In Reflection of “We Are All Projects...Together We’re Strong” at this Moment in History. Trying to Make Sense of It All.

I woke up this morning thinking about about a lot of things: the gathering that friends of mine put together in Stratford as a peaceful protest of our nation's shenanigans, photographs of cities across the country demonstrating peaceful, passionate protests, and more that capture frustration and rage. I also have images of damage done in Louisville, Kentucky - my second home - including the graffiti and markings upon the J. Graham Brown school, my very definition of American possibility, vision, and hope. My prayers continue to go up, for all, especially those that love that school.

I was telling my mother that in 1992, as a 19-year old studying Literature of Exile and the Black British Experience in London with Dr. Carol Boyce Davies, everything about my world changed for the better. It was 28 years ago when Ronnie King was beaten and flames of frustration went ablaze across Los Angelas. Friends and I sat in a tiny flat on Wigmore Place with a small t.v. watching as things unfolded. I said, "We will return to a different America." My friends said, "No. This is the America that has always been." That time in London with individuals from so many backgrounds changed my perspectives and understanding forever. Reading Carol Boyce Davies scholarship and being led into colonial and post colonial histories offered me an early chance to see global inequities, injustice, frustrations, crimes, and systemic power structures that maintain it all. As a 19-year old, I learned that my upbringing and safety in a working class suburb of Syracuse, New York was only one reality in this complicated, unfair world. I made the decision not to squander my college experience, and turned my mind and pursuits towards understanding it all. I began to read, to talk, to embrace, and to read, and talk, and embrace again. Surrounding myself in a culture of sameness no longer appealed to me; rather, my mind was empowered through embracing others.

I've always known I'd teach, and it was Dr. Davies influence on me that inspired me to work in urban school districts. Fortunate for me, I found employment at the J. Graham Brown School with a mission for diversity, equity, high standards for all kids, and social justice. That beautiful, quirky, hard-working, forward-thinking school was the epitome of what American COULD be if energies, focus, and purpose were invested onto youth...all youth. Ah, but it was a small, spoiled experiment that only benefited a few kids each year. With a mission of representing all the zip codes of Louisville and its drive to encourage young people to be political and proactive, and its quirky sense of humor and relaxed atmosphere, it was a highly unusual location. Inevitably, I fell in love with everything about it. Seeing it marked as it was from the protests, simply had me shaking my head. While there, I recognized my luck and fortunes. Upon leaving, I began seeing why schools like that should be everywhere; in fact, they should be our cultural norm.

In this month's Journal of Adult and Adolescent Literacy, my teaching friends William King and Jessica Baldizon, helped me to respond to a special request to outline some of the work we've been able to do at the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University. Since 2014, we've established Young Adult Literacy Labs - summer programs for youth where we mix communities, promote writing, and offer the best of young adult literature, teaching, instruction, and collaboration. Our article, "We are all Projects....Together we're Strong," begins with a musical verse created in collaboration between the heterogeneous medley of young people we work with,

We’re all citizens. We have a voice. In our democracy, there’s always a choice.

We are all projects, making our way—finding these voices, having our say,

writing our lives, and singing this song,

divided we’re conquered, together we’re strong.

Everything about the writing: the years it took to build, the influence of the Brown School on the work's design, the ritual of hosting the programs each summer, and the absolute investment in young people from multiple backgrounds feels ironic right now during a pandemic and with social unrest. Anyone who has ever taught in urban schools - any schools - understands the frustration, aggravation, confusion, emotions, and complexities of what is going on. 

Black Lives Matter. They always have. They always will. The fact that so many in this nation can't bring themselves to say it, and continue to justify actions against Black populations that are unfair, unjust, and wrong, and continue to come to the defense of the very individuals who intentionally act against Black populations infuriates me. The teacher in me wants to figure it out, and I realize it is the failure of our schools. It is also the failure of parenting. It the failure of adults. It is the failure of us, as citizens, to work effectively with policy makers and politicians to rethink, redo, rework, and reimagine the very institutions that keep the tremendous inequities thriving. 

Last night, Chitunga and I built a Saturday night fire and stared into it with one of our neighbors. Our fire was in the back yard and not on our streets. For this we are fortunate.

We didn't start the fire

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning

We didn't start the fire

No we didn't light it

But we tried to fight it

I thought about that ol' Billy Joel song, the fact that Chitunga's Master's ceremony regalia arrived in the mail yesterday from LeMoyne, two weeks after he was supposed to graduate, and that a whole generation of young people who have worked hard are cheated out of the very rituals they deserve. It's not right, and these young people are recording everything at this moment in history, especially the animosity, blaming, and hypocrisy of adults before them who have allowed this world to be presented to them. They see. They know. And the best of them, like Chitunga, will move forward to bring a better world. 

I could never bring damage to another's property, but I can understand rage and frustration. Angela Collett Parsons, Principal of the J. Graham Brown School, posted these words about the moment right now, with photos from the protests,

This is the condition of the J. Graham Brown School and Ahrens this morning. Prayers for everyone. Stay safe. Black lives matter. 

Do not make any negative comments about the protesters on this post. #BlackLivesMatter 

Just a point of clarification for those who don’t understand why I don’t want to see negative comments about the protesters. I support peace and discourse in all instances. However, I would never put greater importance on a building than on people. Our school is not this building; our school is made up of a diverse body of beautiful souls. Some of our school family is suffering as are members of our greater community. The suffering of people angers me, not this vandalism. I would never support vandalism, but we have greater problems in our community upon which we need to focus. Negativity and condemnation of those suffering is not a solution.

Without a solution, I chose to teach. I put my efforts forward through my actions and I will continue to do this forever and for always. I realize this is true of others, as well, and for as long as I've been alive I watched how others act and do. Actions have always spoke louder than words. If I still resided in Kentucky, I would be there, at the school, helping the Brown community do whatever it needed so that the integrity and mission of that building could continue. I would advocate for my students, teach diverse books, and hold the academic bar high for all. I would fight ignorance, promote democracy, and work to make America what its mission statement has always been since the beginning (and not only for the the White few). It's Humbled Togetherness - Ubuntu. As an individual, I can only be so much...in a community of other individuals, however, the work we can do can be amazing.

It's time we show the world what amazing should really look like.

My love and support to all who are hurting right now. A special hug and round of applause for Louisville Council Woman Keisha Dorsey. Seeing you in the news, advocating from your heart, speaking for the people, and trying to help the city heal has brought tears to my eyes. I knew in 2003 the special human being you were always meant to be (you remain the student I wrote the most recommendations for). I'm proud of you, just as I'm proud for anyone and all who are doing right for the world with love, respect, hard work, and human compassion.

Phew. There's much work to be done, and that begins today.

Thrilled to Be Part of Another NWP #TheWriteTime - This Time with Erika Sánchez and Janelle Quintans Bence

After Sandy Hook
teachers put pens to paper, simply,
hands of children,
to write their way towards healing,
to find love,
to process hope.

I walked upon a green bathroom
in Binghamton
when a trigger was pulled...
a kid, a daughter,
a girl at school  
bringing the credits to her story.

At the top of the stairs,
a security guard and I 
ran to the shot,
I was told,
stay in the hall.

I didn't listen, followed,
saw the red splattering of sadness
splashed upon sinks, floor, and mirror.

A week later, teachers put on leave
for allowing teens to write about their friend,
this child, this daughter,
this girl. 
Writing sorrow, they were told,
inappropriate for school,
"Let them heal on their own."

That memory, a wound in my heart,
 prompted today by Janelle, Erika,
while thinking about words, a catharsis,
& how many police them,
keep them from paper,
as if life doesn't exist.

That's what I wrote in a notebook yesterday, once prompted by author Erika L. Sánchez and teacher Janelle Quintans Bence in a recording of #TheWriteTime, not knowing that the writer was also a prolific poet, with an incredible resume of writing excellence (Definitely click the link to check out her talents).

"Immigrant children don't learn what their parents went through," she said during the interview, and it Julia didn't see her parents as human, as real, until she went back with them to Mexico. I wish children were taught to cultivate, rather than destroy," she said while talking to Janelle.

The book, I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, a National Book Award finalist, was the latest YA novel featured in our series. And it was a heavy day, difficult to discuss words, achievements, teaching, and hope, when all of us were watching hopelessness cascade in our news feeds, televisions, and lives. Perhaps this is why their question resonated with me - Write about a time when writing was cathartic...healing. I remembered the suicide of that young woman, its impact on the school, and the awful way administrators handled it (I seriously think there's a class in administration land on how to lead like a douchebag - it must be mandatory). After the recording, I went on an Erika Sánchez reading binge and  this poem resonated with me...thinking about that young woman at a Binghamton High School that I didn't know, but happened to meet through chance.

Six Months after Contemplating Suicide

BY ERIKA L. SÁNCHEZ

Admit it — 

you wanted the end 

with a serpentine 

greed. How to negotiate

that strangling 

mist, the fibrous

whisper?

To cease to exist 

and to die

are two different things entirely.

But you knew this, 

didn’t you?

Some days you knelt on coins 

in those yellow hours. 

You lit a flame

to your shadow 

and ate

scorpions with your naked fingers.

So touched by the sadness of hair

in a dirty sink.

The malevolent smell 

of soap.

When instead of swallowing a fistful

of white pills,

you decided to shower,

the palm trees

nodded in agreement,

a choir 

of crickets singing 

behind your swollen eyes.

The masked bird 

turned to you 

with a shred of paper hanging

from its beak.

At dusk, 

hair wet and fragrant,

you cupped a goat’s face

and kissed 

his trembling horns. 

The ghost? 

It fell prostrate,

passed through you 

like a swift 

and generous storm.

I am so blessed to do the work that I do. And yes, Janelle...Erika...writing heals. It's a way out. 

Oh, I Am Excessive @WritingProject, and Twain's Words Resonate with Me on this Friday. Wiping Away My Darlings.

I keep telling myself I need to stop my 12-hour writing days, but because writing is only one of my jobs, I have to get it in during the small windows that present themselves (like the weeks between the spring semester and that of summer). I took full advantage of the fact that I wasn't robing for commencements, attending galas, and celebrating like normal. As sad as it is, I saw it an an opportunity to get on top of writing projects.

Today, I resubmit one of them, and the entire time I kept thinking of Kelly Chandler Olcott preaching, sans Faulkner, Stephen King, Goldberg, and Lamont: Kill your darlings. In fact, Kelly taught me the craft of creating a bucket document to cut and paste all that you once loved, but need to dish to the side (cough cough...someone needed to help this man who overwrites everything - in Kelly's words, "I've never met anyone who writes their way into knowing more than you.")

My first draft of a dissertation was over 600 pages. I was told I was destroying her and would definitely anger my committee..."Get it under 300 pages and we'll talk."

Such a good lesson. Similar to the undergraduate professor who assigned 10-pages, only to hand the papers back and tell us "get it to a page in 24 hours."

It takes me a while, but I learn.

This week, I've been pruning, redirecting, cutting, and repositioning my words on a piece that I'm sort of liking now...since I've trimmed so much of the fat. The first draft was evidence for the court...almost 25 pages writing my way into understanding why I was writing such a piece in the first place. That's trimmed away. I'm closer to the meat of the writing.

I suppose it would be comical animation to see my composing processes in a fast-forward, sketching, drafting, writing, deleting, editing, revising, deleting, editing, writing, revising fashion over the several months it takes to get one piece even considerable for publication. I can say for sure that it is rare that a first attempt every looks anything close to the final one that eventually gets called to be accepted.

I will send this puppy off today, and immediately jump on the 2nd writing project I've been working on over the last few weeks, fully knowing that my life disappears again Monday, when I begin teaching a research course (only to be followed by summer literacy lab work in July).

It is true. Writing is easy for me. It's the crossing out that kills me....perhaps the phase we ignore the most with our students. How else will they come to a similar epiphany unless we expect them to experience all the writing processes?

TGIF. Once again, TGIF.

Sometimes, I Feel Like a Total Blockhead, especially At Night When My Brain Says, "You Can't Keep This Pace."

This is live footage of me waking up every morning. Actually, it is live footage of me at my computer every day as it all blurs in quarantined Ground Hog's Day.

Rollin...Rollin...Rollin...
Keep them Doggies Rollin...
Rollin...Rollin...Rollin,
Rawhide.

I know it is only Thursday, but it feels like Friday, and I need my weekends to catch up on all the things that don't get done during the week. Thankful for the three days of rain again. The temptation to run further, walk more, and plant my brains out will disappear for a few.

Phew. Boing. Boing. Boing.

Kaitlyn and I made a pact to read a chapter each day of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins for the next 30 days, but I can already tell that neither of us will be able to maintain that. From day one, the first chapter, I already know I'm ready to bing read it in one sitting as soon as I can. I didn't like Mockingjay like I liked The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, simply because the death and carnage went bonkers in the last book. I am hoping, however, that the tale of Cornelius Snow will be calmer (although I have already heard it will not be).

Here we go, Thursday. Crazy to think this time next week I'll be finished with the first week of June classes. The blockheads above will only be fragments at that point.

Peace.

All These Years of Being Kermit, When Suddenly @RebeccaMarsick Helps Me To See I Have Become Scooter, Too

Yesterday, in an exchange with my friend, colleague, and co-collaborator, Rebecca Marsick, I was looking for the character who took care of all the backstage, Muppet Show work and as I began listing the names, it finally hit me...

...SCOOTER...

...doing the National Writing Project #TheWriteTime series has me in a new role. I'm not acting the fool as Kermit the Frog like usual (I still have this role); instead, I'm also weaving together the curtains, the dancing squirrels that dress up as horses, and Animal with his drum sets. It's fun.

I have casted myself in the role of Scooter, too.

Rebecca immediately sent me this .gif and I fell in love with it, instantly-  a perfect metaphor for how I'm coping with all my roles. Breathe in. Breathe out. It's all beautiful. The work we do is beautiful.

Truth be told, I set 12-hours aside yesterday for writing, which turned quickly into 2 hours of writing and 10 hours of reading new books because, well, the "Wells Fargo Wagon" has begun to deliver my book orders for summer. Of course, friends at Penguin also sent me additional reads which lured me away from my own agenda even further.

Curse you, Universe! You know how I get with new books. Stop this insanity.

It's all good, though. I'm loving every second (albeit looking more like Waldorf and Statler up in the balcony from the self-criticism). Yucca Yucca Yucca (which, incidentally, is a novel I wrote in graduate school about a postmodern, albino squirrel. Shhh. Don't tell anyone. It would be awful if anyone knew about this could-of-been NY Times Bestseller. One day, I will even have the nerve to reread it again. Oh, Fozzy Bear.

Okay, Hump Day. I'm feelin' ya. We got this. What you read yesterday was totally inspirational! And you're off!

Forgetting It Was a Holiday Weekend, the Drive to Get Writing Projects Continues. If Anyone Ever Told Me....

I am 48, two years shy of my 50th. When I sent out as a high school student, I envisioned myself as a variation of Oprah Winfrey, or a Doctor, or a Psychiatrist. Little did I know that I would spend my weekends, nights, and even days revisiting William Shakespeare (a playwright I love), but not something I ever saw myself dealing with as an adult.

Strange what possesses us, and how. Somehow it is all making sense, and if I can find ways to help English educators to bring the Bard's magic to their students, I will. I learned from my own teaching, it's not enough to be understand Shakespeare, to read his plays fluently, and to have historical interest...a teacher needs a hell of a lot more than that to catch the interests of adolescent readers. There's much to be said about motivation, purpose, intrinsic interest, and willingness to try something new.

That's why I'm writing as I am. The more I delve back into Shakespeare (and love him), the more I see why young people resist his writing so much. It's a foreign language, like it was for me when I first began. I believe everyone in this nation has at least one Shakespeare story from their high school days, even if they ridiculed every second of it. I know I have my own share, but lucky for me I had stellar instructors at Binghamton, Louisville, and Cambridge, too.

And so it is, another Tuesday, but I was just celebrating Tunga's graduation on Friday, then the rest of my personal life slipped away from me back to the academic dorkiness of University life, I get somewhat obsesses and use that as an excuse. Always with an eye on the prize (my own intellectual gain), I take on these chores with optimism, humor, and hope.

It also keeps me away from the masses and whatever history will play out in the upcoming weeks. I'm still sketchy about social gatherings, although the invites are slim and rare. I understand that there are two nations right now, and I know too many who have been personally saddened over the last months from personal loss. It's too close to home, but I understand why others can ignore the numbers and science, especially if it's not as every day in their own neck of the woods. Still hoping it stays that way, especially for those of my friends nation-wide with elders, breathing issues, and other immune deficiencies. Our choices are more for the protection of others than ourselves.

That's rarely been a priority, however, and I kid myself.

Okay, laptop, window, and split screen. It's another day for us. We got this.

Finally Gave In and Said, "Edem. Get Your Clippers. You're Playing Barbershop Today." Bzzzzz

I have this thing about hair on my neck, and when it gets poof-y over my ears, I grow more antsy. I am white all the way on my temples, the back of my head, and into my beard. The top, long enough for a hipster mini-bun, however, is still dark brown. I planned on just letting it go until all of this crazy ends, but I'm not sure the crazy is going to end for some time.

Clippers out. Beautiful day. Post-run, and he was on his way. Edem cuts his own hair, and has done a good job with Chitunga's so I said, "Go for it." You can tell from my face that I wasn't so sure about what he was actually accomplishing.

I managed to stay away from my laptop for the majority of the day. My goal was to write, but realized I've been lap-topping my life away 14 hours every day, and I wanted it to go without my finger tapping for at least one. I grabbed books, did an oil change on the Subaru, got meat for the week and coffee, and picked up a couple of perennials (at the grocery store of all places). I decided to spend the beautiful day outside. I succeeded.

When Chitunga asked, "Vietnam Palace for dinner?" I was stoked. A great way to finish off a weekend.

The hair looks good from the front, and that's what counts most, especially via ZOOM. From the back, well, that's where you can insert a LOL Emoji - so funny it is crying tears. It is pretty humorous and Edem tried. It will be interesting to see where this hair thing goes over time...and look at that. Think I got some sunlight today reading from the Adirondack chairs out back.

Ah, but it's Monday...I am heading into a paced existence because I need to tie the bow on two writing projects before my research course begins in June. That means I need to sit still, concentrate, and simply get them done. In the meantime, the CWP crowd is slowly rolling in, which is making me happy. We're not charging as much this year, so breaking even will be a little tougher, especially if I hire the same number of teachers. We'll figure that out.

In the meantime, I'm licking my lips and enjoying the flavors of last evening's meal. Perfect suggestion. For my friends who are local, there is nothing like Vietnam Palace...it's the Vietnam Kitchen of Connecticut. Perfection.

Approaching a Summer Research Course with a Sense of Humor...How Else to Condense 15 Weeks Into 4? Phew.

About a month ago I went into a panic, trying to figure out how I would teach 30 individuals in a 4-week course, where it traditionally is taught over 15 weeks with 1/3 the number. I managed to talk the Dean into dividing the enrollment in half (very thankful) and into two courses but still wondered how I might do all that needs to be done in 1/2 the time. It's a pacing quagmire.

But I like puzzles. I like challenges. And I like creative solutions. If the tsunami comes, I have my inflatable toy ready to make a game of it. I learned long ago that the only thing Sisyphus can can control within the frustration of it all is his attitude. I choose sense of humor. Actually, I don't choose it; it is, what it is, and I can't help it.

I procrastinated all the other things on my list yesterday by spending 8 hours arranging the syllabus and website for the June course. I don't think I've ever had preparation done so early. I know, however, because the demands are high, the class can be intense, and we are all on a ZOOM (K'Boom) reality, I need to be proactive to make engagement as lively, whimsical, and worthwhile as possible. Those 4 weeks will fly and I want to keep their frustration to a minimum.

I think I have it all figured out and when I finished at 8 p.m. last night and came downstairs to see what was going on with the boys, Chitunga announced he was going to bed early because he stayed up too late last night and Edem took Glamis for a long walk. So, I decided to pour a bourbon and give in to an evening of mindless television, which was more of Schitt's Creek, season IV. I did too much intellectual sleuthing and problem-solving during the day, so I need to be an idiot for a while at night.

Happy day of rest, world. After a long, long day of cold winds and rain, I'm looking forward to a dry day this morning. The sky is blue. The sun is out. And humans will be humans.

Happy travails. 

Proud Paternal Moment. A Surprise Celebration Pulled Off. Doing What I Could To Celebrate His Accomplishment.

I am very thankful to all who, over the last several weeks, found the time to use Flip Grid, Zoom, and video messaging to help me compile a 35 minute video of well-wishes for Chitunga's Masters graduation. I didn't know if I could pull it off, but I did, and I can say that the messages hit him in his heart and will forever be with him in his soul. It wasn't a face-to-face celebration, but he saw many of 'his tribe' that love him, support him, and wish him the best. He sat at my desk watching message after message, and I simply saw the back of his head as he viewed. I knew from the way he kept wiping down his glasses that his eyes were steaming up. As he said, "I didn't realize my tribe was so enormous."

Yesterday was spent overseeing Tracey Flores's interview of Matt de la Peña - The Write Time, working with collaborators on several writing projects, and holding my breath to succeed with the Chitunga surprise. "Hey, come to my room and help me with something, will ya?" I asked.

I began with a montage of his life, followed by a message from me that said, "I am leaving you this video, but also inviting several guests to join me. It was then that a chorus of Chitunga's people jumped in with their well wishes: some from the heart, others written and read, some performed, and all genuine. Perfect actually.

Graduates this year are cheated at every level, but I did find a Carvel open, and was excited to get him an ice cream cake (especially because our earliest photos were of him devouring an ice cream birthday cake from Carvel he got for me).

So Friday night was spent with the video, a few drinks, an incredible fire out back, and then a 3 hour documentary on Jack Johnson.

All I can say is that the messages provided by so many were irreplaceable. It was exactly what Chitunga needed and he was extremely touched. He felt every ounce of the love, support, and sincerity these messages delivered.

Well, 2020, you're delivering a lot for us to consider, but I'm likely to remember this time as the semester Chitunga achieved his Masters degree and so many united, digitally, to be sure he knew how proud of him they were. It was a great afternoon, that led to a dinner, an evening, and late into the night.

It was Congrats, Chitunga, 2020, indeed.

Looking Forward to Every Second of Today, But Phew! I Am Exhausted. It's Friday and I Need a Mental Break.

The good thing is that I have goals. The more realistic thing is that my goal are somewhat excessive and unrealistic. I try my best to meet my goals, but then the reality of clocks set in. I fail. I don't get there. I feel guilty. I set new goals. Repeat.

I have to be content with what I'm able to do.

This morning, is a meeting, followed by a meeting, followed by a meeting, followed by a recording with two of my favorite people: Matt de la Peña and Dr. Tracey Flores. I can't wait to record this show, The Write Time, and to hear what they have to say when in the company of one another.

I also need to get food for the house. We rode into Thursday night with little issue, but starting tomorrow, we're going to be hurting. All that is left is Edem's hot pepper soup-shit that nearly put Chitunga and I into a coma.

I'm also looking forward to this afternoon, when I can present Chitunga with two of his graduation gifts (the ones made from my heart), the one's I've been working on for a few weeks now. I suppose it will be anti-climatic, because hours of work went into minutes of production. We shall see.
It still sucks that he wasn't able to walk. It angers me, actually.

But it is Friday, Fridaaaaaaay and we should be celebrating. I'm not one to draw a line and say, "Hey. Take a break. Chill for a second. Relax."

But I am ready. I am so, so ready.

I need to stare off into space for a while, to read a few boos, to have someone wash my yacht and cook my dinners, and to be out on wide-open waters for a while.

And I need you NOT to wake me up from this fantasy.

Forgive Me, Thursday. I Have to Sell My Soul to the Bureaucracy of It All. I Will Try to Remain Positive

I've been living 12-hour success- days, because (a) courses ended, (b) my days have transitioned to CWP work, (c) the National Writing Project work is efficient, effective, and powerful, and (d) there's been space and time to get things done.

Today, however, I have to return to the bureaucracy of it all and a 6-hour faculty meeting on ZOOM for accreditation, data processing, and jibber-jabbing. I am always amazed how much can be accomplished, achieved, and celebrated when NWP colleagues get to work with a goal in mind. I wish I could say the same was true for my other work. Instead...

...well...

...you attend a 6-hour working meeting on ZOOM. That says everything.

Shut up or do something about it. I can't take on any more leadership, so this one belongs to others and I simply need to endure. Trust. Hope for the best. Believe.

But I know too well.

Today will be 6 hours of UGH. I can't win them all.

And I am thinking about what I could do with another 6 hours of productivity as it has been since designing the purposes and goals for success in my own world. Alas, we are all owned by others. It's the way it's always been, and sadly it will always be this way.

If only we could belong to ourselves, and not the layers and layers of UGH that comes from being part of a larger institution.

Okay, world. I'm turning on my positive attitude switch and a smile. Things are about to get UGH-ly, but I promise to be beautiful. Nothing like a last-minute retreat to make you question why you chose to be part of any institution.

We got this, Crandall. We have no choice but to get this.

Onward.

And no, this dude will never wear UGGs. Ugh.

When Beauty Is Gifted To Your Son and You're Lucky Enough He Just Might Share It With You

I was up at 7 a.m. yesterday and very surprised my mailman was, too. He delivered three packages and I figured one would be a book for me. Actually, a Patriot's face-mask also arrived for me, but as a gift to Chitunga.

The other box, a big one, was for Chitunga from the Louisville grandparents: a bottle of Wilderness Trail bourbon and two bourbon glasses Sue picked up in the Czech Republic for just the right person (which she decided was Chitunga). Chitunga's Czech-Chill. I thought she was sending bagels, so I was surprised to see such wonderful fanciness (with hope that he'd say, "I think we should open this tonight").

I finally finished Kendi's How to Be An Anti-Racist, and love the melodic way in which he reads his work. I also am challenged by his thinking, and moved towards new angles and understanding. I also pulled out my calculator today, after hearing from many that COVID-19 is no different than the flu, and that this has been a tremendous overreaction by the media. I read a piece by an ex-nurse, now mortician, claiming there's no reason for a mask, that this is all exaggerated and hyped for political reasons.

Fine. Everything is political. Everything is hyped. Still, beyond opinion and reaction, there has to be facts, no?

So I spent some time to read comparisons and find out for myself. On average, 56,210 people die each year from the flu or flu-related illnesses (more than I ever realized). That makes for approximately 154 people a day. This noted, 1,554 people died yesterday of Covid-19.  I believe a case can be made that Covid-19, whatever it is, is causing more havoc than the flu. Could it be worse? Yes. Could it be better? Of course. And we are lucky it isn't more extreme. These numbers, too, are the result of two months with social isolation. I suppose if this didn't occur the numbers would be higher. Almost twice as many people die of gun shots each day in the United States than from the flu, or 114,245 people a year (this includes death from suicide). That's a whole other debate. In my dimwitted head, it appears that, yes, Covid-19 has more potency than the common flu season.

I don't trust humans and I have respect for nature, so that's the quandary of 2020. News agencies will have us believing a billion different things, but for me, I go to medical sites, medical reports, and peer-reviewed analysis to make sense for what it best for me and those I love most. It's not fun, but we're respecting the science and our own interpretations of what the numbers tell us. If others want to put the wellbeing and health of their families on the line, then so be it. I also believe in freedom.  That's on them.

Finally, Two Towers. We hit movie number two last night. Nothing can break this work-a-holic from his computer faster than a kid's sudden interest in Tolkien.

Even wizards have their flaws.

Oh, yeah. One more thing - never, ever, ever eat the yellow sauce Edem leaves in the refrigerator to cover rice and beans. Well, don't eat his sauce (our sauce is fine). I think lava poured into my mouth, stomach, and intestines, and if I don't make it through the night, it is because of him. Holy hot peppers, Batman. That is not healthy at all. And I thought the Indian restaurant in Monroe was toxic. Phew. Edem about killed us.

I'm Too Young to Feel This Old. But It Comes At You in the Strangest Times. Like a Monday Night.

I live saying two things, "How fortunate to be alive during the release of the J.K. Rowling series, books and movies, and to experience the release of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy?"

For several years, I marked my calendar for the release of new movies and Potter books. Of course, Star Wars resurrected, too. It was fun to pace out semesters thinking ahead to what might come from debuts. They were ahead of the game, magical, and exciting (and even to this day my remote can't get past a marathon when one is up and running).

You can imagine my surprise, then, when Chitunga came into my room last night and asked, "What do you know about this Tolkien guy?" He listened to a podcast that referenced the work and he wanted to watch the movies. I said, "I have the movies downstairs." Well, I had the first one on DVD, but didn't beat him to the first floor because he already ordered them on-demand.

Um...the release of Fellowship of the Ring was in 2001. That was 19 years ago. How could that be 19 years ago? Better yet, how was that that book written in 1954, only to be adapted 47 years later? AND when the movie came out, why did it seem so advanced? Sophisticated? Ahead of its time?. Now, watching it with Chitunga and Edem all these years later, it seems old and outdated. Phew. I guess this comes with age. I kept laughing in my head thinking, "I hope these boys hang in there."

A coming of age story for Frodo Baggins who leaves the Shire. Seems graduation with a Masters degree is a great place to think about such journeys, adventures, and the power grabs, greed, and interconnected ways that tribes of people work with, and against, one another. Orcs are real. The monsters are within us, too.

Needless to say, I was up late last night reliving 2001 all over again, as I've done so many times during movie marathons (none beats the day that Mike and watched all of them back to back for 14 hours (two pizza orders, too).

So last night I was up until 12:30 when the 1st movie ended, anticipating we very-well might watch one a night until we get through them all.

"That's Foucault," Chitunga said when the eye of Sauron was first introduced.

"No, that's Tolkien," I replied. "Foucault followed."

I can't believe I'm jumping into this again...I'll be curious what Chitunga has to say when he's finished with it all.

Phew.

Now if only Peter Jackson would take on The Stand.

And Then a Sunday Evening Welcomes a Monday Morning. Phew. This is Definitely a Lesson in Time Appreciation.

Another fire. 

The day was spent doing morning errands and was followed by an afternoon rearranging perennials and expanding the garden (moving giant rocks, digging out grass, hustling hard for those dang flowers). By 2030, there will be no lawn left in the backyard. It will be an English garden, for sure.

I came downstairs from writing at bout 8 p.m. and Chitunga was putting together the flames. He said, “I figured you'd join me,” and he was right. On a warm day followed by a cool night, I am a sucker for a good fire. It reminds me of home and sitting out back with my father. A fire is always nice to end the day. 

Actually, while the flames went ablaze I was thinking about Denmark and how right now in southern Connecticut it feels like the Nordic weather of Copenhagen. We always went through multiple layers in one day, from morning sweaters, to mid-day t-shirts, to evening hoodies, and back to evening sweaters. Evening fires were the best, although to reach evening, we had to wait until 2 a.m. Sigh. One of my life goals was to have Chitunga come with me to Denmark to meet Lars. We missed that opportunity.

My colleague Django Paris posted about the loudness of birds this Spring, and I immediately thought about the magpies of Denmark that were quiet only between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m., when the sun finally set at that time of year. I think birds aren't louder. I think it is because humans are quieter. We are able to listen more and I imagine the birds are always at the decibel they are right now; it’s just that we can’t hear them because of traffic and other nonsense. Let them be obnoxious (even if they wake me at 5 a.m.). 

Truth here: Chitunga and Edem went to bed early, but I wanted to see the fire die out. So, I typed today’s post with my thumbs on my I-phone, and watched the fire dim. Another truth, as the fire died at 11 p.m., I noticed both boys peeped out of their windows to see if I was still out there. The blinds are a revealing creature. 

It was quiet. All I heard were the wind chimes and the crackling of fire. It was pitch black, so I saw when they split their blinds like peeping Toms. 

This is probably bad to admit, but I think Maude (the Earth as a result of God and Mother Nature) prefers quarantine so she can heal. I can live without the crap I tend to buy, and although I miss some human connectivity (especially restaurants), I would be good with social distancing and online communication from this point forth, especially as I watch the birds, bugs, skylines, and even ocean- fronts dance with healing celebration. 

It make suck for human beings, but it sure does seem like a panacea for the natural world. 

Looking Forward to What Comes Next - This Kid Is an Amazing Blessing and I Am So Fortunate To See Him Soar

The Kid. Eagle. Chitunga. Deserving of this Graduation.

Yesterday, I asked if there could be a place in the day to do a photo shoot (well I-Phone) shoot so we could put together a graduation announcement. It still bothers me tremendously that the pomp and circumstance of a graduation will not occur this Spring for the Classes of 2020. I was surprised that (a) he granted permission for attending the commencement, and (b) he was willing to do a photo shoot when we realized there wouldn't be one at Le Moyne College.

I am thinking back to when he was a senior in high school, even earlier - in sophomore and junior year - and he kept his nose to the books and a grind in his step. I also remember his first courses at Housatonic when he wondered if he could do it, and of course he was working full-time...a job that led to a management position. He held his own, prioritized his time, and found a way to study and make money.

When it came time to transfer, he also wondered, "Was I prepared enough at Housatonic?" but then he went to Le Moyne and excelled, getting solid grades from the very beginning, even choosing the challenging courses over the easy ones. He did internships with Ernst & Young and they honored him with scholarship so he could pursue his Masters in Information Systems. Of course, he did this while continuing to work full time with internships, part-time jobs, and absolute commitment to his goals.

I was fortunate to go with him to his dream location last summer, a cabin in the Adirondacks that was secluded, pristine, peaceful, and away from it all. When I walked up the path to the home, I realized quickly why it was his nirvana. It belonged to his boss in Syracuse. It was a slice of perfection: quiet, shaded, and on water.

Perhaps one day he'll chisel another location like that for himself, but today we simply went to the Sound so he could look out at the water, the beaches, the few boats, and the seagulls. He knows all my worlds, and has the same fondness for looking out to water as I do.

For years, I've never known how to respond to people who say to me, "You're going to burn out. You work too hard. You need to relax every now and again." That's never been my nature and I've always wondered why people would say such a thing. Of course, I've learned why, while guiding, parenting, mentoring, applauding, loving, watching, and admiring Chitunga. He is focused on his prize and, to be honest, 110% interested in all he does. I love the intellectual in him more than anything else.

As this blog post goes out, he'll just be returning from work, as his full-time job with EY won't start until September. He didn't sit still long, and got an overnight shift to make money during the summer. As I'm unwinding and finally finishing my own work each day, he packs up to head in. It's sort of a good routine, as I know it needs to be quiet during the day as he sleeps and I simply use it to do my own reading and writing.

Happy Sunday, All. I hope you find time to rest and reflect. 

It Was a @WritingProject Kind Of Day, & Truthfully? I'd Want It No Other Way. There's Nothing Better #TheWriteTime

Shouting LOUD to @TBakerNWP on the West Coast for recording our audio/video #2 in a new series, "It's The Write Time" - a video podcast production to promote teachers as they interview children's and young adult authors. It took a few calls,  support of Penguin Random House extraordinaire Kristin Shultz, a few texts to author friends (as well as a national call to teachers), and a "let's do this" attitude.

Now it's time to make history.

Yesterday, I'm pleased to announce, my audio recording extras arrived to Mt. Pleasant. I was so jealous Gene Luen Yang's sound quality while interviewing him last week) that, after the recording, I immediately ordered a new microphone with spit guard. (it wasn't that much - I'm glad I did it). We are able to showcase the shows on YouTube, NWP Radio, Facebook, and elsewhere. We did 40 for 40 a decade ago, so now it is time for 50! Why not get 50 teachers together with 50 writers to share with colleagues, parents, and young people the writing community we love so much?

For several weeks and perhaps the rest of this year, Tanya and/or I will be introducing a National Writing Project teacher and a children's or young adult author to interview one another about their work. #TheWriteTime, the series name, resulted after a week of quarantine. I wanted to find a way to provide content for teachers, kids, and parents online (while they're home) and for all (when we return to better). Together with Kristin and Tanya, and with Phoebe Yeh and Elyse Eidman-Aadahl in support, we envisioned a show that could be valuable to a wide range of audiences. After last night's recording (so good...what a debut! Kim Herzog and Nic Stone rocked it), I realized we are onto something special. I can't wait to do the next one next week (cough cough. It's all Love mom. It's all Love).

Funny, too, because when I got off the recording, the first email I received was from Jean Wolph with an invitation to record a testimonio about my experience with the Louisville Writing Project. No-brainer...done. Besides, today is Jean's birthday...it's the least I can do.

So how does Crandall spend a Friday night during a mandatory homestay? He spends it reflecting, enjoying, and loving the National Writing Project family.

I can't wait for the next production, and the production after that, and the next one (and so on, and so on). It's one way to put writing in the limelight!

It is the WRITE TIME for such conversations, and to uplift the hard work of teachers and the authors  our students love to read!

Happy Saturday, Y'ALL. We gotta write!!! A'ight?!

Thieving as any Baked-Good Gremlin Does & Sending the Recipe to They Who Are on a Baking Marathon

It was a matter of seconds. Alice in the Knobs of Indiana posted her cake on Facebook and within a minute I found the recipe online and sent to Kaitlyn and Pam with a text, "Free socially-distanced visit from Bryan to the first person who bakes this cake."

I was joking. I did not know that Pam had the ingredients and would get on it in a matter of seconds. Watching the rolled dough before the oven, then after the oven, then smattered with cream made me break away from ZOOM at around 5 p.m. to get groceries, stop by for a chunk of the cake (which I ate fiendishly) and return home to make Edem and Chitunga dinner (with their own slices of cake).

This can not be a habit. I only do Cinnabon like once every two years when I see one in an airport. Occasionally, I might do a Pillsbury run on a Sunday, but I know myself: cinnamon, sugar, and dough can't be around me. I have no ability to stop myself.

So, this morning I am thankful to Alice for posting, the Internet for making everything searchable, and easy to nab, and Pam for "rising" to the occasion. If I had a fork and no one was there to stop me, I could eat the whole thing. I would get sick and regret it, but know I have no self-control. It's why things like this don't enter my house.

I know I just said this, but TGIF once again - 8 a.m ZOOM, 9 a.m. ZOOM, and 8 p.m. ZOOM. The rest of the day has holes in it to fill with writing projects I need to get on top of.

Rumor is it will break 80 degrees today and I planned to mow the lawn, but Edem decided he wanted to last night...

...in the dark...

...when he couldn't see.

I have no idea what we'll wake up to. Actually, I do. I'm having another slice of this bad boy with my coffee!

I Can Get Used To This - Making This Epidemic Networking & Collaboration a Routine Thing. It's Working.

I've Always Wanted A Cat. I Can't Breathe with them around, but I've Always Wanted A Cat. I imagine this is how my neighbors see me when I pop my head from under the curtains from time to time to see if the sun is out or if it's raining.

That's a lie. I open every shade in my house because I love natural light. And I'm a curious person. I'm always fully exposed at my windows (well, not like that, except when I get out of the shower).

But I can say it is strange doing everything from home; I can also say that I'm accomplishing a lot more, especially with writing projects, national networking, and making things happen. I believe this is because many like-minded people are seeing the possibilities for content that teachers, parents, young people, and families need right now. And we are setting out to make it as soon as we can.

I wake up at 7 a.m. and then go face-to-face from my desk at home with editors, writers, teachers, collaborators, and techies that are making it all possible - each day a little more excitement (and much more to be revealed - this hint for my mother...your YA boyfriend is around the corner as one of the interviewees).

I'm also getting used to breakfast, lunch, and dinner from my desk, simply because I can work through them, now that I've set up a pretty swank office space with split screens....

...and today, my digital toys arrive (and a new book - woot woot).

This is all in preparation for this summer and the year to come!

Meow. It's the purrrrfect time - or should I simply say, "It's the Write Time."

Stay tuned.

The Scene from Pee Wee's Playhouse - A Great Way to Spend in ZOOM Meetings - I Should Have Worn a Bow-Tie

Is it the postmodernists who coined the term of postmodernism of play - that is, an individual can mock the reality of the world and simply have fun, intellectually, by playing with it comedically? I thought about that yesterday when I decided I wanted to be Pee Wee Herman in all my Zoom meetings. Sadly, I didn't think of it until the later ones, missing 1/2 a day where I could have been Mecca mecca high, Mecca hiney ho.

Anything to crack myself up.

My arse is so tired of sitting and listening, and talking, and planning, and networking, and teaching, and organizing, and updating, and gathering. It's a lot...this ZOOM reality, and I'm sure it will be the wave of the future, too...

But we will look at our laptops and screens thinking they are telephones with chords and strap on silver roller skates sometime in the future. Everything will advance. Our screens will be our connectors, but they won't be on desks...they will be built into walls. It's coming. Constant mediated realities from behind screens. As long as I can still play, then I will be okay.

I did take a break to grill scallops and sizzle some bacon for a pesto pasta dish we had with Italian bread and Caesar salad. I was proud of myself for finding the energy to cook (what else is new?). Got a great run in the morning, too, and enjoyed some of the closing meetings, as well as the introductory ones bringing on summer.

Chitunga is now working overnight in the graveyard shift stocking and taking online orders, so his schedule is 10 pm to 6 a.m. throwing off his sleeping hours, study hours, and eating habits. I never know when he's conked out (Conkey...that's funny...no pun intended), frustrated with his lot (he wanted a job and couldn't not take it), and probably hiding from the fact that like so many, the celebration that was supposed to be this month, blurred into the need for global patience.

As always, the two of us read voraciously and follow the reports of scientists. We're trying to be optimistic, but are settling into the fact that this reality might be a reality for some time. It's nerve-wracking, but we're getting through it. I keep trying new dishes, and this one was great, although I wish the scallops were fresher. I think I will try it next time with salmon or shrimp. And grocery store brand pasta isn't that good - it's all I had.

Welcome, Hump Day - Glad you're hear again, because that means the garbage goes out as well as recyclables (Definitely doing more home consumption than usual, especially with three in the house). Glamis doesn't count. Well actually she does. I imagine much of her hair fills those garbage bags, and then there are her "walking" bags, too.

Okay, time for another cup of coffee and the first meeting of the day. Believe it or not, I think by 5 p.m. today, the meetings end. One can only hope. 

Over 12-Hours of ZOOM Life Yesterday, and Cherishing the Time Spent with @SUSchoolofEd RLAC Family. Amazing

Leave it to Dr. Kelly Chandler Olcott to pull together a RLAC Reunion Party for this year's English Education students that unites two-decades of graduates, shouts out to the doctoral class of 2020, highlights colleagues who have left a tremendous impact on the RLAC tradition, and allows space for poetry, song, dance, toasts, and storytelling.

When I received the email to wear my best Syracuse University attire, I went a little further. I decorated the scene behind me, so my ZOOM window would be 'Cuse all the way (including Laurie Halse Anderson over my shoulder and Otto on my lap). I told the graduate students that I came to campus wearing my University of Louisville colors proudly; even remarked to Kelly one time that I don't understand how anyone could put blue and orange together. She rolled her eyes a little and said, "Crandall. That will change one day. It will be different once you graduate."

She was right.

It was amazing to see Liz Lewis, a doctoral student who mentored me, former graduate students who I supervised, alumnus that were legendary, and a faculty that makes the English Education program at Syracuse University so remarkable. Drs. Janine Nieroda, Marcelle Haddix, and Kelly Chandler Olcott are top-notch human beings and exceptional leaders. Those who are fortunate to receive their mentorship and guidance become unique scholars,  doers, and educators who travel throughout the world to spread their investments onto others.

The theme for the ZOOM celebration was family...generations of English Education individuals united by life in Huntington Hall. I've been part of numerous ZOOM meetings over the last 6 years, and WOLA! Kelly Chandler Olcott outdid them all: organized, clever, inspiring, well-designed, and mastered. There was humor in the last 5-minutes, too, when she disappeared. We all thought, "What do we do now?" which was followed by many saying, "Oh, she'll be back. She always finishes what she starts."

Sure enough, Dr. Sharon Dotger was texted that Kelly's battery died and she needed to reboot in a new location. She returned, and the blue and orange love continued. She offered a little speech about the impossibility of perfection, and then gave a special reading of a Nikki Giovanni poem.

Now I have to decide if I will keep my Syracuse shrine up for future meetings, or re-theme again for today's' meetings.

Phenomenal job, RLAC. Loved seeing everyone. I have tremendous pride for everything invested unto me by the literacy leaders that work there. It's my job to pay it forward!

One of the most special locations in the world.

Hard to Believe It Has Been 7 Years, But Still Channeling Your Humor, Support, Friendship, and Zest for Life

Yesterday was Mother's Day, but it also happened to fall on Lois's anniversary, too...7 years to the day. I made the executive choice to hold off my celebration for after the day of Moms, just because I thought it was the right thing to do. I am still shaking my head about that departure, the weekend to follow, and the scramble to fill the shoes you left behind for all of us.

Talking to Pam last night, she said, "You sound like Patty Ann. She said the same thing. Lois left before this crazy and she wouldn't be a big fan of everything that has happened on this Earth since she departed."

Lois was humor, she was festivity, she was happiness, she was laughter, and she was joy for family. There'd be little tolerance for the lying, hatred, and vindictiveness that has become the everyday, today. I'm channeling the better days in memory of her.

What a true pleasure of a human being to know: pro-animal, pro-togetherness, pro-optimism, and pro-love. A little Lois-love should be bottled and sprinkled onto our nation right now.

It's Monday. I will always think back to 2013, when everything happened so quickly...Pam's calling my house, going to the hospital, running between my house and hers, and then helping to figure out what should come next.

So much has come next, and sadly she wasn't here to experience it. And then there was more next, and more next, and more next. So much happens in 7 years.

Last night, I did a quarantine salute to Lois with her sister and traveled to Milford to tip my glass. I believe this will be the way I do things every May 10, whether or not it falls on Mother's Day or not. It is an occasion to trigger end-of-the-semester, pre-summer truths and one I can never forget.

Look over us, Lois. Bring puppy love to the most calloused-hearted and help them to be less selfish, hateful, spiteful, and lost. Bring them your laughter. I can only hope you have such power.