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

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

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

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

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

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

The boys, obviously, taught me more. 

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

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

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

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

From a Writer's Notebook (2006). We Were Playing with Shape Poems so I Wrote Around MY HANDS & I've Always Wanted to Translate from Composition to a Digital Platform

Reading Torrey Maldonado's Hands that will be coming out in 2023, I remembered I had a poem by the same title and searched my Brown School notebooks in search of it. Found it. And with that, another day commences.

These hands are marked.

They’ve been blistered by good intentions

and pushing the rock upon Kentucky hills & New York State highways.
They’ve layered brick & tile
upon concrete, lifted fallen trees
into sawdust epiphanies.
They’ve pushed aside dust
into piles of forgotten yesterdays.
The blisters eventually popped
causing callousness & walls around the soul.

I am thicker today than I was yesterday... ...a little bit wider - more cautious
of the sculptures I create & relate
to what I’ve destroyed

from a lily pad.
Another palmed creation
sparkling in bedazzled stupidity.
My humility has sunk below
& sits aglow before koi,
catfish, & worms.
These ideas squirm from synapse to synapse, with the momentary lapses in fluidity.
At the tips of my fingers are dreams
& it seems as if they wanted to burst, shooting stars across liquid landscapes.
Yet, they struck & stuck by
the lack of luck in all my fortunate.
I am rich & have a world
in the center of my palm.
Stay calm.

PURPOSE. DOUBT. CREATION. INTEGRITY. SOUL.

METAMORPHOSIS. BIRTH. JOURNEY. WONDER. DEATH.

Traffic Not a Total Nightmare La La La La La La La La., Fa Both the Trees Are Standing Up Now, Fa La La La La La La La La.

Sunday was for trees. Fake trees. Hand me down trees. Karal and I put ours up and then we went to Stamford for Chitunga's, that was conveniently stored in my basement. Pam and I were invited for brunch, but when we got there, we put up the tree, and he suggested he wanted to help Pam put up her tree, so back to Milford we went, stopping to get Ambrosia bread for sandwiches and heading to the attic for the mermaid-themed white tree, World Cup soccer, and a Jacksonville upset of the Baltimore Ravens. 

I don't think anyone wants to return to work. We're ready for holiday mood until the new year arrives. I could easily sit and watch television under a blanket for the next four weeks, all while staring at the lights glittering above Karal. Work, of course, gets in the way of this. Screw work.

We also went for a walk at Wavenly Park in New Canaan, known for stowing cars after a crime has been done and for the occasional disposed body. Pam has the most wonderful trivia for afternoon walks.

I spoke too soon about the lights. Of course a strand lost its twinkle after the first night in the bay window yesterday. It needs to be replace - this, after my tap dancing last night.

Phew. Tunga's got a pencil tree. It is fun seeing him put up his own ornaments with his own traditions. He has a good apartment, and I wish Karal could come with me when I visit. 

And then there was tree (#3). Pam's tree is beautiful with its aquatic theme. At one point, I asked her, "Hey, I thought this tree was wider than this," and Chitunga laughed to say, "It can't get any whiter, Dad." Her tree is snow-white with sea ornaments, whales, starfish, mermaids, jellyfish, and seahorses. It's perfect for her beach condo. 

I'm just glad we all got into the season and now, at any space, we can put our feet up for hot cocoa and Christmas Carols. More importantly, we can enjoy one another's company - that is most important. 

Jake is recovering from his ACL surgery and permanently in his bed (well, he's supposed to be, and now he has a glow stick to keep him entertained. 

So there you have it....three trees, three homes, three supporting roles in one another's lives.....two resting dogs....and total procrastination on facing Monday for what it will likely bring...ugh.

But it really is the most wonderful time of the year. The older I get, the more I soak it all in. 

Garfield was always right. @#$@#$ Mondays. 

No One Wants These Pies, So I've Cut a Deal with the Devil to Pacify My Guilt. I Will Eat One Piece of Each & Then (Sadly) Throw Them Away

This was definitely the Thanksgiving for desserts. Five pies were left behind, as well as Kaitlyn's Pecan, bourbon shortcake bars (which I refuse to share with others - it is my daily treat until they are gone). Even so, I started to feel bad that all of these pieces only had a slice taken from them. I sent two home with Chitunga, and the others I promised I'd at least taste before I dumped them.

And trust me...I've been calling around to see who I could share these desserts with. I don't want them in the house because they whisper seductive thoughts in my ears, like the apple pie did last night, "How about you heat me up a little, warm me, and mix me with rum & raisins before slurping me from a bowl?"

Okay. I did. I wanted to get rid of rum-raising ice cream, too. One slice of heated pie, one bowl of ice cream, and a day of high-fiving myself. I readied Mt. Pleasant for Christmas. 

Decorating the house took all day, even with watching the World Cup matches. I am still knocking on wood, because all the lights worked. That's a first. Tree is up, decorations traded with usual fixtures in the home, and the bounty of gifts I bought last year on clearance that I forgot about. Bonus.

Rumor is it will be a crappy day, so I can start getting my head wrapped around the last few weeks of the semester...just 3 more weeks left.

They all fly by and blur together, anyway.

Ah, here's to your Sunday. I'm feeling rather good that so much was accomplished yesterday.

Fact: I Never See the Movies I'm Supposed to See, but 32 Years Later, On the Kid's 27th, Well, I Had the Opportunity to Catch Up (on a holiday film, anyway)

Yes, I've never see Home Alone. It came out in 1990, and that was the year I graduated high school, so when it came out, it was my first year returning from college to celebrate Christmas. I left Binghamton University and immediately returned to my job at Kaufman's, acting as a replacement, or custodian, or stock person. I was likely battling lake effect snow, friendships, family, and 2nd semester dreams, too. Going to Penn-Can or Great Northern for a film was  not on the radar.

I knew of the film, had all the pop-cultural references to go with it, but never sat down to watch it. Chitunga would be born 5 years later. Funny to think it is older than he is.

Last night, at the 27th year of his life in the 50th (going on 51st) of my own, we did a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers and, because of his phone, watched Home Alone, as he air-played it onto a television set...this after watching It's a Wonderful Life (I'm sure both were available on cable somewhere)

I think that is special, and I was twisted and turned by time, age, and the endlessness of laughter and humor that came from his giggles, my memories, and the fact another Christmas season is upon us.

Truth is, much has followed the child actor, and I supposed tabloid television let me know the tragedy of such a cute kid. His screams were famous, but his adulthood rather tragic. Phew. Who lived in such a large house in Chicago in 1990? Who could afford a Christmas trip to France at the time? That wasn't my childhood, but somehow it appealed to the generation I grew up in. 

The iron-burned face of a burglar. Classic. 

A story told through the eyes of a...beautiful.

 I can now say I've seen this move finally, but it took a while. I'm no better or worse from seeing it, but I'm definitely turkey-fatigued and love being trapped in a house, heat turned up with blankets, and knowing it is a-okay to chill out for an evening. This is bliss, no matter where we are in life....a perfect way to spend a Friday night.

Well, Then Comes the 27th Year (Snap of Fingers, Just Like That). Wasn't I Just 27? I Swear I Was. Seriously, Though...I Could Not Be Prouder

I'm not supposed to celebrate the kid on social media...as outward and social as I am, he is introverted and careful. It's all good, though, because love is love, and I love how much this kid has accomplished in the last ten years, and the man he had become/is becoming. 

27 years old today. Doesn't seem possible. A Masters degree, his own apartment in Stamford, two work offices, and a zest for hiking, reading, thinking, bourbon, and now, perhaps, snowboarding -- his new winter board is in my garage stored for days when the snow arrives (along with golf clubs, footballs, weights, & other clutter he doesn't want in his space when he's not using it.. 

This photo was taken in Lake Placid while enjoying Eric & Rhiannon's wedding. 

Yesterday, though, we hosted Thanksgiving and had a feast, but the highlight found new traditions, because both Kaitlyn & Dominic AND Patrick & Stephanie have newborns and they joined us for the gravy. It changed the entire dynamic in beautiful ways, including the calm of holding them and sitting still while watching the World Cup and American football games.

I'm celebrating Tunga today, and trying to avoid Kaitlyn's pecan, bourbon shortcake bars, which keep calling my name no matter what room I am in. They are so frickin' good. I successfully did not have one for breakfast; instead, I had a slice of apple pie.

We'll see if we can have an adventure today for the kid (well, man) and find a way to bring all these desserts somewhere less tempting than my kitchen. 

Happy Birthday, Chitunga! You're wings have always been meant to soar. So, so proud. 

This Morning, I'm Warming My Heart, Mind, & Soul, with Thanks to Many, especially @easms for Gifting Me with Maple Toddy Black Tea from @TheCulturedCup

Last night, my house smelled like smoky peppercorns, salt, sugar, orange peel, and herbs as I prepped the turkey brine (btw, that's how they said my name in Kentucky). Inhaling this smell accompanied a crisp day and it acted as a reminder that this morning would be a day for giving thanks. 

I awoke, and said, "Okay, Crandall. Check out the tea diffuser you bought so you can finally taste the maple, toddy-black tea Ellen Shelton sent from the University of Mississippi." 

This was a gift mailed after I slid into year 50 with a hernia, stabbed eye, Covid, snapped ankle, and an eight inch wound on the back of my head. I fell out of a bathtub right before presenting with her (and several other brilliant mentors) at NCTEAR. This deliciousness comes from The Cultured Cup, and I must admit, it is as aromatic as last night's brine (what? did you call me?). I'm an upstate NY kid, so maple is one of my favorite flavors, and anything having to do with Toddy...well. That's easy. (Hmmm....actually, if I brew more of this and mix with bourbon and a little sugar, I think I might have a new evening cocktail).

And soon...around 4.5 hours after it gets in the oven, my house will smell like the once-a-year Mt. Pleasant turkey (no, not my armpits. Brine, you stink). 

I've only lost myself twice in front of students (and an additional time during my dissertation defense). Like Wendy Kohli, a philosopher who I worked with when I first started at Fairfield, I sometimes inform people I'm a leaker when I have to talk about what is beautiful. The work is never easy, and when someone cares to ask why you do what you do (which is rare), the emotions come quickly. When I told my students I was leaving the Brown School in 2007 (yes, right after Harold & Maude...there's something wrong with me), I couldn't get the words out. All my years at that school poured out of me as I did - the passion, the history, the love, the difficulties, and the joy of what is possible when someone envisions a great school. I was a sobbing mess.

At my dissertation event, when a reviewer asked a question about why this subject, these boys, and my ability to represent their voices, I turned my head and regrouped, because the tears came quickly. "If the world was an equitable, fair, and kind place," I said. "I wouldn't have to defend their literacies and greatness...they'd be here to do it for themselves."

Then Tuesday night, after a week with NCTE, my YA lit course happened to be an evening where everyone read books that featured immigrant and/or refugee stories. 

I learned from Penguin Random House that a new YA biography is coming out about a woman who is an unmet hero of mine, Luma Mufleh, and as I worked with refugee communities in Syracuse, another text written about her by Warren St. John, became a textbook of sorts. Luma Mufleh amazes me - her drive is unmatched. When I shared that all this work is in memory of James A'kech Mungui from Louisville, a Sudanese man who was murdered in the U.S. after all those years he survived the war in his own country as a child, and I alluded to the NYTimes article From Hell to Fargo, which began my desire to volunteer with relocated refugee "Lost Boys," and shared how I used to teach a movie where Ger Duany played a coincidence, then vetted a book for Penguin Random House, only to be asked to write an educator's guide for them with Abu Bility years later, then hosted him at my house with Jessica and William right after the grasp of Covid....

Well, the slide that came next with pictures of some of the young men from Syracuse who quickly became parts of my life as teenage readers and writers, and who are now, well, men with careers, I lost myself. I choked up. I couldn't get words out. 

Coincidence. 

And I knew that Abu & Lossine were going to drop into the ZOOM and tell their story, which they did, and then they shared all the books I've given them over the years, and how they have them in their own classrooms (both are teaching at Syracuse Academy of Science now)....well, you can understand. If you can't understand, I highly recommend you look into global history, the brutality of imperialism and post-colonialism in African nations, and the conditions many, many people live with in refugee camps there, and all around the world.

This summer, too, will be the 10th year of Ubuntu Academy - and we can approximate the program has served almost 300 immigrant and refugee youth since 2014. It's a lot.

But I'm thankful. Why? Because all I've invested into this work, is because so, so, so many have invested in me...including Ellen Shelton and everyone in the National Writing Program. It's the students I taught in room 301 on the 1st and Muhammad Ali, the brilliance of my own educators (especially Carole Boyce Davies), the endless investments of Sue McV, the wonderful colleagues across the nation who I read, listen to, study, and admire, and my friends who have always found a way to keep me laughing, enjoying life, and remembering the important stuff. 

And then there's family....Mimi Sue, Papi Butch, the older sister and the younger one, their families, my cousins, aunts, and uncles....all the dogs of today and yesterday, the niece and the nephews, & the boys who have folded into our lives seamlessly, with love & humor, and incredible achievements that simply are hard to believe. 

It's hard not to be thankful (especially since I'm drinking this delicious tea, Ellen). And I know this day comes with controversy and I remain thankful to those who bring forward the multiple truths that they know (and that question those single stories). 

A day of thanks is healthy. And nothing feels better than appreciating those we love. 

Husky & Juice - a Bedtime Story Told to Karal Lynne Crandall (Karalvan) on the Night the University Classes Shut Down & He Could Concentrate on Thankfulness & Turkey

Settle down, puppies. Curl up on the couch where you're not supposed to be, with the toy you've chewed all the stuffing from. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.

Once upon a time, there was a manic, exhausted, overcommitted human being named Bryan who, on the day the University would shut down for a while, had a graduate class. This was a man who just returned from six days at a national conference where he had to avoid university responsibilities. He returned them in stereo, and being overwhelmed, he decided he needed a walk.

"Karal," he said. "Let's go" (in which, it also must be pointed out that as he read on this out loud, he now has a dog pushing at his feet that, yes, she's ready to go, even though this is yesterday's story, being written this morning).

"Seriously, poopie-doo. Let's go," Bryan continued. 

And they went. They did their usual four mile walk, because Bryan was procrastinating, had mid-life guilt for packing on post-covid weight resulting from numerous injuries, so walking daily was an excuse to move away from the computer for a while. 

Which he did. Proudly.

The joy he felt was stupendous, but that is when a pit bull on a leash, without an owner, came running from across the street - Nichols Ave, in fact, busy with much traffic - and had to act quickly, as dogs on leashes are not predictable. Karal, who was adopted and returned 3 times in her first year of life, is definitely not predictable.

Are you girl? Are you? Keep breathing. Close your eyes. Go to sleep. It's all good.

So, Bryan, his dog on a leash, and the other dog, leashed, but without an owner, came to a quick standstill. "I just need you to stay calm, Karal," Bryan said as the dog charged before the crotch-sniffing began. It was a big dog, with even bigger testicles, and his pink tongue hit the concrete where they stood. Karal's hair stood on edge as it typically does whenever another dog comes by.

"God damn it. What the fuck is wrong with you, dog!" a woman's voice yelled from across the street. "I'm going to kill you, you fucking douchebag."

You see, Karal. Your daddy has a love for that word and sees it as a badge of honor. He loves to hear how others use it.

"You douchebag," she continued, as she fell to the ground and put her hands to her face. She started bawling, and Bryan reached to comfort her with one hand, while pulling Karal back from the stray dog wanting to mount her. "I just lost my husband, and I can't take this. I can't take this stupid dog not listening to me and always running away. I'm sending him to the pound."

She was uncontrollable, you see. Keep the eyes closed Karal.

"Well, this is the reality of owning dogs," Bryan said. "They're stupid." He remembered he had a lifetime of canine ownership and they act ridiculously. "I've always wondered how they ever survived on their own," he continued keeping one eye on the mourning woman and another on her dog who took off on her.

Her dog then decided to spring towards the soccer fields near Wooster Middle School. 

"Juice," she screamed. "Juice. Come back." 

But he took off. A new woman approached with another dog on a leash, and said, "My mother's having a hard time," and handed Bryan this dog's leash while she sprinted after Juice who seemed to want to play soccer. Bryan stood with leashes in both hands and prayed Karal didn't do Karal things (dog things) while he had this stranger's dog. Meanwhile, Juice leaped into a goal-post and tried to tear it down by shaking the net in his mouth. He just wanted to play.

"How old is Juice?" Bryan asked the woman who was still in a fetal position sobbing by his feet. Her daughter's  dog began licking her face and Karal, in response, decided it was a great time to sniff doggie butt.

Juice one years old and still having testicles didn't help. 

"I get it," Bryan said to the distressed widow. "These creatures are crazy." 

He told her about Karal's history and his patience in training her, about Baby, the dog, who loved to gallop away just out of reach when she got out and how her gallop was that of a horse. He told her about Juliet Catherine Alanis Madonna Potatohead Scrappy-Doo Houdini Olivia Dennis, too, and her night of running away only to return days later after he gave up ever seeing her again.

Well, this was good enough, because the mourning woman stood up and decided to grab her daughter's dog and run after Juice at the goal post. Bryan's dog just watched with curiosity.

Yes, Karal, that's you.

Karal was such a good dog that Bryan didn't even recognize her. The two ladies, one with a leashed dog and the other with Juice peeing on goal posts and bushes, ran away every time they got near to him. They eventually disappeared into the wood where he led them. 

Bryan said, "Okay. That was a close call. Let's go home," and they started walking only to arrive to three new women screaming at him in Spanish. One of them had a leash in her hand. A fourth woman came out of the home where they stood, and asked in English, "Do you know anyone who owns a husky. This dog just jumped in my mom's car while she was leaving" At that moment, a Giant white husky with a tremendous amount of fur jumped out of the car. Karal's hair stood up once again. This dog was beautiful. The blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight.

Yes, Karal. You're beautiful, too. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

"I'd call animal control," Bryan suggested to the ladies, before they responded, "We tried, but no one answered." At that very moment, an animal patrol van came out of nowhere and pulled up to the Husky and Spanish-speaking ladies. 

And Bryan kept walking, guessing that the distressed, frantic, overly dramatic woman who lost her husband must have called Animal Control about her own dog. As the van pulled up and the warden took control of the Husky, Bryan simply thought, "Phew. This could have been us."

And this is where Karal fell asleep, knowing that she's still a pain-in-the-ass and ridiculous example of man's best friend, but at least in this story, it wasn't her being the outrageous, insane subject. She could just rest easy for this one. 

She began to snore. 

Some stories, Bryan thought, are just too true to be made up. 

At Least We Don't Have Snow, but WOW! Adapting to These Temperatures in Connecticut After a Week of Anaheim Sun Will Take Some Adjustment

I'm actually surprised I made it to 10 p.m. last night. I only slept five hours the night before and had a day of meetings on campus. I knew I wanted to walk Karal (she's been overly excited that I'm home and didn't get walks while I was away) and that I needed to stock up for Thursday's day of Thankfulness. Turkey is thawing.

When Karal and I arrived back home, and I checked the sky, I thought, "Yep. This is definitely a Fall evening." The colors of the sun setting looked like the West was ablaze in fire (which probably isn't the best, most appropriate metaphor, considering). It was beautiful, and reminded me of some of the ones I used to see in Clarksville when I lived there. I used to walk to Alice and Charlies and loved the way light burst through the branches after the trees fell and the pre-hibernal sun went to the other side of the world for a while.

I have to teach tonight and it's a day of holding my breath to get there. We're on ZOOM because too many travel away for the holiday, but it still requires getting ready. And I also have to do accounting-grant work that is way overdue. 

This is why lists and scratching out items are important.

But truth be told, all I really care about is taking time to walk the dog, enjoy the outdoors, and looking at the sky. NCTE 2022 taught me I've aged and a cross-country travel, post-Covid, is a bit much in the grand scheme of things. Yes, every second was enjoyable, but all the time at home getting things done offered a totally new perspective on life. Taking flights is like going to Walmart on a Saturday afternoon....too much for an individual to take. Not always sure it is worth the journey.

Rock it world. I'm going to try to....

Much Smoother Wing-Flapping on the Way Home and Head to Pillow by 1 a.m. - Now to Recoup, Recover, and React. There's a Turkey to be Roasted

I broke down and bought earbuds for my phone, since I left mine home. This was great, because it gave me a location to listen to six hours of audio books with my eyes closed, while flying from L.A. back to New York State. Shuttle driver to the airport was humorous, as he had me call the passengers in the other hotels because he reported his "accent was too thick." Driving in LA and NY/Connecticut is so much easier on the weekend and away from rush hour.

I haven't had a chance to reflect on what an incredible job Kristin, Rich, and Janine did in their National Parks/Outdoor writing workshop. The design was amazing, offering storytelling-sharing, resources, and opportunity to play, too. I sat in the back of the room to take it all in, and it was phenomenal. There were many in attendance and they were soaking every word in, including the wonderful student work that Janine brought to share. As context, Kristin and Rich have been leading Reading Landscapes & Writing Nature with Weir Farm National Historical Park for several years now. Janine attended these workshops twice and has brought the out-of-school learning back to her classroom, getting her kids outside and threading what was offered into ways that she and her students love. I told NWP colleagues with me in the back of the room that it is amazing to watch from a distance...to really see the impact that work has had.

The photo was sent from Kristin, and also features Fola who was there to present on another project (the collaboration between two high schools) and we were about to leave the NWP social on Friday night (many of us still digesting steak from the night before). 

Shucks. Looking at the clock, I already see the agenda for the day starting with on-campus meetings. It sort of makes my stomach churn, only because I returned from a whirlwind of travel, obligations, reunions, and presentations. I can already feel my body saying, "No more." I don't want to get sick.

But here's to the weekend ahead and the beautiful people doing the work for NCTE and beyond.

Honest Truth: Nothing Is More Important than Beautiful Relationships Built Alongside Young People. @NCTE Met with A Student from Long Ago...26 Years Later

One of the cool things about the privileges and affordances of being at a University and doing the collective work I do with K-12 youth and public school educators, is that the bonds made in the classroom are often much stronger than the pride and prestige of academic work, or the pomp and circumstance of conference presentations and publications. It is an absolute privilege to travel the country, city to city, to meet with alumni from my high school teaching days and to catch up on their excellence, their stories, and their appreciation for life so many years later. Phew. Time is something.

Truth is, I ducked out from NCTE for of couple hours on Saturday because a girl I taught from 1996-1998 settled in the LA region after taking our girls basketball team to state, then graduating from the University of Kentucky. Always an amazing student.

I was fortunate to teach in a K-12, public school dedicated to diversity, inclusivity, and individual excellence. All I've known as an educator is what is possible through human connectedness, dialogue, sharing, and support for individual achievement. Diversity. Inclusivity. Community. Always. Exclusivity is always dangerous. Bringing in voice, perspective. lived experiences, and democracy remains the top priorities for how I believe we get things done.

I was fortunate to meet her husband, too, to catch up on the last few years, and to reminisce about my first years of teaching, and the young minds that made a tremendous impact on the man I am today.

The older I get, the more cautious I become. Still, I remain stalwart for youth and the many ways they teach me about good, justice, equity, and human possibility, especially as they counter their own adversities in life. 

Love you, Nadia. Alway have. Always will. Definitely the highlight of this year's conference.

Well, Dr. Alice Hays @haysalice and I Were Being Book Nerds When We Made a Wild Connection @NCTE a Few Years Ago, So This Year We Presented the Literacy of @WGIcolorguard

Yesterday, Dr. Alice Hays and I presented at "The Intersection of Literacy, Sport, Culture, and Society" during the National Council of Teachers of English conference in Anaheim, California. Our presentation, "Sport of the Arts - Towards Equity, Justice, and Literacy through Pageantry" was an opportunity to begin theorizing, academically, the out-of-school performances by many youth who participate within Winter Guard International events. As a younger brother to a sister and an uncle to a niece who marched with the North Syracuse Winterguard (Northstars) over several years, I joke that I spent many weekends in gyms and on football fields watching performances. 

Alice and I bonded over National Writing Project work and a passion for young adult literature, which led me to learn that she performed and judges for circuits, including WGI. As a person in the audience for so many years, I felt I might get an inside view into how teams are scored, which led me to interviews with her, watching shows with her, and hearing her talk through feedback she gives teams. As a result, we started thinking about the poetry of pageantry, the ways physical movement and equipment share storytelling, and the similarities of "scoring" student writing an evaluation the genre of this particular sport. There are many parallels. I felt like I was connecting with my family's history with a deeper level of what we mean by sports, arts, and performance. Alice is a phenomenal teacher.

For our analysis, we chose to discuss Sun Lake's performance of Amanda Gorman's inaugural poem (as the spoken word piece brought poetry into showmanship). It also paralleled the conference theme very well, especially in pursuit of light. 

We created a one-pager that we discussed while participants could see the team do their job on the floor and began to theorized ways that such sport is a literacy that may be used in classrooms, especially for teachers interested in the out-of-school literacies of young people (and want to find ways to use it for in-school success).

Alice is a dream-colleague and I've loved our weekly meetings as she's talked to me and helped me to think deeper about the sport that was central to my family's lives for so many year (something I've kept up with because the storytelling through movement has always interested me). 

It's one thing to watch shows as a spectator, but listening to the brilliance and insider-knowledge of Alice's expertise, made me rethink the all the ways I've viewed the competitions I've experiences - the value system of the circuit parallels the one we uphold in literacy instruction, which is intriguing. 

I can now say that all those weekends in gyms paid off in my adult career...the brother/uncle (floor uncle...I've carried a few mats over the years) paid off. I'm hoping the to of us explore this much more and find an outlet for the work.

Anyone want to hire us to write the book about this?

Absolutely Fantastic to Work with the Brilliant, Divergent, Award-Winning Intellects in Support of @initiative211...Fantastic to Reunite & Plan Together @NCTE

I still shake my head that Dr. Shelbie Witte reached out to me a few years ago to tell me that a trifecta was actually a Super-fecta, after receiving a 2018 Divergent Award for Excellence from the Initiative for Literacy in a Digital Age. I've proudly served on the research board ever since, and this week at NCTE we've united several winners: Jennifer Dail, Chris Goering, Ian William O'Byrne, Detra Price-Dennis and the sage behind the initiative, Shelbie Witte, for conversation, planning, strategizing, and melding minds for the better. 

What an incredible opportunity for a dork like me to have (I took the picture...one I'm proud of).

Networking is a lot of things, but extra special are the moments when you get to meet with the very people you admire. You tap temples with pens and strategize for next steps in literacy work. I love every second of spending time with these people yesterday, and also extend a special congratulations goes out to Dr. Detra Price-Dennis, not only for her recent book award, but for the Outstanding Elementary Educator at NCTE 2022. Her receiving of this award was the 2nd highlight of a great day.

I'm holding my breath today, as it begins at 8 a.m. and ends and 9 p.m....non-stop obligations (and joy) in celebration of writing, reading, thinking, and the critical work we do. 

The crew above are VIP to me and I wish every one had the opportunity to work with each and every one of these thinkers. I'm fortunate to have opportunity to know them. They make me a better man.

But I need to get downstairs. I have a duffle bag worth of materials to present today.

Foo Foo Fancy Food, Hard Work, and a Day of Exhaustion. Yes, I Went to Bed by 9 p.m., and I'm Okay With That. Lots of Light at @ncte #NCTE2022

I normally don't feel jet lag, but this trip has me whipped against my head, slammed upon a locker, and stuffed into a crate. I don't know if I am coming for going. All I know is that I accomplished what I was supposed to yesterday, that I met people for lunch and dinner, and that I needed to be under the covers by 9 p.m.

I walked to my hotel room with my eyes closed...exhausted. 

Today is another day.

The food is good, if not overpriced ($16 for coffee and a bagel), and the educators are starting to arrive. Everyone looks like they survived war when they get here (coming west does this, I guess, especially in the Walmart-inspired airline industry where nothing but tacky chaos ensues. Of course, the Pacific Ocean winds, too, create a bit of havoc when landing).

For $200, I can get access to Disney Land...I will not likely do that, even if I could say, "Hey, I went to Disneyland." Running around the area, you can still hear kids screaming from the roller coasters. It's such a beautiful sound.

I'm looking forward to seeing ol' students who moved out West, too. I'm arranging Brown School reunions whenever I get a chance: breakfasts, lunches, dinners, even walks. 

Okay. Presentations begin today and I'm super excited to celebrate Dr. Detra Price this evening. 

Now, I need coffee. I'm miserable without coffee. I am willing to pay too much money for coffee because I don't have a choice. Off to the great unknown in pursuit of mocha. The gatherings are an all-day affair and we need caffeine!

Ah. conferences.

I Guess I Never Knew How Important Bobby Flay Would Be to a Cross-Country Trip. Phew. East Coast to West Coast Ain't Easy, But I Made it to @NCTE

I awoke at 5 a.m. and checked the roads. They were already delayed, but I guessed if I hit them by 6:30 a.m., I would make my flight in Westchester by 10:30 a.m. - I didn't consider the fact that the parking company would have inaccurate locations for where to park the car (thanks Google Maps) on SUNY Purchase's campus nor that I would leave my phone on the the shuttle after paying the guy (Crandall is a dork). Lucky for me he found it and quickly returned with it where he dropped me off. 

Flying out of (even the) wealthiest part of the U.S. is like shopping at Walmart on a Saturday. It's just insane. 

Alas, I was in an exit row on lag one, so I had good leg room.

This was not the scene, however, once I arrived to Atlanta. 1) I had to sprint across two terminals in 15-minutes and 2) I was the last guy on the plane before they shut the door. There was no space for my overhead (it ended up being shoved in a space meant for flight attendants. Then we sat on the runway for an extra 75 minutes because, ready for this, catering forgot to load food for First Class. Many great comments from the gallery, "Let them starve," but it didn't seem to matter. Metaphors exist everywhere.

I did not pee or eat until 6:30 p.m PST (which is 9:30). That is 15 hours, and I thanked al my years of KY teaching for offer practice in holding my bladder. I was in agony, but flight two was so packed (no leg room) and I wasn't going to bother those next to me. Of course I sat in the middle with my long legs.

I watched an entire season of cooking against Bobby Flay. Their were 11 episodes at 21 minutes a piece and I got addicted. I forgot my headset, so all the books I downloaded for the flight were useless (apologies to Tiffany Jackson...she's up next and I love when anything she writes in queue.

Needless to say, I arrived to Los Angelas and hour late and was glad I ordered a shuttle, because it was another hour and 45 minutes to go 28 miles. The contact high from my driver's marijuana smoke, however, lightened the roadtrip and put a smile on my face. How could I not laugh.

I made it to my hotel at the exact time I was scheduled for my first dinner meeting. I arrived 30-minutes late. This is all to say that traveling across county is not fun....I'm ready for a new style of transportation to get me there quicker and easier. I'm hoping Detra Price figures out molecular transportation by the time were in Columbus next year, so I can beam to Ohio as the Great Whatever intended.

Meanwhile, I slept and hoping my body will adjust. Oof. This was a rough one.

And yes, Valerie Kinloch is still brilliantly beautiful and beautifully brilliant. Eating with her and the entourage last night was pure bliss. The scallops were insane!

But it's time for the first meeting so I'm off. See the rest of you when you get here.

Off to @NCTE in Anaheim, California, and Thankful to @valeriekinloch For Inviting Me a Few Days Early for Resolution Work. Okay, Educators...We Got This.

Perhaps we got somewhat accustomed to at-home conferences, where we could sit in a pair of sweats and be dressed up around the neck and shoulders...for a couple of years this worked just fine. Sadly, we lost Louisville, Kentucky, which was my dream location for presenting Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University work. That was going to be my homecoming -- food at restaurants my ol' students now own, bourbon at distilleries hosted by alumni, and plenty of sights to see. 

Alas, I celebrated that experience from home. Louisville, though, is always the place where I got my teaching legs and learned to fly with student writers

For numerous NCTE conventions I've brought what Susan James calls an entourage. Truth is, these people could give two flying @$@#$ about me, but I funded their travels to present on the great work they do in Connecticut. It is true that I donated professional development fees to CWP, so we could assure numerous teachers were at the conference presenting their excellent work. We peaked at 15 from the Nutmeg state. Alas, we are a smaller crew this year, as school districts aren't allowing for teacher travel and those of us who lead National Writing Project sites are trying to find our way within a different landscape. 

I'm looking forward to many things this go-around, but most importantly I can wait for the reunions. It's been a minute, and although I'm in ZOOM-Land daily with many scholars, writers, and site directors from across the United States, it will be great to see them in person. I imagine my Jim Carrey/Robin Williams/Pee-Wee Herman character will come out as I run into each, and every friend who I've longed to see the last few years (including Valerie Kinloch...she's the graceful, intellectual Queen to my opera-singing frog-like tendencies).

The biggest fear, of course, is getting there. 

The airport is 38 miles away, but in Connecticut that can be anywhere from 60-minutes to 4-hours. Parking is booked. Flight is booked. And I remortgaged my home to get a shuttle from LAX to the hotel in Anaheim. Oh, to be a Disney fan willing to pay those prices...I guess I am.

I'm looking forward to meeting and presenting with many, including Alice Hays who has been with me on a wild ride about visual literacy and the storytelling of pageantry --- reading and writing neediness meets Winter-Guard International...can't wait to analyze an Amanda Gordon poem performed by Sun Lake High School with her (our geek-game is A+++++). I'm also looking forward to digital literacy presentations, a celebration of 6 years of Reading Landscapes & Writing Nature, as well as an NWP collaboration that is leading to publications in 2023 (woot woot). 

So, I've got my mug of coffee and am setting out on an adventure, knowing my first dinner is tonight...California time...which I will have to adjust to. 

All love to Karal at home. Edem is in full control of her this week...as the only one left on Mt. Pleasant and still in the home. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about hosting Thanksgiving the week after. 

We got this, NCTE & NWP. Really, we do!!!!

You Know It's Been a Semester When You Haven't Touched Summer Work Until November! Phew! But POW! is in the Work...Promise.

Once again I don't have an administrative assistant. In year's past, I've had graduate students and they've been extremely helpful organizing writing and first drafts of POW! Power of Words, the annual anthology of teachers and students. Each year, CWP-Fairfield publishes 100s of writers, and I love showcasing the work as a demonstration of what scholarship-in-action looks like. Alas, staff members who have helped me and been go-to people with CWP work have trickled away as the University saves money and hire leaders with varying visions for staffing. 

I'm doing what I can.

Yesterday, I spent twelve hours organizing and editing writers from 3rd through 12th grade, with a few hiccups, including the ubiquitous phenomenon of students not putting a name on their work and the habit of listening to the instructions part-way. This results in my having to have multiple files open to align writing with writers and intent. As phenomenal as the CWP-Fairfield teachers are in the summer, a few of the critters find a way to do things their own way: fonts that are enormous, submission of early drafts and not final ones, and the absence of titles and their names. I'm no longer gray...my hair is now going white.

Still, as I read the work and see what was accomplished, I can't help but be absolutely proud. This year in College Essay, for example, several kids alluded to the life-changing experiences with us during the summer months, including many English language learners who began with us in Ubuntu Academy.

It is also clear that what CWP's instructors do each day has a positive impact on the writing that results. More importantly, each piece radiates a joy of writing, which is a major goal for the work.

All of this is to say, "Hang on, folks. I'm working as hard as I can." When I have support, I've been able to get the publication out by this time of year. Without it, I work throughout weekends and holiday breaks - whenever I am not doing the other work I'm paid to do.

We're getting there, and I look forward to sending it off to be published. There is nothing that makes me happier than when parents call me to say how much this means to their writers.

One day at a time, Crandall. One day at a time.

A Saturday: Time with a Little Baby-Nugget, a Long Walk, and Dinner Because Someone Hit a Number or Two on the Lottery, So I Am Fed

I'm not sure if it is the abnormally warm temperatures with the drastic drops on their way, the fact that I'm heading away next week from the routine of the chaos, or the chaos that simply was this week, but I can't keep my eyes open. 

I helped Pam with her mother's house, organizing, cleaning, sorting, and arranging, as well as more time with Kaitlyn and Dominik with their new love nugget, Oliwia, and the day was simply beautiful, if not exhausting.

As Pam says, Oliwia has a set of lungs on her. Actually, she was good in my arms, but I feel bad for the parental units. She's good for a two hour nap and up again, and the new-parents were exhausted. I could feel it from the second we reunited in Derby. Karal got some Jake time, although he is hurting and needs surgery. He still good to Karal's energy, and I'm thankful to Pam for the letter take-out dinner at Lassie's. Phew. Weekends.

It's Sunday now, all rain, and I need to reorganize for the week ahead in Anaheim. 

I did restock on coffee, however, so I won't have to drink sewer water with my coffee. 

Jake remains beautiful. He's such a majestic creature and I'm so happy I was able to assist and help out yesterday. Time sure does fly. 

It's Not That Nothing Happened Yesterday, But My Mind Went Into Absolute Nothing Mode and Was Absolute Mush, So Nothing Really Occurred

I edited. I went to campus and printed. I went to the optometrist and had an eye exam. I ordered pizza for dinner and I gave into the rain. I didn't nap, but I didn't accomplish much, either. Laundry was put away, dishes were done, I walked Karal, but intellectually I was absolute garbage, so it was a good-for-nothing sort of day.

That's okay, right?

I talked to my Aunt and Uncle in California for a long while, catching up on age, growth, time, Louisville, change, relations, and the aches and pains, but even then my brain was mashed potatoes. 

I caught up with friends from college, thought about the weather, but really spent the entire day looking for bed, sleep, and relaxation. 

This is all to say that I think I'm exhausted. I rarely get this way, and when I do I am frustrated with myself. But the pizza was good. Can't go wrong with Paradise. And that was the Friday that just was.

I Think It Is Friday, So I Am Thanking the Great Whatever to Process the Week That Just Was, Including Seeing @NealShusterman in Madison

I'm not even sure how everything worked so smoothly yesterday. I was at my computer on the porch until 11 a.m., stuck in traffic until about 12:30 p.m., made it to campus for a grant meeting, learned I had to do grant reporting, arrived to a department meeting just in time, left for home to meet someone to fix/repair/replace my garage door opener that blew out with the door wide open, finished that installation in the nick of time to ride with Gino and Isaiah to Madison, Connecticut, sat to be entertained, inspired, and intrigued by GLEANINGS, Neal Shusterman's 4th book in the SCYTHE series, and then became super excited by a new series that arrives next Fall.

Yes, I'm content, and I didn't even have the new virus that will appear in his upcoming novels. 

Phew. That's a Friday in Crandall world, even if this morning I'm quadrupled booked with appointments, and have much to accomplish this weekend before the NCTE conference in Anaheim, California next week. 

Gino, one of Chitunga's best friends, works in the funeral industry, so I loaned him the first book during Covid and he quickly was addicted. I was with Neal Shusterman at the North Texas Teen Book Festival in March of 2019, when we all learned we were going to be staying home for a little while -- much longer than anticipated. After I heard Shusterman speak there, I knew I needed to jump into his books, and listened to several on audio, during my 8 mile power walks to Short Beach and back. The first three were on audio books, but #4 I have autographed and in hard copy. I look forward to every page.

LOVE his shout outs to Nic Stone and Laurie Halse Anderson during the signing (and look forward to seeing both of them very soon, I hope)

But this morning, after I canceled a brunch, walked the dog, set a game plan for writing for the day, I am thankful that all was pulled off and we made it home safely. I knew I had precious cargo in my car, and am glad both Gino and Isaiah are home safely, too. 

Great evening...how can I not be content?

Their Voices Were Unanimous & the Verdict Was Reached...Graduate Students Made Arguments Why @sonyahuber's VOICE FIRST Needs to Be Taught

One of my favorite nights a year is when I get to teach argumentative writing (arggh-u-mentative writing) for middle and secondary schools. I've always been assisted by Kelly Gallagher's Write Like This, and I'm an addict of Best Practices in Writing Instruction edited by Steve Graham, Charles A. MacArthur, and Michael Hebert. Then this year, I added Sonya Huber's Voice First: A Writer's Manifesto, University of Nebraska Press, after I was given an advanced reader's copy and, fortunately was able to 'blurb' a review. I loved it, knew I wanted to teach it, set up an interview for The Write Time (see end of this post), and awaited to hear what my students would thing. 

Throughout the semester I've fed Sonya Huber some of the reactions my students have had from weekly readings, but this week I went Jack Sparrow, as I typically do on arrrgh-ument night. After we debated cats, dogs, dinosaurs or no pets (EVER!) and played a few rounds of Zobmondo, we drew from Gallagher and highlighted the importance of having five bulleted reasons for every one of the arrrghhh-uments we wish to make. 

Of course, we also listed pet-peeves, debated reasons for those, viewed political cartoons, and read Op-Eds to get a feel for the ways arguments work in Western society. My exit-slip, however, was for students to argue whether or not I should keep Sonya Huber's Voice First: A Writer's Manifesto in future iterations of this course. I was hoping for debate, but the battle was one-sided. These middle-grade, high school, and English-language learning teachers unanimously argued that, "Yes. Sonya Huber's Voice First belongs in future renditions of a graduate on teaching writing. 

The are some of the bulleted points they made (condensed for purposes of this post):

• Voice First is accessible, personal, relatable, and relevant (easy to read)
• Voice First challenges writing conventions in the best way 
• The language in Voice First is poetic and infused with raw vulnerability   
• Voice First contains the most brilliant insights 
• Voice First guides writers toward the discovery and (re)discovery of their own voice(s). 
• The content is relevant in Voice First
• Sonya Hubers’s stories are intriguing – she gives multiple experiences to make her case
• All the strategies (‘try this’ activities) in Voice First can be modified for every grade level
• The writing activities are abundant and useful in Voice First
• Sonya Huber opened my eyes to the importance of considering audiences for particular voices
• Voice First is brilliantly laid out, logical, and smooth. It was like rising a friend each week
• As I read Voice First, I realized I was instantly becoming a better writer
• Chapters in Voice First are short, with great references that are perfect for teachers
• Love Sonya Huber's asset-first, positive attitude towards teaching writers. We all can write!

Now, I knew I loved the book, but there are many books I've loved, taught, and celebrated in which students despised me for teaching them. I'm somewhat skittish about trying new books, because I love to stick to the ones that my graduate students applaud and find useful (Gallagher's Write Like This is one of the best, and I wish it was updated because it, like Ralph Fletcher's The Writer's Notebook, make K-12 teachers think differently about teaching writing. They are incredible resources). My students made the case to me that, yes, Sonya Huber's Voice First is a reliant, no-brainer, keeper! 

Last nights aarghh-uments from my graduate students were: 

• The best teachers don't inhibit or censor, but allow writers to go in their own direction through choice.
• A great teacher helps to refocus students towards a successful written outcome through mentoring.
• A teacher needs to motivate youth through variation and excitement.
• Student-interest should be paramount to the genres we expect them to write.
• Teachers should encourage purposeful, meaningful, real-world writing opportunities, and
• Voice First. Keep assigning Huber!

I most definitely heard what they had to say, and value their opinions.

My graduate students rock. Sonya Huber rocks. And I will be singing praises for Voice First next week at the National Council for Teachers of English. Okay, mates. Time to make some coffee and hit update on this Blog.

 

 

Choosing to Moon You the Day After Election Day, Only Because this Was the View From My Office Last Night (Of Course It Doesn't Do It Justice)

More covid cases on the rise with students, so once again the request was to go online with graduate courses. It was last minute, too, as positive results came from afternoon tests. Joy. Better safe than sorry. 20% of students is enough to protect us all, I suppose, and to be honest, I've come to prefer online teaching: it's more effective, efficient, and economical. We get much done without having to be stuck in traffic.

Ah, but the moon. What a wonderful display as it rose, and sadly, this photo doesn't capture any of it. It was a big ball of beautiful orange, so much so that I had to pause the class to get a photo (as uneventful as it is captured here)

And last night I got to present on one of my favorite topics: poetic narration in YA literature. It's sort of like breathing to me, and I combine NWP work with YA love, and boom, it was a great evening. Weird to think I only had two hours on the topic, but that's the way graduate school goes at Fairfield.

Meanwhile, jury duty today. Ugh....but received a text over night, that it was cancelled, and I'm relieved from the duty. Phew. 

I feel like I just got a snow day. That's how giddy I am. Relieved from jury duty...someone queue hallelujah!

Keeping reading people. Keep experience and interacting with many communities. Democracy isn't about sitting in a cave, locked up in chains, studying your own shadows. Get out there and learn. Free you minds.

It's Simply in My Blood, and Always Has Been. I Am Always Cheering and Rooting for the Underdogs, Wanting Only the Best for Them. I Love to Believe in Hope.

To be honest, Bassick High School was not necessarily an underdog, as they have incredible athletes, phenomenal coaches, and enough heart to cure all the ills in the world. They played, however, a team from Madison, Connecticut. For context, the median. family income in Madison is close to $120,000. In Bridgeport, that median is closer to $25,000. The districts serve completely different populations, so going into last night's game, I couldn't help but see the international beauty of the Bassick Lions, representing multiple nations of the world, and beginning their learning of English and a belief in the American Dream, whereas the Daniel Hand High School team represented many who have had that dream for a very, very long time. As I said to Edem, "Is it me, or do these parents look like they are heading out to their yachts after the game?" Sweaters rolled over their shoulders, boat shows, pastels of pink, yellow, and light green. They looked like human Easter eggs.

He said, "Well, when American families can spend thousands of dollars on young children to be in summer leagues, traveling teams, and the best gyms, it is hard to compete with them. These boys are well trained."

Edem graduated a year before Abu and Lossine, so I spent many nights in the stands cheering on the Nottingham Bulldogs in Syracuse. Different state. Same circumstances. I remember on parent nights, I was one of the few adults in the stands. Most parents had little chance to take time off from work to see their kids play, even when they were winning and being celebrated. This is an American reality.

Bassick scored first. They have a player that I was told about...one Edem said, "That kid can go to any Division I or right to the leagues." He had a sweet goal, and for the rest of the game moved the ball in miraculous ways. It wasn't enough, though, as the other team's defense was strong, and Bassick had a freshman goalie. He saved a lot, but he was young against the team who took multiple shots.

My Connecticut life begins with Bassick High School as I spent most of my early years writing grants with administrators and working with kids and teachers in the school. I'm fortunate, too, because I work with many of the kids through Ubuntu Academy, Writing Our Lives conferences, and with the college essay workshops each year through CAP. In the stands, many faces of young people I worked with over the years came to cheer on the lions and it was great reuniting and catching up with them.

I'm not pretending to know anything about soccer, except for what the boys have taught me, including Edem...I know World Cup is approaching fast, and I remember that during my research, life paused for games...always. It was a religion. I was indoctrinated by their love, and I also get the game for that passion (even if I still am more fanatic about college basketball). 

Dang...Edem is 30. The twins are 30. It's sort of crazy to think about how fast time flies by and how, different school in a different state, the same dynamics exist. Daniel Hand played well. Their defense was great and they had a few decent shots on offense, hence they won the game.

I suppose, though, that is what should be expected given the resources that are available to them. For me? Give me the 1st-generation kids...the ones with nets and cheers on their radar, working their tails off to make a name for themselves in the United States. Higher Education likes to throw around the words grit, hard work, perseverance, devotion, goals, and practice, but the truth is we don't really measure how much grit, how much hard work, nor how much perseverance and devotion kids on the bottom rung put into their dreams. For them, it is nothing but setting goals and practicing. They live their lives with drive, because they have to have drive to make it -- it never stops.

All of us in the United States could learn much from them, as well as from coaches like Mike Silver and Saleh Hanaif, who have dedicated their lives to these young people. They're superheroes.

Yes, it was a loss, but it's a winning team to me. They give me hope for what is possible. 

In Yesterday's Attempt for Crandall Being Chef-Boyardee, He Takes on Shrimp, Basil, and Gnocchi, with Parmesan & Thyme

Once again, I ended up making it up as I went along. I started with the intent of a creamy parmesan sauce, but having no heavy cream, I went with crushed tomatoes, cajun shrimp, parmesan, and basil.

It was flavorful and delicious, but also very filling. Gnocchi does that every time.

As for the green beans, cranberries, and sliced almonds, I failed. It wasn't me as much as it was the frozen beans I happened to use. I've grown accustomed to the beans I get from BJs that are always great and quick to make, but not having any, I went with a different brand.

Epic Fail.

But the shrimp and gnocchi dish came out great, paired well with Bev and Leo's salad, and the cheesecake Pam offered to wash it down. 

Yes, I gained an hour in the day, but I definitely spent it taking advantage of 60 more minutes of labor. For this reason, I'm waking up on Monday absolutely exhausted. The laundry is done, the lawn is mowed, the trees have been trimmed, the leaves have been mulched, and I still found time to cook a Sunday dinner. I will call that a great day. 

Of course, all leftovers when with Chitunga, so now I have to start anew this afternoon, as I figure out something to carry me through a very busy week. 

Chicken will come to the rescue, indeed. Still grilling weather outside. Balmy.

It Wasn't Until November that We Had a Firepit Fiesta at the Sealey-Wooleys, but The Cyperpunk Flames Were Worth the Wait

This Autumn season was not conducive to the evening gatherings around a fire until last night, after Dave said he was barbecuing. Upon the carrot being dangled with Old Fashions, Chitunga announced, "I'm there." And he was.

I definitely went one cheeseburger over my limit, and the pasta salads and grilled vegetables (oh, the asparagus pee smell), gave way to Dave asking an easy question. "Do we want to throw wood into the fire pit?

We did. It was necessary. All was wonderful for the world.

So the evening occurred with the usual Crandall, Sealey, Johnson, Wooley conversations and we sat outside, warm temperatures, with the wonderful light of burning ambers to guide us. Vicki Soto 5K, film at a community film, football, New Orleans Quick Center trombone parties, and Saturday music lessons behind, we ended up enjoying company with one another outdoors, in November, with the last chances for back porch and good company, most likely, until spring.

Today is Sunday. Work is ahead. Life is plentiful. 

But last night we had a fire pit and I'm still digesting all of Dave's fancy, flavorful grilling. He is a professional and I am thankful. Every single bite has so much flavor.

But today will unravel as it will. Enjoy this Sunday.

Love. Love. Love. Education. Education. Education. Community. Community. Community.

Last night, the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield sponsored the Connect with Kids Network and the Community of Fairfield for a special screening of Defining Us: Children at the Crossroads of Change, with special guests, Dr. Yolanda Sealey-Ruiz, Columbia University, Dr. Shannon King, Fairfield University, Maurice Nelson, Chief Diversity & Inclusion Officer at Sacred Heart University, Robert Johnson, Multicultural Center, Sacred Heart University, and Digna Marte, Director of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, Fairfield Public Schools.

The film was part of the diversity, equity, and inclusivity project envisioned for Fairfield Warde High School, to host a community conversation about education in Connecticut: opportunity, curriculum, and the future of U.S. schooling.

Much applause to Stacey Dewitt for her artistry and leadership, and to Tammie Workman for representing Kentucky and for being the educator in Chief with heart and mind.

I told Yolanda that I needed to recreate an iconic photo  (a picture my mother has always loved) as part of the evening. And it happened. 

That is Yolanda. Love. Love. Love. 

Education, Education, Education. Out respect for Abu and Lossine (3 things one needs to make it in this world). Community. Community. Community (three things that help any individual to achieve). 

The Fairfield Community theater was a gorgeous location to host the screening and conversation, and the best part of it for me was to see so many of the Connecticut Writing Project teacher-leaders in the audience, many of whom brought their students. 

This morning, I'm off to the Vicki Soto 5K, after picking up my brilliant friend from the Marriot and getting her to the Amtrak on time -- back to NYC she goes to do her inspirational work.

Many thanks to Dr. Rich Novack who had the vision for bringing all of us together for an evening with several community members. He's a fast, slick, and quick mover and when he gets an idea in his head, he doesn't cease until it moves into reality.

I'm much grayer than I was when a photographer first captured a similar picture of Yolanda and me hugging. Perhaps there isn't a better hugger on the planet.

I am a better human being because of her. Yolanda's scholarship is immeasurable and her aura around the beauty of teaching children is monumental. The influence she's had on my mind is ongoing and forever.

The event is definitely one of my greatest moments and I'm thrilled to have been a part of it. 

For years, the Bridgeport Higher Education Alliance worked together in support of K-12 schools and what is possible. That dismantled as retirements occurred, Presidents change, and Covid hit. Perhaps that is something that needs to be on my radar once again - a unification of powerful institutions in the region to have similar conversations with one another....removing competition, isolation, advancement, and privilege for the benefit of the homes, people, and youth around us.

But now, I'm off to the Vicki Soto 5K, with last night's event fueling my haphazard attempt to get back into the swing of things. I know I will walk, but also night I had a dream that my injuries subsided and I could fly. How nice that would be. 

Perhaps We Should Bring the Carrying Pigeons Back. I Wouldn't Mind Such Technology, nor the Anticipation of Mail

Or maybe even Paul Revere.

Or snail mail.

Crandall spent 9 hours yesterday, simply working to clear out the emails. Yes, many of them had course assignments coming in, but most of them needed immediate attention that I haven't found a second to get to...so I woke up, tackled bcrandall notifications, and found myself dizzy. Snap, I remember how it used to be, but this has quadrupled as emails are now 15-page manifestos. It is insane.

I miss the days of going to a mailbox and receiving information that I could eventually attend to and complete. Now, they come in as fast as I can read them, and yes, the majority is junk mail, but other items need an incredible amount of attention. And etiquette prevails, because there doesn't seem to be etiquette, especially the cohort that replies all, and then others reply all, etc. etc. Etc. Some of them I have to search 30 minutes just to find the reason they were originally sent.

Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.

But many need more attention, where I need to jump onto Excel, or Workday, or a grant, or a research proposal, or a recommendation, or a grade, and then I have to go into my digital folders to work on a solution. I'm thinking about the filing cabinets in my office and now thinking, "are they obsolete? Any reason to keep all the paper now?" 

Nope. I don't think so. 

But a pigeon would be nice. I could wait a couple of days and respond, then send a pigeon back. Even an owl like in the Potter movies.

The instantaneous demand of email, however, is something else (and the ones that follow seconds later with a text that asks, "Did you get my email," is even more inane. 

But I did narrow them down quite a bit.

Y'all, it's Friday. A day of Zoom K'boom and a really special event at a community theater to promote exactly what I believe in most....community. Human togetherness. What people working with people accomplish most...

...more on that tomorrow. 

For now, I'm just glad I got emails out of the 10,000s to a couple of hundred. That is so satisfying.