yesterday. I didn't engineer the garden to be so wonderful, but scattered seeds and and the warm sun allow this to be, even while leaves fall to the ground, people pull out their gloves & winter toboggans, and coats start to make an appearance. 

Ah-Ha! I still have remnants of summer showing their magic in the form of, "you can't kill me yet," annuals. This is magic and for that I'm extremely grateful. I should be charting this luck in my writer's notebook.

Alas, it's Monday. Temperatures will dip towards freezing and I'm unsure how much longer they will last, but I am hopeful. I have a #$$-load of work to do, but for now I will see the front garden and have hope (as will the occasional stray bee, butterfly, and ant, looking for the last snack before hibernation). I know they've lasted until Christmas on occasion, and I wonder, "Will this be such a year?"

 I am doubtful, but I can hope. Of course, today's rain doesn't seem to be as optimistic. It's gloomy out there, and very unlike yesterday when the hoop went out front with me.  

On Friday, the Changing of Leaves on a Walnut Beach Tree Caught My Attention (Hula Hooped) and I Spent All Day Saturday Thinking About Change

I'm tired of my body changing, but I am good about changing my underwear. Yes, the issue is I need to update the raggedy undergarments, and I'll get there. I simply haven't been shopping like a normal human being since the Covid years came upon us. I should, but I'd rather not go to stores if I don't have to go. 

The leaves in Connecticut are about three weeks behind upstate New York and have just started to change like the ones we saw in Lake Placid. Most of the southern CT trees have had a dry, dry season, so many have just plopped their leaves to the ground - just a moldy, brown thunk! This tree by Walnut Beach, however, was shooting red fireworks to the blue sky. I was at a friends to offer comfort after a best friend died. It was also an opportunity to be with her kids, one pregnant and the other a new father. Lucky for us, the newbie was able to join. Last year at this time they were getting married. Now the babies are coming.

Cycles. Changes. Inevitable beauty. Queue The Lion King and Elton John.

My resistance, I suppose, is that aging is not kind on the human being and even if I wake up every day thinking I'm going to run ten miles, clean the house, read a book, kayak, and walk the dog...I just don't have it in me. As I was telling Patrick, "Dude. I now know why staircases have railings. It's to stabilize your balance as you use them."

This guy used to skip every other step in a fast jog, and often jumped them when coming down. 

Not any more. 

I know I should tie these posts better into scientific thought, engineering, technology, and mechanics. That's why I added the leaf-blower. My mom was visiting me in Kentucky and we went for a walk to look at Halloween decorations. It was the first time either of us saw, or heard, an electric leaf blower. I was in the height of my environmental phase: Birkenstocks and braid-able hair. "It's the end of the world," I said to her. "We now have become too lazy to rake."

My shop vac acts as a leaf-blower, and Chitunga bought me one for Christmas (he's been begging me to get one for years). I still don't use either. I prefer sweat and blisters. 

But if this post was from a guy that wasn't an English major, I might ask about calories burned, the physics of leaves blowing (velocity? Homer referred to the winds as Boreas, Eurus, Notos, and Zephyrs....always good for a game of Jeopardy). I might also plot a graph of how many leaves fall onto my lawn each day as I rake them....actually, I'm lazy...rather do weekly than daily.  Then there's the designer in me who wonders about building a net canopy across my yard to hang from late September to November. After the leaves are finished falling, I might untie the net, zip it up, and bring it to the street for pick up. 

Politics. They don't pick up leaves in CT. 

Alright, it's Sunday and Rose Brock and I are presenting to the Central New York Reading Council at 2 p.m., so I need to prepare for that. I also have data to enter into the NWP dashboard, 3 articles to review, and several midterm projects to grade. Of course, there are classes to plan for, too. 

Leaf me alone, work life! Just leaf me alone! Ah, I'm good. Rambling and doodling like this keeps me sane. 

#WriteOut Day 5: Where I Salute a Book from Childhood That Planted a Seed for an Environmental Aesthetic and Adulthood Eccentricity

Yesterday, I was invited to the Pequot Library in Southport, Connecticut, to view their special children's book collection from beginning America through the turn of the 20th century. All the books were tiny (like Christina Cantrell's zines taught in the recent NWP Connecting the Network meeting), and I couldn't help but think of all the possibilities for children's books when teaching towards ecological sustainability. How do we learn to read? What 'greenery' is in the books that shaped our outdoor conscious and morality? What texts caught our attention (we all have The Lorax) that made us think differently about the world we live in?

For me, it was Dorothea Warren Fox's Miss Twiggley's Tree. The story was about a southern town where the village eccentric chose to live away from people in a tree house with cats, dogs, and even bears. The locals made fun of her oddities, until it floods after a massive hurricane. Most brutal to her was the Mayor's wife who was all uppity-uppity about the nuisance and weirdness that was Miss Twiggley's Tree. Alas, as people were climbing on their roofs, and floating along flooded waters, it was Miss Twiggley, and her tree, that offered them safety, shelter, and refuge. All the locals had to bite their tongues as Miss Twiggley offered them tea and biscuits in her tree house,  as they dined with the animals. 

I loved this book and it was at my grandmother's summer camp where I read it. When I became a teacher, and the internet became a thing, I went on a rampage of finding copies of the book to give to my sisters at the holidays. I wanted them to have the book for their children, as the book made such an impact on my sisters and me. 

I kept thinking about this at the Pequot Library as I looked at readers, primers, pamphlets, and beginning books (many of them in German, as that was an influence of New England). I will be helping an exhibit go up in February and look forward to being on a panel that talks about the history of children's literature, which sparked me to thinking about the Textual Lineage (I THANK MY HERO, DR. ALFRED TATUM for that phrase) and the books my own students name as influential to their literate lives.

For this reason, I'm going indoors and into memory today to wonder, "What books offer an early, environmental aesthetic?" Books matter. Stories matter more. Representation matters most. I'm curious what others have to say about the literature they remember from their childhood. 

That's where my hoola hoop landed this morning. On a book triggered by a visit to a library in anticipation of an exhibit. I'm hoping to hear from a few of you and to learn. 

#WriteOut Day 4: When One is Challenged by a Ranger @WeirFarmNPS @Kless09 To Write a Poem from Words She Took Down, One Goes to Work.

In the tradition of Karen Romano Young, I'm doodling (digitally) to capture one scene a day (hula hooping, and STEAMing ahead). Ranger Kristin offered a list of words she heard teachers using at Weir Farm National Historical Park during our first day. She offered them to us and asked, "Why not create a list poem from the words -- so I tried to use them all. 

Coincidences

Plot it out, they say,

look out the window 

& strategize locally 

what we writers do globally --

engineered by scientific brains,

to creatively doodle 

with a bit of words. 

Let the tug-o-war begin.

The secret is,

at least in America,

that language is chemistry,

a critical link to the art of learning,

for getting STEAMy

amongst a species,

rambling in 

linguistic motion, 

multimodal re-seeing, 

& the literacy of our social endeavors.

I can’t help this walking – 

it’s the age thing,

the Big Bang surprise 

of athletic mistakes.

My sneakers say,

listen to your body,

slow your journey down.

But I hear Ger

walking Toward the Rising Sun.

Absorbing his rays of thought 

on a journey,

another coincidence, 

stepping ahead for insight,

for whatever grabs one’s attention. 

(this is negotiation 

with the outdoor world, 

wandering

meandering

of being open to being lost)…

whatever I find curious,

is authentic to an intensive life.

It must be funny 

watching me wobble 

with a plastic orb 

hooped over a shoulder, 

a circle of time

as if I’m an architect 

& activist of Eden, 

able to fill the gaps with 

dreams,

while trying to stay calm & centered:

observing, measuring, noticing

a place, this space,

& the geography 

of what is special.

I learn in layers.

I daydream.

I wonder.

Movement for happy accidents --

the interconnectedness 

of what’s below the surface,

& the simmering breakthroughs

of free-writing with 

digital paint tubes.

 

I’m an archeologist finding 

the self,

wide-eared and listening, 

thinking, drawing, storytelling, 

noticing, collecting, inquiring,

respecting, measuring, 

    & experiencing this senselessness,

trying to invest in something good.

I man environmental crisis,

a fragment of the technological overload of a digital world.

But I am outside

with the squirrels, nuts, 

using my voice as a life science, 

a windspeed mass 

on a curvy road

adapting to the Long Island sounds, 

trying to grow with paper

& pen, 

and engineering myself anew,

meta-dumb (…) ah,

overwhelmed by the ecology 

of growth.

Seagulls have perspective – 

world language spun 

with divine intervention 

& flight, 

sharing the sand, ocean, & sky,

as bobbing sponges

in aviary thought

upon this road I choose to take.

This philosophical la la la 

(blah blah blah)

is disciplined with symbols…

…and every day, there’s something new.

Happy people get outside…

stay balanced & bountiful

 in the reconnection

of relationships 

& the genius

of community. 

Sharing is innovation, 

and if I label it beautiful – 

its ingenious growth, 

a gravity of boundless energy,

 the physical science 

of a passion…

an ecosystem of students 

who are happy…

who teach one another 

with access and equity…

with hearts mind, & muscle.

Dynamic days do not let go, 

but get going,

creating better havens 

for monarchs, 

bees, & trees

(every leaf a hallelujah.).

~Bryan Ripley Crandall

#WriteOut, Day 3: Digital Notebook - Thinking About Cleansing Stars, But More Importantly About the Purpose of Our Hands (with Many Thanks to @TorreyMaldonado)

Karen Romano Young taught many of us the importance of notebook doodling to process our learning and thinking. This month, I'm offering digital doodles to capture what's in (and on) my mind. #WriteOut 2022.

I'm a lucky son of a Butch. I was blessed to have many life-lessons early on and, perhaps, this is why I'm drawn to young people in middle grades and high school. Books matter. Stories matter more. Even more important? Representation. All kids deserve to read books that represent the places and locations where they and their families live. They deserve to engage with multiple identities, trajectories, family settings, histories, and narratives. 

This is why I chose to digitally journal about Hands this morning, a middle-grade novel written by Torrey Maldonado that is due to debut in a few more months. Nancy Paulsen Books, an imprint of Penguin Random House, sent me an advanced copy and as soon as it arrived, I knew I wanted to read it (okay. I stopped everything). Why? (1) Because I met the author right before Covid hit, (2) He continues to write while still in the classroom, and (3) most importantly, he gets kids, especially those he teaches and he grew up with. Maldonado is bringing forward the stories and thoughts that come from being alive and engaged in the world, especially for young men.

Every time I talk with Torrey Maldonado I'm fascinated by the power of his voice and the enormity of his  presence. I'm also amazed by how he captures this same voice, a good 20+ years younger, within the young male characters he crafts on the page...this, all while making sense of becoming an adult. 

I'm a Muhammad Ali fan, as I have Louisville in my teaching blood - in fact, I did the Louisville Writing Project at Central High School where Cassius Clay attended and I was at the museum when we hosted its grand opening (a black tie affair, and one of my prouder moments as a teacher). I should note I'm also a Star Wars nerd and know when the force is thick, as it has always been for Torrey Maldonado and his books. I have a large hook in my chest that is always pulling me forward --- The Great Whatever...and within seconds of meeting this writer I knew there was much more to come (queue three green fingers waving negative juju out of the way).

Be a rainbow in someone else's cloud. Great advice given by Trev's mom, the main character in Hands...and the same advice heard by all the village men who are there for him while he processes and makes sense of his world. 

Promises and promises. Families make promises and some kids simply have promise. I promise.

I have vivid memories of my grandmother and the wisdom she invested in my sisters and me, including the hand game we played when visiting her, following her lead on the power they hold. We waved them above our head in unison as she spoke of the importance of doing something good with them. This morning, I'm focusing and positioning my hula hoop on the stars that bathed in Loch Lebanon (Lebanon Reservoir). (Note: as part of CWP-Fairfield's collaboration with Weir Farm National Historical Park we handed out hula hoops as one way to focus on "a scene" and explore from there). My grandmother taught me to journal, to record, to imagine, and more importantly to create. "You can't pick your nose with a closed fist," she'd instruct. She was "write." Hands are powerful when open and delivering the world to others. An open hand is better than a clenched fist to punch someone or a tense hand getting ready to pull a trigger.

Do we ball our hands into fists and prove how tough we are or do we, as my grandmother taught me, invest our phalanges into the artistry of the world? That's a tough question to ask an early adolescent, but  exactly what Torrey Maldonado does with Hands. It is quick, short, provocative, and pre-made for rich conversations to have with young people, especially when they feel the need to posture themselves as the tough guy who can take care of business. Sometimes being tough takes immeasurable inner strength.

It takes integrity to achieve.

I am looking forward to teaching Hands to the young people I work with and already have it on order for the Martin Luther King Leadership Academy at Fairfield University in February...100+ teens are coming to our campus and they will love this gift.

Similar to Tight, What Lane?, Secret Saturdays, and essays Torrey Maldonado has written in several anthologies, Hands needs to be in the palms of middle-grade readers. It's a book that fights to respect middle school agency. It involves the reader, encourages them to do what's right, while it nourishes the soul. Even better, it develops critical thinking, and stands for what kids prefer to read - a phenomenal story written for them. 

Perhaps that's why reading my F.R.I.E.N.D. is such a joy. Yoda loves the Maldonadorian armor, too. Ribbit Ribbit. 

Another MLK-inspired text...hands-down. 

Digitally Doodling (& STEAMing) a Must-Have Book Created by @benokri & @dianaejaita for @WriteOutConnect #WriteOut2022 @WritingProject

During a phone call with Ranger Kristin Lessard from Weir Farm National Historical Park and Dr. Richard Novack, Fairfield-Warde High School, we decided we wanted to give teachers participating in the 2022 collaboration between CWP-Fairfield and a National Park several books to spark their creativity and teaching interests - ways to get kids thinking, doodling, creating, analyzing, and recording. Included in this, was a sight-unseen adoption of Every Leaf a Hallelujah by Ben Okri with illustrations by Diana Ejaita. I knew from the cover, alone, that I wanted to order this, so I contacted Possible Futures, an independent bookstore in New Haven, Connecticut, and then had the order placed. 

Sticking with our Doodling and STEAMing ahead theme for this year's #WriteOut (using hula-hoops to target areas to write about and detail), I went out back and took a photo of fallen leaves. After doing this, I imemediately ran inside to read Okri and Ejaita's book. 

Wow. What a fantastic text to accompany the outdoor world so many of us are writing about "write" now, with a profound narrative that is international, necessary, true to African storytelling, and beautifully accompanied with amazing colors and illustrations -- an example where words and visuals meet the eye in brilliant ways.  I am now a fan of artist Diana Ejaita and the ways she tells a story through visualization.

We all need to walk with Mangoshi in search of the flowers that can save the ones we love. Like the trees, we need to let our roots intertwine to be pro-Earth, pro-Truth, pro-History, and pro-Possibility. 

I'm playing with the digital notebook form this morning to visually capture my thinking after the reading experience (and can't wait for Ralph Fletcher's updated version of his classic book, The Writer's Notebook, to arrive in January - it is update for digital note-taking, too). 

Science notebooks. Journals. A Writer's notebook. A sketchpad. A doodle-pad. A digital document. How we learn and collect information is partially innate, but also dependable on stellar educators who show young people the possibilities of how they take in (and process) information. 

Text is visual, too, but images are just as powerful. 

That was the theme of Karen Romano Young's talk last night, and she brought several scientists to make her case. It was won of the best programs I've attended in a long, long while. 

Now, if only I can figure out a way to sell all these fallen leaves in my back yard to make a profit! Too bad they can't be molded to form seeds and roots after the rakes, leaf-blowers, and wind! 

Either way, order Every Leave a Hallelujah for your classroom. You won't regret it. And today, get your kids outdoors with a pen, a notebook, and curiosity. That's what it is all about. 

Looking Forward to @DoodlebugKRY & @IwasakidSteam Tonight for a Special Show of the @WriteToConnect #Writeout 2022...Did a Little Digital Doodling Myself As I STEAM Ahead.

We've been very fortunate in Connecticut, as we've been able to tap the artful Karen Romano Young for several years for teacher institutes and collaborations with Weir Farm National Historical Park. One of our teachers, Denise Howe, introduced us to the great work of the Bethel-native artist, and we've been tapping her brilliance ever since. 

Tonight, at 7 p.m. EST, Karen Romano Young talks IWasAKid with educators from the across the United States about her work and the importance of doodling with young people in the classroom, especially as they make notebooks, collect new information, inquire, and problem solve their own learning. 

This past weekend, while hiking with Ranger Amanda at Weir Farm, I learned about Connecticut potatoes and the history of why they are so abundant in our state. I've been thinking on this, especially since I have two enormous Connecticut potatoes in my front yard (Yo, Rocky!). So, I spent part of yesterday afternoon in my digital notebook thinking about how I might make meaning of the local petrology of Stratford. I'm also thinking of Ms. Coffin, 8th grade Earth Science, and how much I hated learning about rocks. I have to admit, though, Dr. Richard Novack and Ranger Amanda have me highly curious about geology...so much so that I might even do a screening of Ice Age...I tend not to watch many movies, even if they are made for kids. But now I want to know.

You can RSVP to this evening's show by checking out the National Writing Project website, and then joining the NWP Teacher Studio. If you sign up, a link will be sent your way for the evening's program.

It's such. great way to kick off #WriteOut. Karen Romano Young is the perfect guest, indeed.

Notice I have a hula hoop that helped me focus on my lawn potatoes. Today, I'm going to read more about how the ice age shifted rock all throughout the northeast (and I'm intrigued by the Long Island Sound and it's role in it all). I really am a rock head when it comes to tectonics plates, internal cores, and sediment. There's so much to learn!

I'm digitally doodling and STEAMing ahead, indeed.