Man vs. Self. Well, Frog vs. Man. Okay. Frog vs. Frog = Self vs. Self. Thursday Self-Portrait

This is end-of-the-semester Crandall trying to impede on another variation of end-of-the-semster Crandall, ....at the end of the semester.

I am trying to hang on to all the crazy that just was at the same time I'm looking ahead to all the crazy scheduled to come.

This, of course, arrives with a publication due date, the publication of an article that I didn't think was coming out quite yet, and the video recordings to come over the next few weeks (a partnership between National Writing Project and Penguin Random House)

Uh, boys. I am not cooking. Fend for yourselves. Oh, You got me Chipotles? Can I tell you how much I love you? It's an epidemic? Oh, that's right. I kind of like not having to interact with people but in digital spaces...Wait...that's un-American. Oops. My bad. Yes. Yes! It will all return to normal. Yes, I want it to return to better, not normal. It's due when? What do you mean we need more lactose free milk? How fast do you drink that stuff? How many times do you think the bathtub really needs to be cleaned in a week? I think you have a fetish.

I'm on day 3 of the 12-hour ZOOM life and I am pretty much done. I can't see straight and have no idea what is going on. All I know is that I've been climbing upon myself to stay balanced, and at this point of the semester, I'm falling off the tree. It's all good. This too shall pass.

And all will be reborn anew. That's the way the cycle goes.

The April showers end today. Bring on the May flowers over the next month, okay?

Ribbit Ribbit.

Still Working From Home, Thankful for @reallyrosebrock, and Chalked One Up To the Sun - I Barbecued Outside

I was gifted this face-mask, bad-boy yesterday from the incredible, beautiful, inspiring, and hard-working Dr. Rose Brock, and I can't wait to wear it in public. It's the first facemark gifted to me, and I am extremely thankful. Chitunga, Edem, and I have been looking like that scene from A Christmas Story when we head out, all wrapped-up in scarves, hoodies, and gloves. We look more like we're about to have a snowball fight than 21st century Covid-19 warrior. This seems more official, and it has my favorite four-letter word in the English language.

HOPE. (I made it pink for Rose).

So thankful for Dr. Brock's Hope Nation. Her irreplaceable friendship over the last couple of years, especially as we themed last summer based on her book: The Superpower of Hope, means the world to me. I am blessed.

In the meantime, I was the world's worst employee yesterday and used the voices of 147 people in a general faculty meeting to make Animoji's that were too perfect and precious to keep to myself. I'd post, but that is totally unprofessional and inconsiderate. It is a lot of fun, though, to set Animoji's to faculty conversations. It makes it much more interesting.

And when the 3.5 hour meeting ended, and I wrote, and I graded, and I read, and I wrote, I went for a long run and then said, "Uck it. I'm cooking outside tonight. Too beautiful of a day," - which it was.

I used spices sent from my little sister for my birthday on burgers, put potato and onions in tinfoil on the grill, and steamed up some green beans on the stove. Without a doubt, it was absolutely delicious (I might say perfection, too, but no one joined me). I had to eat alone. 9 burgers made, and Chitunga was taking a final exam, Edem was working out at the soccer field, and my neighbors said they already ate. But I tried.

I ate, then did deliveries of two of the burgers, and returned upstairs to my office/bedroom and finished up evening projects.

Today is Wednesday, however, the first gray day of four gray days predicted in a row (and the only one not predicting rain). I'm glad I took advantage of the day, especially trying on the face-mask sent to me.

Tremendous love, right here.

I am extremely appreciative.

Reaching that Saturated Place of the Semester, but Refueled by Awesome Graduate Students and the Possibilities of What's to Come

Have I mentioned that I'm on my 2nd composition book of notes I've taken from Zoom meetings?

Have I mentioned that yesterday, I was on ZOOM from 7 a.m. until 7 p.m., only to be followed by the fact that my Merit application for the University was due (whoops)?

Ah, but yesterday was a celebration: (1) Chitunga and I returned two items on our lunch break - for me a piece of glass for the fridge...sent the wrong size, and for him a fan that wasn't powerful enough (1st world problems, I know). We, otherwise nerded out in our rooms.

For me, I had student meetings, teacher meetings, National Writing Project meetings, a search committee meetings, Academic Council meetings, and a class to teach.

Thank the Great Whatever for the class. They rocked it. Last night they presented to one another, conference symposium style, their research for the semester, especially in a time of Covid-19 when halfway through the semester we all had to adapt quickly. Seriously, the innovation, flexibility, creativity, and ingenuity of these pre- and in-service teachers needs to be celebrated and showcased. They collected data on:

• at risk youth,
• gaming and play in the classroom,
• learning disabilities,
• teaching comprehension to students on the autism spectrum,
• balancing work/life stress for personal wellness,
• bringing art into the science classroom,
• adapting Maslow's pyramid to sudden online learning in an urban district,
• classroom arrangements for what works best with all students, and
• funding Catholic Schools in a period of low enrollment.

I wished several of my colleagues were available view/experience their questions, contexts, literature review, methodologies, findings, and conclusions. More amazing to me were the ways they thought on their feet to move online quickly, and to discover other ways of knowing. 

I have to say, too, that in terms of presentations and efficiency, the ZOOM format as a conference/ symposium technique worked exceptionally well. In fact, I might even say it did better than in-face presentations. It was crisp, targeted, and a better use of time. I definitely made note of it.

I'm simply proud of my students for carrying forward their initial plans and persevering as we lost access to our data points, our hard work, and our intentions. Still, they were able to adapt to a period of Covid-19 and unravel findings that are unique to this period of time. What they found from the materials they gathered was very educational and enlightening, especially in a period such as this.

With that noted, and after updating materials for Merit, I'm officially starting Tuesday completely brain-dead. Even so, ZOOM meetings begin in 3....2....1.

This too shall pass.

It's Monday, Y'all. Day 47 of the Quarantine. & on the 46th Day, I Took a Break From Writing and Got Drenched

This is what happens when you don't take advantage of the 7 a.m. to 10 a.m. period on a Sunday when it is not raining. I need my coffee folks, and I've never been a rise and shine runner. Instead, I'm a late morning, early afternoon runner who needs caffeine and Raisin Bran to kick in.

Yet, yesterday I locked myself to my desk until 3 p.m., promising myself I'd get more on top of a writing project. At 3, I looked at the clock and said, "You need to take a break and get something to eat." I decided to drop a book off at my friend's house in Fairfield, then decided to get gas and come home and cook dinner - a delicious beans, vegetables, mushroom, beef dish with a coconut curry sauce. As a variation of the Crandall special, it only took seconds to make. I also made a batch of Brownies (warm fuzzies for the boys, because if they weren't here, I would never do shit like that).

At 5 p.m., I said, "Look. It's not raining," and grabbed Glamis, my Ibram X. Kendri audio book, and a rain jacket and announced, "We're heading out for a book walk. Will be home in an hour."

Twenty minutes out, it became a downpour. I was lucky, because I had my rain slicker on, but Glamis was drenched....so much so that it took two towels to dry her off.

By six, I was back at my desk writing. Actually, I was putting jewelry onto my piece by creating tables that would help me to cut several pages in a summative form. Phew. There's an art to table-making and even that takes much longer that one plans. Either way, I completed two for the project, and only have one more to go.

It's Monday, and the downpour yesterday was symbolism for it. Today, the meetings are back (I actually celebrated the fact that I didn't have one ZOOM obligation on Sunday...not one), and we close out Action Research with a night of presentations. Until then, I'm committed to back to back conference calls. Oh, glorious day.

But I also have gratitude for Kelly Chandler Olcott who invited me into a writing accountability group of 30 minutes a day over the the next month (and I can't count my blog. She didn't tell me that, I'm telling myself)(and Saturday & Sunday already brought me to 16 hours for the weekend). We got to write when can, otherwise it never gets done.

Here's to sunnier days expected later in the week.

Because I Woke Up Early and Looked at Potential Paint Colors, Yesterday Went Nothing According to Plan

In between 7 a.m. coffee and a day in my home office, I procrastinated slightly to think about possible colors to repaint my living room. I found a color at Sherman Williams called kryptonite, a blue-ish gray and said, "Stop farting around. You won't have any time to do house projects for the next couple of weeks."

I headed upstairs to start writing and did so until 2 p.m., when the blue skies and sun called me outside for a run. When I finished, I returned to find Chitunga out back looking around. "What are you into?" I asked, knowing the look he had on his face. "Oh, I was thinking about redoing the fire pit."

I was like, "Ugh," because I needed to be indoors." I gave him the credit card and said, "You're braver than me if you want to be at Home Depot today."

He was gone for a long while, and returned with sheers and a picket axe. That isn't fire pit material. "It was packed." He also had four blocks of cinder...not sure why. I helped him carry things out back, but it was so warm, I knew I couldn't talk myself into returning indoors. The next thing I know we're leveling the fire pit, cutting down branches, and laboring like beavers. Of course, he got frustrated that leveling is not easy, and gave up, moving to tackle the garage (which is a disaster, because we need to do a dump run. We have too much shit). I was working on the fire pit, when he gave up on the garage and said, "I'm going to go get a new ceiling fan."

His chain broke last night. We have cathedral ceilings. Long story short, our ladder didn't reach, so we had to borrow from neighbors. Then, the ceiling fan he bought isn't the kind that can hand from cathedral ceilings, so as sunset arrived, I said, "We need to clean up, because it will be dark soon and all the electricity upstairs is turned off. Neither one of us will enjoy that."

Edem, the house electrician, worked on securing the wires and then Chitunga did research for the parts he would need for the ceiling fan could be hung properly. At 8 pm he drove to go find an oscillating fan so he could return mine. We both sleep better with the hum.

I went next door to have a beer by a fire pit (he joined us later - six feet distancing).

Truth be told, I told him, "Thank you for hitting so many items on my to-do list for me in one day, because I need to get my ass in gear. I wasn't ready to do anything for a couple more weeks, but thank you for reminding me how awesome it feels to work on getting shit done.....home shit. Not work shit."

Of course, nothing was finished, but we're in the ebb and flow.

I can tell he's pretty much done with classes, and his busy-body nature is looking for next things to do. It might be a very long summer, however, if he doesn't finish the tasks he sets out to do.

This was all summoned, of course, because I had the audacity to begin looking at paints. Truth is, I also ordered Frog tape online so we can begin lining floorboards and cabinets to begin. Mt. Pleasant is getting a makeover. Considering we haven't painted a single room, this is okay.

We do, however, need to clear out the garage and get the ceiling fan up. This won't happen until at least May 1st when the fan part comes in. The dad/teacher in me just let's what happens happen, so the real learning can occur. But I am thinking: fire pit, garage, ceiling fan without completing any project all in one afternoon, might be a little more "Squirrel! Squirrel!" than even I am.

We are going to paint, though. I know it.  And today it will rain all day, so not much outdoor play for any of us.

For Some Reason I Feel It is Important to Chronicle Hair Growth During the Covid-19 Epidemic

Every morning, I wake up, get my coffee, read my papers, then come back upstairs for the office grind...which is really the bedroom that I've made into my office. I sit down, open the laptop, and start my day, but first I need to chronicle my hair. In person, I'm also entirely gray on the sides and beard. But it's growing out, and (don't laugh) I can almost get a man-bun on top. It makes me wonder, "Might I have one more opportunity in life to become a postmodern hippie-boy? To resurrect my 20s?"

And then I get to work. Yesterday, I sat from 8 a.m. until 9:37 p.m. with only one break at 5 for a run in the rain as it exited and while the sun finally came out. To be fair, the 8 to 9:37 project was collegial from friends across the U.S. via Zoom.

I have to laugh because my colleague, Dr. Smith, wrote yesterday to ask, "Do you know what is the first thing I remember about you?" It was during my interview when then, Pat Calderwood, Chair of the Department, told her I said to her, "Yeah. I run everyday, but I'm a fat runner."

She thought was funny.

Well, now I'm a fatter runner. At one point, Chitunga came into my room to share this new exercise wheel he got to build his core. He was rolling around my room as if he was a human vacuum cleaner and when I tried, I was able to get down, but not back up.  I told him, "It feels like Henry the Hernia is coming back with a vengeance. Help me up." I wish I was one of those people that can turn an epidemic into an exercise blitz and weight loss program (you know the kind - they post exercising every day and model incredible accountability).

Nope. I have maple-glazed donuts in the house.

Last night, Chitunga also broke the chain on his ceiling fan. Looks like we will be repairing that this weekend. We're two for one now. And he took my floor fan out of my room so he could sleep. I NEED THAT HUM. "I need that hum, too, dad. And you're ceiling fan works!" Oh, but it makes so many noises. I didn't sleep much last night, needless to say.

In the meantime, I got ahead on an overdue writing project (that is, if I can claim getting ahead on something overdue) and also did a couple other writing projects needing my attention. I also had one-on-one ZOOM sessions with graduate students who either have or have lost people to COVID-19. It is cruel. I don't have a lot of students, so the percentages are really high. The worst part is losing family members with no ability to congregate and mourn. It's taking its toll. They simply are numb right now and I totally understand.

And I'm channeling good ol' flexibility and empathy to do whatever it takes for them to meet objectives on a timeline that is fair to them.

Today is supposed to be sunny and I know it will invite me outside, but I have to hunker back at the computer. I must yell to the Great Whatever, however, how thankful I am to the lady next door who I have been shopping for. Tonight, she delivered the most delicious lasagna with sausage I've ever had. Chitunga and I couldn't believe how good it was (and lucky for us, Edem doesn't do cheese or pork, so we got extra helpings).

Okay, world...here's to another day.

I'm In Awe with the Perseverance, Positivity, Integrity, and Strength of the Class of 2020. I Applaud Them

Chitunga returned from LeMoyne a few weeks ago, cheated out of the last 7 weeks of his semester, completing a Masters degree in person, and carrying forth with a graduation. Instead, he returned home, hunkered into his books and routines, rearranged his furniture to make a make-shift office, and kept himself on schedule.

Last spring, he wouldn't allow us to celebrate his undergraduate graduation because, as he said, "I want to complete something better." That is what he's been doing as a EY scholar for the past year. Arrangements were being made for two parties - one in Syracuse and one in Connecticut. He was finally going to allow me to applaud his hard work, achievements, and his stepping out into the world.

We'll still figure out a plan, but I'm not sure what that will be. For now, he and I have fallen into our routines. We're both up early and grunt over coffee, but then shut ourselves in our rooms. Edem works from downstairs, because he has the 1st floor to himself. Glamis cons all of us, and walks three times a day and also receives too many bowls of food (we need to get better at marking who has fed her and when). Each of us take off in different directions for physical exercise when the time is right - Edem usually in the morning (he is weight-lifting with the rocks from the back yard), me later with my 5K, and Chitunga while the sun sets, either at a high school track or at the beach.

Then it is work all night, sometimes dinner together, and occasionally a show to unwind. Chitunga is  2 of 4 courses away from his graduate degree, and although he has to study for his licensing exams, he will have freedom in his schedule that he's not had in 6 years...space to be human. His nose has been in the grind, balancing books, internships, jobs, apprenticeships, and payments. When he is suddenly released and closer to fine, as the Indigo Girls might sing, he will be introduced to a whole new calendar of time and space.

Of course, that space to be inhabited is limited right now and for the unforeseen future.

And I'm thinking about my graduate students and seniors at Fairfield University - the ones I've been lucky to work with. They all remain upbeat, real, and high-spirited even with the gloom and bummer that has been 2020. I am also reading how some high schools are creating roadways filled with photos of every senior in recognition of their time in the K-12 cycle. The Brown in KY, where I taught, has announced they are featuring a senior a day on social media. That's nice. These individuals deserve recognition, applause, and a milestone in the journey.

It's important. It matters. I wonder, too, how this generation of young people will look back at this time. For generations, we've been able to offer a better world to those stepping out into it, but this is a rough time right now. I can't make predictions yet, but I imagine they are internalizing it all and will come back with a fight like we've never seen before.

That's what we must hope for.

Reunited & It Felt So Good - The Diva, The Frog, & The Magic Box - A Workshop Going (& Growing) Strong for 20+

As an undergrad, I took my first poetry class with David Bosnick (a brilliant mind who owned a book store, wrote poetry, played football, married Liz Rosenberg, and later became a middle school teacher). He was the first poet I studied under at Binghamton University and had an amazing effect on me. Our first assignment was a Magic Box poem that came from a book he assigned: Pull ten words out of a box...then, try to link them together in any way you can.
Fast forward. Teaching in Kentucky during the age of Portfolio assessments kids entered poems to their writing portfolio, and I used to assign a goal of 30 new poems a year, including the Magic Box poem. Over time, however, I adapted this exercise as the first activity where I could teach them how to play with the ten words as I prompted them to work in rhyme, alliteration, imagery, sensory rich language, etc. (see instructions). 

From the original 10 words pulled from a magic box, students would then brainstorm another 60 - 100 words. I created a game of crossing numbers (words with the 1st word with words from your 7th word, words from your 2nd word with words from your 6th word, etc. - finding ways to mix and match language in a rhythm and pattern enjoyable by you).

Magic Box Poem Instruction - Double Click to
Enlarge.

Time Warp to the night Attallah Sheppard (DIVA!) came to meet Kwame Alexander, the twins, and I for dinner.  Her cousin, Alicia Smith, who partnered with me on a Writing Our Lives conference, invited her. Kwame was the Keynote (this was right before his career really took off) and he challenged this fresh-out-of-Howard University brilliant mind to a poetic duel. She delivered. I asked her to perform at the conference the next day and, alas, many many many times since. So, my workshop from KY morphed into The Diva, The Frog, & The Magic Box, where she performed several titles from her work.

Yesterday, Attallah  and I had the honor to work with teachers from the Red Mountain Writing Project (and others from across the nation who ZOOM'd in). My original words were 1. Beach, 2. Civil Right, 3. Camellia (state flower of Alabama), 4. Northern Flicker (state bird of Alabama), 5. John Coltrane, 6. Red Mountain, 7. Albaamaha (native people of Alabama, 8. 16th Street Baptist Church, 9. Human Race, and 10. Love. I played along with the prompts I gave teachers and wrote a poem myself. 

Attallah, of course, performed her magic (as she's done in Syracuse, NYC, Fairfield, New London, Chicago, and many other spaces and places (she should be on everyone's invite-list). And I did the workshop for teachers (having as much fun as when working with middle and high school kids). I post the directions and my model today so that others can steal from it. It's a workshop that works, and if you want kids to poetically play - especially during National Poetry Month - then this is for you.

The  poem from yesterday's workshop? Well, it's below. 

Dear Red Mountain 

Albaamaha, Hello, Chíkmaa,

Without the need to preach, I come in peace…

with poetic outreach,

                 and hopes this speech will thank you,      
            alila mo, 

      for lighting fires the bear no longer knows…

I write to you,

    children of lacrosse, teachers of cradleboard

          & speakers of dugout canoes,

as my imagination grows

  in a race & restoration of human rights,

in belief of sincere peace-making, and 

with a desire for the simplicity 

            of caressing hope & sparkled dreams.

We are the warriors, sincere, 
sequined with beliefs, 

ready to restore silver linings from memories,

and to believe in the finesse,  human togetherness -  
        Ubuntu, you, me, them, us

        discovering how to love

                      without destroying,

harnessing the grudges 

        without hurting ourselves, 

                    & keeping from falling victim 

        to the slippery wreckage 

            caused by the few.

How are you, my teachers? 

Your children? 

Their love?

Have you taught those lemony lessons 

    through letters written in the mail?

               Have you shared the citrus summer scent 

of Camellia, 

    a goodnight, poetic hug for kids? 

                        a morning coffee with colleagues?

          It’s a way to walk, hand in hand, Birmingham

        while sipping jasmine tea 

          and rising up 

in shared songs of forgiveness,

           an orchestration for helping others 

 to think on their own.

I write as a northern flicker,
with lessons taught from 16th Street Baptist Church

             tippetty-tippetty-tippetty tapping -

                  in a pinch of history -

            and with prayers for men and women             

                          marching arm in arm.

& I am the vip, vip, vip, vip, vip, vip call of state birds

woven with a heart that pulls me toward a better world, 

reminds me to fight for laughter and innocence,

          for Addie Mae & Carole, 

gospels and goosebumps,

    Cynthia & Denise, 

        four girls with their eyes to the sky, 

                                                                and God,

                              tippetty-tippetty-tippetty tapping,

                                                                 oh, God,

       meeting the bombs & hatred of ignorant men.

I write for us to sing, Red Mountain,

     to bring instrumental hues

         to our villages, to the youth

                 gearing up for success,

                    & to be melodies  for the moon’s moods-

a serenity for John Coltrane’s smoky-bourbon blues,

            to be served like fried chicken from Cafe Dupont

                          with a side-order of potatoes, 

                             mashed, crookneck squash, smashed

                   in writing projects of possibilities and dreams.

I write with you, Alabama, alila mo

     from the yellow hammer of a teacher’s pen….

  inviting you to write with students,

                    again and again,

                  from a magical box of your own.

And the thing I love about this poem the most? The fact that I have a Northern Flicker living in my backyard in Connecticut and right before I went online for the workshop, he was on my back deck looking at me through the window. I simply whispered his way, "This one's for you, bud."

Well, it was for them, too.

Rounding the Corner to See 'Here's Where We At: Basquiat' Took Me By Surprise: End of the Semester, Already?

I didn't see it coming.

The last class, that is, where I am finished leading the charges, right before they do presentations and attend workshops for their final projects. It's hard for me to believe that midway this semester we all had to jump online (even if I did have potential ZOOM class listed on my syllabi for most dates in the spring because of speaking engagements and conflicts. I wanted students to know that there might be dates that we wouldn't be meeting face-to-face and have to be online).

Um, who would have guessed it would become mandated for almost half the semester? When I saw it was a last class for me, I asked, "Where we at?" which invoked Basquiat, so I chose that as my theme for the evening (all to the joy of Ish-iat, the child prodigy who is making art down the street). Basquiat's art served as the evening's backdrop.

In The Literate Learner: Developing Readers in Middle and Secondary Schools, content area teaches read about best practices for teaching reading, interview adolescent readers, and design reading instruction that marries the research and what they learn from youth. My gig is this: research is good and all, but the best way to figure out what one should do next as a reading teacher is to get to know the kids. Hence, I assigned an adolescent interview and an analysis of what the kids told  them. From there, they act like doctors, and using other course readings justify a redesign of three specific reading lessons they can offer that addresses the reading habits reported to them by the teen They have to include the play-by-play, the resources, the supplemental materials, the hand-outs, the questions, and the pacing. They also have to justify every choice they make. It's one of my favorite courses to teach because I took to heart that listening to youth is best practice when I did my doctoral research at Syracuse.

With my promotion of EALs and students with disabilities, too, I also engaged students with a series of reading activities to remind them that English is very difficult. We did a few slides before building up to Gerard Nolst Trenité's "The Chaos" poem and we watched some of Harry Baker's Spoken Word pieces, including "Paper People" (see below).

Why? We're all in this alphabet soup together trying to find meaning and understanding and knowledge and safety and hope and wonder and aid and entertainment. Accessing this at its core is a language issue, and English is not easy. I want my AP Lang/AP English teachers to realize what they do is brilliant, but so is the every day work of TESOL educator offering first words to a student and special education teachers who work one-one-one addressing the needs of their students.

All language is miraculous and helping others to fall in love with it is the greatest career an individual can have. The best teachers are artists. The best communicators (performers/writers/dreamers) are those that see the magic in words. Building lifelong readers is a promotion of language: its complexities, its variations, its annoyances, the sounds, and the clever ways we can rearrange it to showcase its beauty.

Cousins. So Thankful for Mark Crandall for Continuing to Teach Me (There are Stories Everywhere)

Here's the skinny. The move to online teaching, especially for a graduate course on Action Research in Education where all data collection has required quick pivots in the stay-at-home direction, has required tremendous ingenuity. Still, thinking fast and creatively is something of a superpower I've been blessed to have. We are in the final weeks of the course, but we're on the 7th week or so of digital learning.

I try to be creative with metaphors.

Last night's theme was Beaches. I used calming backgrounds to soothe, and remind us there's a better world. Previously, I did puppies, kittens, cartoons, etc. but went with Beaches this week.

And the topic was data analysis and naming themes from our findings. I modeled a potential question, "How might a 9th grade teacher better approach an ecological unit on beach ecosystems given the reality of COVID-19?" The data collected, I told them, was a photo essay on beach life, beach news since January 1st, 2020, and an interview of my cousin who lives near a beach. NOTE: the photo essay was on fishing from the piers of an empty bay, the articles included controversies in Florida amidst reopening the beaches, an article about Native Americans on Long Island and diminishing beaches, and an article about the Beach Boys creating an international petition to help them break a contract with an appearance to protest another guest - all three different angles of beach life.

I sent my cousin, Mark, three open ended questions and asked him to rift a response and record his answers on his phone. He lives in Amgansett, and although he's busy working hard with Hoops4Hope for a COVID-19 response throughout African communities, I asked if he could find a couple minutes to reflect on what beaches mean to him.

The goal, of course, was to put the photo essay, the news articles, and my cousins words in conversation with one other. From there, my graduate students were to make statements that collapsed the data (these, I said, can be themes named from your data collection and topics to write about).

My cousin's response was beautiful...so much so that I had to post on YouTube so I could have it for workshops (especially when modeling how stories are everywhere and how place-based narration is something we can do with K-12 kids. I'd love to have 100s of responses like Mark's).

His recording is worth listening to: it is genuine, heart-felt, familiar, and educational. There are so many ways I might use this with K-12 students.

After the photo essay, the audio from Mark, and the articles, the following assertions were provided by my graduate students: (1) For individuals who have strong relationships to locations where the ocean meets the sand, climate changes and human behaviors have been alarming, (2) Beaches, and even musicians who borrow their name, are not void of the political debates of the United States right now, and (3) Ecological studies of wetlands, including beaches, are relevant to 9th grade science curriculum, especially when current events are included.

When I set out to begin this academic tidbit for a Monday night class (late Sunday night), I had no idea it would come together as smooth as it did.

Thank you, Mark.

"...salt in my veins and learned to crawl on the sand."

It was a sliver of the night's instruction, but in my mind Mark's words took the "research model" all the way home. He has many stories in him, but this one seemed to come at exactly the right time.

Poetic. Educational. Inspiring. Relevant.

Love including family within the work. Ubuntu.

"Hey, Crandall. Take a Photo in a @CWPFairfield Hat and Drop Me a Couple of Lines for Why You Love the @WritingProject." Um, Okay.

I wasn't up ten minutes when I got a request from one of my favorite students of all time who is doing a project on CWP for a course she is taking at Fairfield University. Yes, two people call me Crandall....Dr. Kelly Chandler-Olcott and Stefania. I should also note that the Sealey-Wooleys call me Crandalls - the 's' is Ish-Specific.

Stefania is creating an Adobe Sparks presentation about the National Writing Project, and she says, "Just drop me a couple of lines." I should probably note, too, that Stefania was my service learning associate when she was a sophomore, and has been a leading go-to undergraduate with all our summer programs. She follows me with a whiteboard organizing all my thoughts as I mumble them out lout.

My response to her? Well, it was free-form and what was contained in my head once I trapped it with a CWP-Fairfield cap to cover my COVID-19, morning head. Later in the afternoon I was telling my red-headed sister, Susan the Floridian Red-Headed Pelican, that I sort of like what I ranted to Stefania. So, I'm posting it here, too:

“Robin Hood, the legendary outlaw made famous through tales of 15th century England (the crafty imp who went up against the rich and powerful and who thieved resources for the poor), has been a metaphor for me as a Director of a National Writing Project site.  

With 24+ years in urban education, and as witness to the lack of funding and resources for America’s schools, I look for ways to do what is just and right. We know what successful writing instruction looks like and we know that young people can write, are willing to write, and use writing for purposes meaningful to them. Yet, because of bureaucracies, administrations, testing services, and Panopticism (Foucault, 1977) in our schools, best practices for teaching writing are often absent.  

As an educator, the National Writing Project mission saved me. After attending the Louisville Writing Project in the summer of 2001, my teaching practices were reborn. Finally I was with a band of women and men who subversively chose to do what is best for kids, by standing up to poor decisions made by bureaucrats. We stood as strong literacy leaders who were taking instruction back into our own hands. The teachers-teacher-teachers mission provided a community for like-minded individuals who loved teaching, were passionate about kids, and who had the strength to stand up for what is “write". Of course, all of this was/is accomplished through committing words to the page. 

As CWP-Fairfield’s Director, I see my role as a man with thread. I look to communities that may never have an opportunity to interact with one another. I try to use this thread to bring them together. Why? A shared humanity, the core of the Ubuntu philosophy. I am, because we are. Through writing, communities are built. Through sharing writing, communities grow stronger. From the strength of writing, people begin to see how similar they are, rather than the opposite.  

So much of our history has created thus vs. them mentality that justifies our zip code apartheid we currently reside in. It’s unjust, and that is why I love doing what I do - helping people to find joy in one another and to celebrate this beautiful thing called life. And for me, the teachers I work with, and the young people we serve, the most beautiful way to celebrate life is through the Power of Words. You gotta write, a’ight!? 

Writing is the way to go: it’s therapeutic, informative, educational, reflective, purposeful, entertaining, and healing. That’s why I love what I do.”

Welcome back to Monday, y'all. I'm counting my blessings, because I'm still able to work and continue the crazy pace. I spent most Saturday and Sundays continuing the work I do, but also take time to barbecue, run a little further, and watch a movie or two with the Homefront. Ah, but the week ahead?

It's insane. But we got this (hiccup hiccup), especially that book chapter that needs some of that Crandall thread doing its thing.

Kicks, Poetics, Books, the Baker, & He Cooks a Somewhat Productive Weekend

On Friday, they came. I tried them on to walk around the house and determined I needed to return them. They felt like orthopedic shoes. I bagged them up to mail back to Saucony. Yesterday morning, however, after a day of writing, I took them out and said, "At least try them for a run."

I did. They were great. Yes, I have really skinny ankles designed to hold up my Ripley body. I'm accustomed to running as if I'm Mr. Potato Head. It's how I'm built.

It was cold, but I went far and it felt great. So great, that I returned home to make eggs for the boys (they sleep in) and then head back to my home office (well, bedroom). I'm getting used to this space and love the view outside the window. I've also filled two notebooks full of notes I've taken from ZOOM meetings the past several weeks.

I have a writing project way over due, and a special presentation coming this week, so I am spending the weekend chiseling away at them. What does The Crossover, Monster, Solo, Fresh Ink, and Long Way Down have in common with William Shakespeare? Well, they'll be featured in an upcoming book chapter that I've been chiseling away at every chance I get (not featured is Dear Martin and Dear Justice, because both of them are loaned to others - I need them back to finish this writing!).

I also spent a couple of hours writing one of my Crandall poems (which I'll share later in the week) - one that comes from the Magic Box workshop that I'll be modeling for the Red Mountain Writing Project in Birmingham, Alabama. I have the ten things I pulled out of the box, including new knowledge like the state flower (camellia), the state bird (northern flicker), and several Albaaamaha words (from the original people of the state).

It's coming together and I hope to gift it to their site.

I also improvised Alice's special cake, because I didn't have any chocolate chips. I only had peanut butter chips. I think it would be better with chocolate cake (but I only had yellow - we haven't tried it yet, but will soon). I was thinking that it might have a nice, rich peanut butter flavor that would be great with ice cream.

UPDATE: Tried the cake. Wusah! Will be doing that again.

I'm awaiting verdicts, as I delivered pieces to my neighbor and to Leo who was building a bigger bar for Pam (adhering to the 6 ft rule, of course)

Today is likely to be more of the same. I need to get ready for Monday and Tuesday graduate courses (this is the last week for my guiding of them - next week they present to their peers). I need to read the chapters I assigned and to finalize last-minute instruction.

But, for the most part, I need to spend today writing, because I have two writing commitments following that are somewhat big and need pacing, organization, creativity, and vision. Nothing like finishing one project by procrastinating with bigger projects - that's the cycle (and so on, and so on)

And it's actually good to have Edem and Chitunga home. Edem is chattier than Chitunga, but both of them are equally clean and divide and conquer different chores that I can't keep up with. Edem also said today he's willing to give painting the house a try. In all seriousness, this would be extremely helpful as I'm locked behind my laptop all the time and never can get to the larger projects that exist in my head.

The other large project I want to attempt is to enlarge the fire pit as a space this summer. I know the garden is going to expand, but I'm thinking about blowing out the area where we burn shit and drink beers (it's something I inherited as a Son of a Butch).

Meanwhile, I keep monitoring the nation. None of us knows what is going to happen, but we do know that social distancing is the greatest weapon we have to save lives. The medical field and research world is not shy about sharing the realities and numbers, but we choose otherwise. We shall see.

Murphy's law # 4235.23: If Crandall is Responsible to Oversee an Important ZOOM Call, The Road Repair Will Come

I've been working from my second floor, where the quiet serenity of Mt. Pleasant is a blessing and where tranquility rides in tandem with home-stay and birds chirping as the nests are being built in the rafters underneath my roof.

That is, of course, until I'm responsible for chairing an important meeting where my job is to remind everyone that they should be online with mute hit, and the most professional respect that can be mustered in digital spaces.

Why wouldn't a road crew come out of nowhere and decide it's the perfect time to chisel out a piece of pavement right outside my window as I begin the important conversation?

Drill Drill Drill Drill. Crash. Honk Honk. Drill Drill Drill Kaboom. Zonk.

"Hey, guys. Look at that dog in the window."

This happened as I'm apologizing online narrating the seconds as they play out.

"There's a road crew walking up my driveway to take pictures of Glamis who is sunbathing in my window."

I wasn't making this up.

That was a highlight of my Friday of digital conferencing and while I was doing my best to maintain composure and keeping the integrity of the profession on the table.

"Holy fucking shit, guys. We need to clean this shit up."

Reality.

"I apologize to all if you're hearing any of this," I say, closing my windows. "Apparently now is the right time for construction on Mt. Pleasant."

Here's to the crazy, the joy, the insanity, and the inevitable. I was thankful, later on, when Chitunga volunteered to go get Thai food for dinner and to support our local economy.

As the ZOOM call ended, the trucks left. That's just the way it has always been and will always be.

I try.

TGIF: Covid-Hair/Don't Care...One More Day of Consummate ZOOM Meetings (Then Actual Time to Work)

Four of the last five days have been 8 a.m. until 8 p.m. ZOOM meetings, back-to-back. I've posted with my distractions (poetry, dog walks, spring flowers - just to make it seem like there was calm in the world). The trouble with holding one job, which actually two jobs, with no CWP administrative support is that...well...in times like this - it's simply overwhelming.

Meetings with potential grant foundations, meetings with K-12 teachers, meeting with the wonderful national network, meetings with research participants, meeting with potential summer instructors (if there will be a summer), meeting with colleagues, meeting with collaborators...

It's just been a lot of ZOOM - too much ZOOM. Granted, we are a particular type of human being who work in higher education, and those of us who have National Writing Project jobs (and network voraciously with K-12 schools) are another breed of animal, too.

We know what works. We fight for it. Yet, it's one obstacle after another. I will go to my grave stating, "We know what works. We know what is best. We know how to succeed. Yet, our infrastructures, systems, and institutions will stand in the way every time."

State and federal support has all but disappeared.

Meanwhile, teachers and administrators (and young people and their families) want more excellence because they love it and they benefit. It's very frustrating.

Of course there's this Covid-19 thing, too, that is hitting us each and every day. The grief is creeping in as more and more close-to-home stories become reality. We are 30+ days of online teaching and absolute lockdown. The numbers have not dwindled. We hope for the best. For some that get it it, it is brutal. Others are luckier. It's a strange bugger, this one.

But I did wash my hair yesterday. I got up at 7 a.m. and said, "Crandall, let's start today with optimism and hope. Take a shower, then drink some coffee before you head up stairs for the 1st 8 a.m. call." And That's what I did. Then, I spent almost 12 hours at my desk behind a screen.

I'm fine. I'm just exhausted...

Trying to keep graduate students going until the finish line, colleagues high-fiving on University work, teachers doing good work with their K-12 students, and writing more grants so there's a slight chance we can maintain the CWP excellence established since 2011 at the University.

All of this, of course, from a single chair on the 2nd floor of Mt. Pleasant.

It's something.

Hope Hope Hope Hope Hope Hope.

Loving the Purple Lawns in CT Right Now as Early Spring Reminds Us There's Hope (a Potential Rebirth)

One of the perks of social distancing is the numerous walks Glamis gets each day (well, I only walk her once, and Edem walks her, and Chitunga walks her), and on her 2nd walk yesterday (my walk), she and I went 4 miles out of our way just to think, exercise, and (for her), attempt to pee on every blade of grass.

Right now across Connecticut lawns there's this incredible spread of purple flowers about two inches in height. When you look closer, you realize they are tall stacks of purple and blue bells. I've noticed them for years in CT, but never stopped to ask myself, "What are these?"

The blooms don't last long, just a couple of days, but on our walk yesterday they were bursting across yards and fields. It was quite beautiful, and with lighting as it was I said, "Take a picture Crandall and do your research later."

It turns out they are Mascara Armeniacum, otherwise known as grape hyacinth. They're native in Asia and Europe, and I'm guessing were brought to CT where they've spread. When I crouched down to get the photo, I imagine that a family of gnomes might run out and bop me on the nose. They really are tiny flowers, and so vibrant.

I guess I needed such life today, especially as I learned of losses too close to home. As much as I am trying to ignore the reality and news, the truth settles in and creeps closer. I'm thinking of these little grape bells and hoping they will ring for those most affected by the way this ugly virus works. I simply hope that all my friends, especially those with asthma, and those with elders, stay safe and protected.

The goal is to spare lives. Not to lose more.

In my utopia, generations of tomorrow will be able to walk into purple scenes like this. The more we adhere to science, the better off we will be.

Ah, but we're humans. Some of us can only watch. 

Not I, Said the Fly. Nope, Said the Dope. Not Me, Said BRC. No. No. No.

NOPE

I didn't fix the driveway.

I didn't t mow the lawn.

I didn't put the dishes away.

I didn't finish grading. 

I didn't vacuum.

I didn't clean the garage. 

I didn't get paint. 

I didn't write that chapter.

I didn't cook anything new. 

I didn't fold the laundry. 

I didn't trim those nose hairs.

 I didn't bag old clothes.

I didn't declutter the table. 

I didn't wear matching socks.

I didn't return the email.

I didn't write that proposal.

I didn't read that book.

I didn't get groceries.

I didn't check the mail.

Nope

I didn't pick up the bedroom floor.

I didn't cure cancer.

I didn't with a Nobel Peace prize.

I didn't hit a home run.

I didn't dunk the ball.

I didn't run a marathon. 

I didn't watch t.v.

I didn't call my family.

I didn't walk down memory lane.

I didn't dig my garden.

I didn't walk the dog. 

I didn't listen to music.

I didn't talk on the phone.

I didn't write that grant.

Nope

But I doodled a poem, yep...

another day for more pep in this step.

I'm Up for the Epidemic Haiku Challenge & Glad I Contributed, but Have a Few More (Because I'm Excessive)

Truth is, I sat at my upstairs desk from 8 a.m. until 9:30 p.m. yesterday before I realized, "Wait. I'm hungry. You probably should eat."

I was in a work flow, I guess, and at 7:45 p.m. when I saw the rain stopped I yelled to the boys, "One of you need to take Glamis for a walk. She's been whining at my feet for the last 30-minutes."

Edem stepped up, and then I learned I was summoned to meet a haiku challenge to capture Covid-19 home-stay in 17 syllables. Glamis came instantly to mind.

2nd floor scribbling

behind paned-glass & downpours, 

my dog wants outside.

I was unable to stick to just one. I used to assign my students epic haikus, which were 21 haikus on one subject. Anyone who knows me realizes I can't be brief. As Edem left with the dog I penned the next one. 

We are all gum-balls

trapped in personal snow-globes

awaiting quarters.

I want someone to insert 25 cents into Mt. Pleasant so I can go downstairs to find myself in a different world. 

Yesterday, I reviewed a 410-page manuscript and wrote editors my annotations, suggestions, and thoughts. Phew! Checked that off the list. I also conferenced one-on-one with most of my graduate students.

Existentially

laboring on a keyboard

in hope I matter

Csikzentmihalyi

flowing, theoretical

blueprints for the soul

But then I heard the refrigerator calling so ventured to hunt and gather dinner before bed:

Easter leftovers

green-bean casseroled with love

next to a ham-slice

garlic potatoes

washed down with bourbon rooted

in slick memories

Quarantined Crandall

could write poetry all day

but needs to pay bills.

A Jerry Spring world

fused with epidemic trash 

leading a nation

always a tale told

by idiotic morons

like me, B. R. C.

covering his mouth

to avoid the foolishness

of everyone else.

This too, ugh, shall pass...

a kidney stone for masses

needing toilet paper.

We need each other

like Pee Wee Herman's Playhouse ---

Saturday cartoons

Oh, Wall Street wishes

they could profit from such poems.

Wisdom, though, is free.

Socially-Distanced The Rabbit Holiday Away. Back to the Work Week. Anyone Need Ham?

I was up yesterday morning ready to cook: 13 pound ham, green bean casserole, potatoes to peal, a cake to make, and a virtual gathering by 3 p.m.

I was, however, the only one successful at the 3 p.m. timing. My house came ready to eat. Mimi and Papi, however, had already eaten, Cynde and Mike were on their way, and Casey and Dave needed a couple of hours. So, everyone watched us eat.
We were able to have an Easter-something together.

I also catered for my neighbors and dropped food off for Pam and Oona. At night, one of my neighbors suggested we build a bonfire and sit on opposite sides of the pit, 8 feet apart, simply to have a few beverages and to mingle. Chitunga thought it was a great idea, so we headed outside to take advantage of a clear night. Glamis also got quality play time with Buckey, neighbor's 1 year-old pup.

Still, it seemed somewhat odd to be trapped inside on a holiday for the most part, and to not have the physical chaos that is common with the holiday (I am used to hosting). It was a bit quieter, a lot less messier, and a whole lot let crazy. It seemed like another day, but with a few more thoughts of eggs and bunnies than the other days.

Okay, Monday. You're back at us. Now it's time to rethink what lies ahead (with plenty of ham to spare). Hoping everyone had a great celebration yesterday.

Be prepared for the winds today! Stay safe.