If You Need Me, I Will Be At My Other Job Painted White & Modeling as Fat David in a Garden Near You

Chitunga took off to Rhode Island for the 1st phase of 5 CPA exams, and I went online looking for world's ugliest lawn statues, where I found Fat David and instantly thought, "My God, I should get white body paint and start a part-time job for myself." I would so be willing to stand almost naked in people's gardens on weekends, only to move when they got very near and when I could scare the @#$@ out of them.

I need to amend the almost naked, however, as I would like to get a white leaf facial mask, too, to protect myself from any gathering in a garden this summer where people spit-talk, cough, sneeze, and drool.

Still, sick and tired of the same ol' thing, I do believe I could make a nice side-career as fat David standing outside this or that home. A couple hundred bucks for a few hours, I could be like those people in major cities who pretend they are statues for a living (sad for them these days...I doubt they're getting much work...their hats must be empty).

My runner's legs, however, throw off Fat David a little bit, as I'm much odder looking when I stand around in my fig leaf (or is that an Oak?). My girth is waste up.

Where will you find me this weekend? On Amazon looking for white body paint. TGIF. Can you tell it's week 6 of Young Adult Literacy Labs? I'm already exploring additional careers because I'm exhausted. I love everything I do, but am in need for a different scene for a while.

Because When I Was 18, I Always Pictured Myself to Be a Washed-up, Graying 80s Rock Star

Covid-Head #4532.234 - this was taken yesterday off camera after I took off a headband, and took my hair out of its man-bun, realizing I'm much more gray on top than I realized. My facial hair, as well as my sideburns are almost totally white, but I now can see them creeping into the top of my head, too.

It's all happening so fast. It's hilarious actually. Aging from inside my bedroom which is my kitchen table, office, reading room, and now central command.

Look at this aging ol' fart.

It's Thursday. Yesterday was miraculous, and I expect more of the same today as more kids start to finalize their work. We say it every year, but the summer writers that come to us get better and better every year. It's so much fun.

I'm also thinking it is time for new readers, as I live in my glasses now for the up-close vision need.

But this hair style...I just want to jam out with my brother-in-law Mike, head-banging into the nursing homes of our future. My ol' student died her hair a dark purple with all the colors of the rainbows underneath to bring her color and joy from the darkness upon us. I'm wondering if I might do the same.

It feels like a Friday, but it's not quite that yet. I really could use 48 hours of sleep. It's coming.

Taking Flight with the Red-Headed Partner in Crime This Afternoon in Pensacola (well, Via ZOOM)

Twice in one week I get to do one of my favorite workshops, this time for Susan's crew at the Emerald Coast Writing Project. I can't wait to play with the teachers, be silly, and to do the workshop I always do on the first day of poetry with middle and high school kids. 

Yesterday, during Project Citizen, I was impressed by some of the poems that arrived from Monday's workshop - it's one of the reasons I like leading the poetic task so much. 

This time, Frog is inviting The Pelican to the Magic Box and bringing all her coastal emeralds with her.

I also love doing this particular workshop because it gives me a different opportunity to compose something for a different audience and from my magic box, I got two pages of words which led me to write a letter to my partner-in-crime and friend! 

Dear Pelican,

You told me emeralds arrive on the hot days of summer,

as teachers dance to the beat of a Floridian drummer,

& plummet to Peg Leg Pete’s for smoked, yellow fish dip,

tripping & whipping & dripping in plump-thumping slumber

where minty-fresh, lime-lined drinks waltz in a tumbler,

before foods of five nations…Yup, Frog has your number,

He listens to your chords at the Cantina, you’re quite the strummer

of songs for scrumptious school days (the scary, screwed-up screenplays) 

of writing, doodling, thinking, blinking, screeching & all that teaching,

of scattered possibilities….all that preaching,

while practicing, imagining, making & creating, 

apprenticing, wondering, yelling…who here isn’t procrastinating?

while dreaming of plump pillows at night. Ah, Pelican, take flight.

I see how the Ruby-rusted redhead writes about peanut butter and books,

lookin’ like Lil’ orphan Annie bouncing upon the waves, how she looks

all carrot-topped like poppies, with flaming ember, red markers, and more,

all freckle-faced & fruitiness, blood-nutted,…tssh, Pelican for sure.

“For fuck’s sake, Frog,”  she writes, I’ve got 30 million years of history,

& I’m a goober (a boober with tremendous cleavage mystery?

Have you read this book, that book, or the one I’ve been meaning to read…

You doin’ alright? I so love you. I’ll dive-bomb for anything you need.

This water looks lovely, & I’m hungry…It’s a nice night for a flight….

Hey, frog…fly on down here…let’s try to make everything all-right.”

And I know the moon has its phases, the sun rises and it sets,

coastlines go through phases (Basil Hayden as good as it gets),

Hope is a blue angel vibrating through an evening sky,

FaceTime, children’s books, gifts in the mail, oh, how we try

to support teachers teaching teachers, with sand between our toes, 

gulf-coast breezes, hurricane creatures, knowing what the shark already knows.

Our poetry, our stories, blue water to refresh our souls…

offering seeds for the notebooks — that’s how a possibility grows.

Yes, the Emeralds are your teachers who are with you on the hot days of summer,

& like you, they dance to the beat of the Floridian drummer,

& plummet to Peg Leg Pete’s for smoked, yellow fish dip,

tripping & whipping & dripping from their plump-thumping slumber

for minty-fresh, lime-lined drinks where they can chill with a tumbler,

before the foods of five nations…Yup, Frog has the number, 

as he listens to your red-headed chords at the Cantina, quite the strummer,

leading the hearts with your song…

This, Pelican, is your network, your project, and together…

you’re so, so strong.

Love ya, 

Frog

Okay, @bookdealerSusan - When Do We Schedule the Intervention? Happy Birthday, Sean-Man. It's Tuesday

I should start this post with a Trigger-warning. If you are frantically always trying to keep the universe's vastness in its place and work tirelessly to be sure dishes don't accumulate in the sink, then Dr. Susan James' desktop is not for you.

Cover you eyes. Do what your therapist says. Inhale. Exhale. Count to ten. Look the other way.

Breathe.

Last night, as Susan and I were thinking out loud about projects, ideas, institutes, supporting teachers and other writing projects she says, "I need to show you something. Don't get mad at me. I need you to see my desktop."

Don't do. Don't do it. Don't do it.
Ahhhhhh. She did it.
And I knew it would be my morning post.
I've seen others like this.
I do my best to hinder this from happening on my laptop.
It comes from time to time and...
...as she said...
"Frog, I was only working on one project. Would you look at this mess?"

I totally get it. Now clean it up so you can feng shui the soul and get ready for the next project. Phew.
This image is such a metaphor of what National Writing Project Directors do. In one photo, Susan has captured the essence of who we are.

Meanwhile, here's an oldie but goodie of birthday boy Sean-Man. Your card is on the dining room table and it will be in the mail (but late) (all apologies). You're much older now, but I always loved this photo of you...It was like a window into the future, imagining what you might look like as a teenager when you were just a little kid wearing my Syracuse Orange wide-brimmed hat.

Blink of an eye, high school, the 9th grade year, and you're catching me in height (surpassing your mother, which isn't that hard to do).

I hope you have the best celebration possible, you get the cake you want and your favorite ice-cream. Trust me. The next four years of your life are going to fly super-fast, as will all the years to follow. Stay focused...keep the grades up, and know the prizes are many...you just have to be patient for them to come.

The Diva, The Frog, & The Renaissance - Thrilled for Today's @writingproject of Poetic Citizenry with @CWPFairfield

We are welcoming Bishme Sheppard to Project Citizen today, adding the Shep-set brilliance to what the Diva Attallah has brought to us for so many years. Today, his voice is added as we think about language, rhythm, and the magical box (a workshop I've been doing since 1998....and one that never gets old).

I can't wait to see what our youth will do when they are unleashed with the poetic possibilities born from this workshop. They have already proven themselves to be a talented crew with narratives, op-eds, mix-tapes so I look forward to seeing what they birth into the world today with free verse and rhythm.

Meanwhile, modeling the task at hand, here's the poem that I'll highlight today that was written yesterday from the ten items I pulled from my magic box. This is going to be fun (in the day it's supposed to feel like 107 degrees outside).

We Are a Project of Citizens

~Bryan Ripley Crandall

Listen, do you hear me?

    projecting citizenry with my poetry?

         fighting to write what matters, finding symmetry

within my hope, this democracy…

such buoyancy, 

a beauty within diversity

that deserves to be heard, revolutionarily,

these words, my weaponry 

that fights the absurdity of this world.

Just hear us, brilliantly,

the countdown, actually….

1….2….3

where we fight to be free

both rhythmically and patriotically.

With a dance to the dynamite

the Diva deliciously doodles

amongst dragonflies and daffodils, 

workshopping words & wondering, 

apprenticing, imagining, dallying

in the dichotomy of our practice & thoughts 

finding & determining 

ways to be fixed on the page.

This is the renaissance of frogs, our rage,

rebirthing green curiosity,

intellectually, 

with princely, wide-eyed dragon fire & incense intensity

 pond-like, speckled & rubbery, 

burning candles, tongue-tied with serendipity, 

this honey-roasted agility

  of apple tarts, fresh bread and cheese, 

cottage pie, & chamber pots, (oh please)

 in the speckled woods of this imagination

 slimy good, plump hoodies, this explanation

of why we leap towards protest & voice….

(it’s the frog-way…there’s no other choice)

Give the boy a guitar & orchestrate his soul on stage,

morning birds of summer, buttered with barbecued, melodic rage,

mozzarella musicals, an orchestrated basil & tomato opera for the age

vanilla humidity hip-hopped, ice-cold gospels harmonized upon the page,

this is the chorus of our teenage angst, rampage,

with scary pockets, a symphony, performing our outrage upstage,

soul-rapping, swinging, jazz-making singing 

salad of lemonade vegetables, grilled corn & buttered Bishme,

do….re…..me….fa…so…la….te,

Yo! 1….2…..3

Language is so slimy, 

somewhat grimy, greasy, 

guttural, grunting, messy, 

lapping waves within the slippery slurping of moist alphabet soup…

the wooly words pitter-pattering  in prickly porcupine poop

fishing for love against the toxicity of hatred, 

be-bopping & booping, my soul’s fed,

smoothing the feverish and frigid chills from the clammy, bumpy waves.

Language is soothing…it helps me to rant and to rave. 

Just listen, do you hear us?

    projecting citizenry within our poetry

         fighting to write what matters with human symmetry

within our quest heterogeneous democracy…

such buoyancy & beauty within our beautiful diversity

deserving to be heard, 

we’re revolutionary,

with words as our weaponry 

to fight the absurdity of the world.

Yes, we will be heard, hypnotically & brilliantly,

because it’s our countdown, actually….

fighting to be free, with purpose, patriotically.

3…2….

until we’ve won!

Where's the Blog? It's Naan of Your Business? A Little Naansense Now & Then, Relished by the Wisest Men

Ms. Walnut Beach will now perform how to get the camel through the eye of a needle, followed by the swimsuit edition.

Nope. No water, but with the heat, we all should be in water.

Pam called to see if I could help her find an umbrella stand as hers went wobbly from a rusted support tube, and she wasn't able to find a replacement anywhere. Knowing I wanted to spend 24 hours away from my laptop, I agreed to chauffeur, and talked her into going to an Indian grocery store in Orange so I could get naan bread (which she said looked like the ribbons they where in beauty pageants).

We found naan, but no umbrella stands.

I'm still trying to wipe the grocery store's butcher session from memory, however...our markets tend not to hang our animals in the air...pretty traumatizing.

And the temperatures climbed and climbed and climbed. This will be the case until Tuesday, and Monday (phew), I might sizzle up into a poof of perspiration.

As for the umbrella stand, Oona's son, Shaun, visiting from the Bronx, and I went to town on the rusty shaft and managed to get it off the stand. We cleaned all parts and he put some oil from his car on the rusted nuts, which then were reassemble into the stand. Wola! That did the trick. It was wobbly because the nuts couldn't be twisted as tight as they needed to be.

Then I retired home to read, pant, and look out the windows like it was being taken over by heat monsters. There's not much that can be accomplished on such days.

Late Post This Morning, Because Last Night We Were the Envy of the Angels

Just as we ended the last minutes of Project Citizen, I get a text from a parent whose son finished College Essay and said, "I'm dropping a gift off at your house to thank you for all you did this week for the writers."

I'm like, "Sure."

When I opened it up, I realized some people really get me. I called Dave & Kris and said, "You cook, and I'll bring my wings."

Long story short, we ate stewed chicken, a Caribbean dish, fruit salad, and rice, followed by sipping angel nectar into the night (well, Kris drank wine).

This is all to say that I didn't prepare the blog like I usually do, so had to play catch-up after my Raisin Bran and coffee.

The best bourbons are meant to sip over ice, and that's what we did, saving a taste only for Chitunga (who is camping in the Catskills today with his roommates from Syracuse). Last night was one of those evenings you could live, relive, and live once again. Always a joy to be with good company to unwind.

The CWP(3): @Othello88 @_Mitchellaneous @mrsherzogSHS - Literacy Wonders and Writers For Life. Doing @cwpfairfield & @writingproject proud

Without a teacher institute this summer (fingers crossed for a big announcement this spring), I am able to drop in (okay....attend, creep, stalk, participate, enjoy, and annoy) all the young adult literacy labs this year. Most enlightening for me has been my time with Project Citizen: our award-winning political activism lab led by Mr. Dave Wooley, Mr. Shaun Mitchell, and Ms. Kimberly Herzog - three of the most amazing educators I've ever worked with. What a blessing.

The trio were skirmish about using ZOOM at first, but I believe they are sold because they are most definitely solid now. They are DJ'ing the online environment in amazing ways and the two hour workshops for 8th-12th grade students go by in milliseconds. Every day when it ends they say, "How did that happen?" Zip. Zap. Zoom.

The beauty of the work, however, is how the teachers simply need to frame the discussion/writing activity and step aside. The chat blows up, our Google Docs explode, the break-out rooms get hot, and we simply await to see what amazing work the kids will produce. I'm there for all the instruction. Dave, Kim, and Shaun are National Writing Project all the way, inviting kids with invitations to write in their notebooks, to find their voice, and to name their world. They provide guidance with models, prompts, instructional tools, and shared practice. Then, Wola! Everything takes off.

I had to laugh yesterday because Shaun consciously made an effort to change his language to the KY Y'all from the northeast "You guys." I made a comment about the Y'all acting as Young Adult Literacy Labs, and a young man, Dereje - an Ethiopian-American - corrected me and said, "Nope. That stands for You Awesome Little Liberators." They are liberators, indeed.

All four of us processed the day thinking, "This generation has something special happening to them." They are kids born around 2004 and their 15 years of existence has been loaded with school shootings, government incapabilities, BLM, caged immigrants, and test-only instruction in their schools. They have a 'write' to complain, "The adult community needs to step aside. They obviously have no ability to function. Just look at this nation right now."

They called us out to say that Op-Eds, a traditional way of sharing opinions, moves too slow and accomplishes too little, even though we shared multiple models. They argued that their online, socially mediated movements are doing more to change the world than any newspaper ever has. They are internationally united, too....bonding with kids from multiple countries as they discuss global affairs.

The one thing they have had at their disposal, every step of the way, is the Internet and 24/7 technology to connect them. It will be something to see what becomes of the future as their generation gains the reigns.

My contribution..."You can't forget history, folks. The fact that we are able to chat, interact, write, share, and video conference as we do - especially as a coterie of heterogeneous individuals - is because of a tremendous amount of history (and science, art, math, logic, etc) that has allowed these moments to happen)."

It is something to see them interact, move quickly, maneuver, and plan for action. It is inspirational.

I applaud the teachers, however; Kim, Shaun, and Dave are the masterminds behind this....that is, providing them a space to process, think, research, argue, and share. If only more of our in-school experiences did such work.

It should be pointed out, too, that 100% of the kids have no desire to return to school this fall and prefer learning online. They miss the social part of high school and the face-to-face, but do not psychologically feel it's the right time to return. As Shaun pointed out, "I wonder why no one is listening to them."

You Attend a Workshop on Writing in 2nd Person in Project Citizen (Thanks, Kim) and You Rift on the Prompts. This is How Your Brain Works.

The digital clock on your laptop reads 12:44 and a bowl of peppercorn  ranch pasta salad sits salted with hot and mild sausage that was grilled to perfection at your side. It was right after finishing a College Essay lab and before it's time to open up another ZOOM call for 33 writers signed up for Project Citizen where you've prepared several intriguing first lines to lure young writers into your story...

...they can only choose one...

They opt for the Grannie Annie story swimming in the Beck's pool. Kids always love that one. She was hot an needed to cool off.

Kim takes the Mic and challenges the kids in another style of narrative writing, and asks them to journal about life since March and their responses to it. How have they coped?

You join, and being the visual learner that you are,  respond with a .png image of your head and thought bubbles (dang, you, can't figure them out use speech bubbles instead). Sadly, you do such a bad job, you  you need to cover the edges of your choppy head with a wig, and when you find one you make yourself look eerily like Justin Bieber. That's was not the look you wanted, so you find a beard to counter the Bieber facade. You decide a bearded you is much better, and begin to reflect. Creativity is survival, you think, and I wonder about those without creative outlets to cope.

You can't get Kanye West out of your mind, however. You've always thought he was a bit of a douchebag, even when he was in pre-Kardashian land, and living with his academic, English-teaching mom. She was still alive then, and already whispers of her disappointment filtered through the communities where I taught. You say to others in the group, Kanye always seemed like a spoiled, narcissistic brat...his music was okay, but you don't pay attention. The whole Hollywood tea-spilling of the stars is mind-numbing and a distraction. Who cares who is saying what about who and why. You aren't above the gossip, though, and the kids who are chatting in a group chat on ZOOM prompt you to think critically of the singer.

Mental breakdowns are real. Did he have one? Is there something deeper going on? If so, why go forward with his nonsense on national news?

You flash back to when you were working with Sudanese people in Louisville and Syracuse and watched this White guy, some Christian, who created this non-profit corporation telling the story of this one Sudanese youth and, as you watched his movie, you kept thinking how the hell does someone turn the sad situation of Sudanese lost boys into an international fund-raising campaign for white people. At the time, you realized it was because they were connected to mega-churches and guilt and, even so, the whole thing struck you wrong and felt wonky.

A year later, you learned this White guy, some Christian, as his image was portrayed all over the news in a manic, pyscho outburst where he ran the streets of California completely naked ranting nonsense about devils, and Jesus, and Africa, and his wife, and you thought, "This is sadder than you wanted it to be. You only wanted to be sad because it seemed unjust to make so much money off of the Sudanese refugee story."

You didn't want him to publicly meltdown. You read why on Wikipedia - 'brief reactive psychosis' caused from exhaustion.

Like Kanye, you think. The synapses aren't firing. Both somehow chisel your way of knowing the world.

And you remember the psychotic break a friend had in KY and how it was one fo the scariest things you've ever experienced. It lasted for a long time and you realized the chemical self has tremendous strength over the body when the rages happen. It is not fun to watch or witness. It damages many in its path, and feel empathy for those who suffer from such trauma-triggered behavioral malfunction.

But then you remember Kim's prompt with how you have been coping since March and you realize you continue to write every day, read every day, and create every day, knowing that stupidity cracks you up more than anything else, and to demonstrate this, you make yourself look like Justin Bieber as a lumberjack. So, you find a forest, which makes you look like an Ewok, and then you lose your mind for a few hours looking for the back story of the Christian man who lost his shit.

Losing one's shit is never a good thing, and you think about the kids and their writing, Kim and her prompting, Dave and Shaun and their beautiful collaboration with Kim, and you stop responding to the prompt.

That's when you think, "Hmmm. This would make a good blog post for Calendric Crandall."

Then you create it. 

Inspired by Day 2, Posting on Day 3 - Project Citizen...Planting Seeds for Personal Growth

The teachers kicked off yesterday with issues that mattered to the 33 youth enrolled in Project Citizen and the kids dazzled us with the multi-tasking, cross Internet co-writing they did between Zoom chat, Google, and the Internet. Sticking with visual literacy, I went with Shaun's Earth-in-the-Hand metaphor, and instead of being alarmist, went for planting seeds of possibilities ... that is, issues we need to think productively about including realities of the entire globe, immigration and refugee issues, the 21st century theft of youth/children, the need for global citizenry, better historical accuracy, more support for educational initiatives, and the quest for true democracy. I suppose I will go to my grave with optimism that the human species can be better than they are, but that's all we really have. What is life if it isn't to leave the spaces we inhabit better for those still to come?

Then the teachers did a survey and asked, "How often have you written narratives or personal essays in your schooling experience?" and we were dumbfounded by the responses. 33 kids from 3 states and all types of schools began responding in chat. Never, maybe in elementary school, our teachers don't even know who we are, Sometimes- but it's always what the teachers want, not what we want. It was practically unanimous that they weren't expected to write personal opinions or stories at all - sadder, they reported they are rarely encouraged to talk with one another. We challenged them on this, but they insisted.

Um, okay.

The teachers then planted the seed that personal story-telling is an option for writing at Project Citizen. Kim Herzog shared an Amy Tan piece which caused me to start the following on-demand textual doodle in response,

I read American Born Chinese as an adult, while teaching high school and college students, then was thrilled to debut Dragon Hoops on THE WRITE TIME through the National Writing Project. Gene Luen Yang, a graphic novelist and a teacher from California, wins every time. I’m not a superfan, because I don’t need to be. He’s simply amazing. His latest, Superman Smashes the Clan tells an underbelly story of anti-Asian racism in the U.S., an area we often overlook, especially in terms of White supremacy.
            That’s what I started to think about yesterday, as Kim Herzog did an exercise with Amy Tan’s “Fish Cheeks” – a story she published in Seventeen in 1987. I was only a sophomore at the time and it made me think about the Asian-ness of my own upbringing. As stereotypical as it, I don’t think my family started ordering Chinese food until after I entered college, and the only Asian representation I remember from high school was the incredible brilliance of dancer and friend Lan Nguyen, a Vietnamese girl, and the day our entire gym class of 40 kids played badminton against 5 Vietnamese students in an ESL class and lost. 

            Then there was Yoko, the Japanese-American woman married to Harold, an African American ex-military man who lived kitty-corner to our house. Before she passed, I remember her dog Amy, a Dobermann she fed Snickers for snacks, and a collection of dolls she brought from overseas. She was also friend, funny, and eccentric.

            I took an Asian-literature course once (one of my favorites) where I read Amy Tan, Charlie Chan is Dead (a great collection of stories and poems), The Open Boat, and my personal favorite, Maxine Hong Kingston’s Woman Warrior. I am glad that I had this course, especially when I had the pleasure of teaching Vietnamese youth in Kentucky.

That's as far as I got. If time was friendlier to us, I'd be able to go back to my childhood and learn more from Yoko and the Asian students in my school. I'd like to know more.

And then there was the college essay lab before Project Citizen. I really am a lucky son of a Butch. Such brilliance and excitement with the young people who come to CWP. I am very, very thankful.

      

                                         

And We Are Off....Day Two of Project Citizen @cwpfairfield and Already I Can Tell This We Be Amazing

On day one of the CWP's 1st two-week literacy lab, the incredible teachers: Dave Wooley, Kim Herzog, and Shaun Mitchell, already had me sketching in my writer's notebook, thinking about what it means to be a citizen who creates projects to project a voice in the world. I couldn't help but think of CWP Fairfield's Ubuntu Academy (which kicks off next week) and how my motto typically has been, "Actions speak louder than words."

Watch what I do, and you'll figure out what I stand for.

Obviously, as a National Writing Project Director, I stand for the power of the written word, but in my acts of civility, I also fight for the right so others can "WRITE" their world, too (it should be pretty obvious to everyone right about now that there's a lot needing to be fixed).

To me (x 100) there's also a we (x100).

Ever since I was a 19 year-old fortunate enough to study in London, England with Dr. Carol Boyce Davies, I've committed myself to working within heterogeneous communities with a goal of finding success for all. And trust me, I fully recognize with 100% of my being that the University where I do this work now is the antithesis of the heterogeneity I'm talking about. I know (because I've been telling myself this my entire life...if you don't like something, go out there and change it). I moved to southern Connecticut for a few reasons: the tremendous financial resources of a region, the diversity in public school neighboring these tremendously resourced communities, a mission with the National Writing Project, and my own inner-concept of Robin Hood's work. That is why most all of my work has been off-campus. That's where the magic exists.

My goal has been to mix up the me's as we find the collective we's.

The Brown School planted this seed, but I had to learn about financing on my own. As a public school teacher who took students to Denmark and St. Augustine, Florida often, I  learned what it takes to bring opportunities to kids. There, however, I didn't need to raise money for day-to-day routines, because it was a public school and I was paid by the state. It was the extra work that required ingenuity. Now, as one with a wider reach and a bigger wish to carry forward the Brown School mission, I've learned to build a mini-business that works to provide more opportunities to the community at large...that's the way its been. It's what makes me happy. These are the young adult literacy labs - it's writing, y'all.

My real work occurs during the summer and with the professional development I do in K-12 schools throughout the year. That is where I find meaning, joy, purpose, and spirituality. Add that 'o' to God and you have 'Good' - that's the mission, and how do we bring good to more people, and help them to live better lives? What do we have that can, as Jason Reynolds said, offer a feather or two looking for their first flight? We raise money and we put those funds towards good.

Day one of Project Citizen and I already created a symbolic flag for my notebook (knowing that Project Citizen and Ubuntu Academy talk to one another). Thank you, teachers. Keep on probing me and the students to think! It seems that one may say of history that the ultimate battle of the me & we, with its quest for true democracy, occurred in the 2020s. Only time will tell. 

So Thankful to Bev and Leo for Having Us Over to the Pool Yesterday, Making the Day Tolerable

There have been bear sightings in our neck of the woods as animals have shifted with the quietness of humans in the northeast. This bear, however, was simply me looking for a beer as I was invited to hang with Bev and Leo for the day with Chitunga and Edem. I grilled and made the good ol' Peppercorn Ranch pasta salad with peppers, and it made for a great day.

But, man was it hot. Even in the time we were all chilling in the pool, the temperature of the water kept going up. It was at 90 by the time we got out...still refreshing from the stagnant air.

We have one more day like this to get through (and I'll be indoors as this week begins back-to-back literacy labs). We are very pleased by the numbers, as we've matched out other years...even surpassed expectations. I'm always a little nervous for the first day, though...trying to figure out if everything will go alright and we will have smooth sailing on new waters.

Can't complain, though, because we have awesome teams!

Well, It's Official. I Am Unlikely to Ever Lose the Frog Motif in My Life. Ribbit Ribbit

It was a small package. I imagined it would be for Chitunga because I don't have anything ordered, but when I got to the mailbox, it was for me. A small love-token from my older sister for these bizarre times we live in - a mask to match my companions, my backpacks of yesteryear, my Daemon, my spirit-animal, and the knick-knacks lying around my house.

It croaks me up, too.

Cynde said when I sent the first photograph, "You need to find a green bandana." I said I probably have one somewhere, went to the garage, got the CWP athletic bag (not like we're using anything sporty with online learning) and I found the right one.

Then I went to get groceries in my ribbeting attire. I'm sure everyone was like, "What a dork," but I shopped proudly.

I've got quite the collection now...between the ones I bought, the ones sent me, and this gift, I can definitely leave my house in Kermit-the-Frog style....although Kermie wasn't a tree frog.

And welcome back the heat, Connecticut. We always get several days that are very Kentucky-like and this weekend is hosting two of them. I mowed, ran, walked, and weed-whacked totally soaked. Also went to New Haven to socially distance burgers in the Silver's driveway, playing the first round of corn hole in a long while - that's because Abu isn't her this summer and our set is still in the shed. I was thinking, too, we should get the badminton set out. This summer is so unlike all the others.

Now I am thinking it would be really cool to have a plastic air pump to bite into that could shoot out a long tongue from my mask (sort of like a party horn). That would be really cool.

I always love random acts of kindness, so thanks, Cynderballz. Glad you didn't wait until Christmas.

I Remember Coming Home and Saying, "You Got a Pool," & Then All the Amalfi Memories Began...This Too Has Passed

Oh, pool.

Pool of my 20s, 30s, and most of my 40s, while visiting Butch and Sue at home. The home front. Mom and Dad's Pond of Salvation. My summer bathtub, post-run sanctuary, and evening cool-down oasis.

Our ball park, adventure land, our booze-space, and humidity relief station.

You were the hum that helped me sleep each night, and the first thing I looked out to each morning.

The shed outlived you, the boys will miss you, and I know my parents are shedding a tear. All those laps. All those books read. All those rafts, including the spiral one that kept us entertained for hours, and the Olympic one that kept you about five feet out of the water.

They invested in keeping you alive, and even then you had a mind of your own. You'd didn't want to hold, even as frogs and ducks begged you to stay. "Please," I rationed with my mom. "Can't you wait until August for when I have time to visit?" But I was told she wasn't even opened last year.

That was our little-league field before she was put in, and the sanctuary for Cynderballz and Maureen when they both were unemployed and had a summer to get tan. It was the lake for Smoker who would swim and swim and swim, owning the tennis balls and the ladder out, loving the chlorine, exercise, and refreshing cold. Do you remember when Cynde's entire bridal party splashed in you, tuxes, dresses, and all?

How many times did we have to climb out to get the volleyball that was knocked a little too high?

I read every Harry Potter book floating in your blue, during summers when I'd return from Kentucky. You were the glitter behind the barbecues and out-back evening dinners....the relief station of neighbors who'd ask, "Can we come and cool off? This is miserable outside right now."

And all the 90s music blared from our shitty-ass boom boxes.

Good-bye ol' friend. You brought as much happiness as Loch Lebanon.

You were life, and I thank you for that. 

It's Friday, and We've Webbed Ourselves in Plots and Possibilities. Thankful to My Teachers

One last day of putting together final touches on those young adult novels with 30 adolescent writers before I head off to an afternoon of meetings and revisions for myself.

Yesterday, I was thankful to have one our CWP teachers, also Fairfield University's Adjunct of the Year, Colin Hosten, share some of his children't book writing, and the ways that illustrations pair with narrative arc and help a writer to build on story, elaborate, and search for additional details. He bounced well off of Justine's talk yesterday, and the mini-workshops we've held in-between.

I'm also glad to say two major projects were sent, but I didn't find time for the 3rd, because we conducted another phenomenal THE WRITE TIME episode that went after hours because the conversation was so amazing.

Yes, it's Friday. Yes, I'm thanking God. And Yes, I'm exhausted. I didn't even eat lunch or dinner until 10 pm last night - this is the pace I've been keeping.

I am, however, building hope for the weekend and some R & R time if I can make it happen. I need to catch my breath some.

Here's to the week that just was, though!

Endless Stories of Frog Hope...That Seems to Be the Summer Mantra from the Desk Upstairs

True story: the office chair in my house isofficially falling apart from so much use. Yes, the fake leather is peeling off from the cushion and I personally feel assaulted that it is rejecting the fact that my @#$ is in it so much. It sticks to me, it sticks to the dog, it flutters on the floor, and that spray-tanned faux chic is pretty much everywhere.

What's a guy to do? This is how everything is rolling right now.

Yesterday, however, was actually a fabulous day, but I'm a little too whipped to recall all of it right now because there's an entirely new day to be lived today. We had a phenomenal guest come to novel writing with her puppet, improvisational skills, and clever teaching (it was so phenomenal)...more on that later (promise)

We also had a PLC TLC (professional learning community: tender, loving, care meeting) for CWP teachers. So many need to talk and process right now.
There's a need to be proactive, supportive, forward-thinking, optimistic, and strategic.

As I went downstairs to cook dinner for the boys, however, I looked over at a coffee mug that needs to be washed (thanks Rose) and a glass that was somewhat filled with water, and there was my writing frog looking at me. I had to smile. These are my desk-friends, my trinkets, each and every day: H20, Java, and a ribbit-ing writing companion. It's an endless story, and that story (in Texas) was the last time the world was semi-normal. It was a beautiful extended weekend with authors, teachers, visionaries, and great company.

I shouldn't announce this here, but there's another truth that needs to be told at the end of this post and that is, "I actually see a light at the end of the tunnel." This Friday, so many of the summer projects that are extra to the CWP work - the publish or perish projects - are finally going forward with the SEND button. I'm looking at the weekend like, "Hey, Baby. What's your sign? Want to fool around?"

It's been something, and I'm loving every second of it.

It is more of something when projects are finalized (well, for now)

This Ol' Man Went to Market. This Ol' Man Stayed Home. This Ol' Man ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM'd All the Way Home

In no point of my life did I ever think I'd be channeling Howard Stern on a daily basis to run workshops, literacy labs, classes, interviews, special appearances, and conferences like I do, but this is the era of Covid-19 when the way we do things has been altered quite a bit.

Of all the conversations I had yesterday in digital spaces, I loved none more than the one that was initiated with Jessica Early of Central Arizona Writing Project as we listened to the interview with Torrey Maldonado. Jessica and I have been discussing our summer programs going online for a few months now and she and I have learned so much.

SO MUCH that, through a series of numerous text messages, we think we need to do a 3-hour professional development session for anyone thinking about teaching writing online in digital spaces this Fall. We don't know what is coming, but if one follows the science, the data reporting, and the facts, it is somewhat predicable that most of us will be in digital locations for quite a while (that is, if we want to be rational, logical, smart, and HUMAN with our educational decisions). Jessica and I began texting, which led to brainstorming, which led to possibility, which led to need. It's the National Writing Project way to problem-solve, share, and be collective. Phew. I admire Jessica.

Howdy, Hump-Day. Glad to see you again. Feels like we were just at last week's Hump-Day. Ha! And I'm wearing my Bread Loaf School of English 2006 t-shirt, the one I designed in Santa Fe. That was the summer before my last year in Kentucky, too, having the universe catapult me into the doctoral direction. I applied in 2005, but withdrew my applications because I loved my teaching life so much. Then the whirlwinds began, Scylla and Charybdis did their thing, I read the tea leaves, and let the hook in my chest pull be onward.

Now, in 2020, I still love my teaching life and realize I've sustained that love by following my heart, soul, vision, NWP-influenced mentoring, and the GREAT WHATEVER's pull. I am a better man because of the multiple communities that have challenged me to be a better individual.

Phew. Chapters. We just never know. They're being written all the time...even now.

Thank You @WestportLibrary for Hosting @JerryCraft for Kids Yesterday. I'm a Big Kid (not a new one) & Needed That

Yesterday, the novel-writing middle and high school kids at the Connecticut Writing Project - Fairfield University were invited to a virtual conversation with graphic novelist Jerry Craft (yes, 2020 Newbery and Coretta Scott King Book Awards). He's a friend of storytelling and imagination and I'm so thankful we were stationed next to him so many years ago at the Westport Library Maker's Fair. He actually packed up with his books and left, but then a friend helped me to run after him - I wanted him to help me present in front of 160 8th graders from Greenwich. He obliged, because he's cool like that. At the time, he was still working on New Kid.

Last summer, when the book came out, I started texting Jerry thoughts as I was reading, which soon turned into screen shots of my favorite pages (e.g, Wow!; whoa!; This!; Phew!), which later turned into an hour or so conversation about race, publishing, NCTE, teachers, kids, and graphic novels. Fast forward to NCTE, when Jerry could be found sitting in the crowd of English teachers working on Class Act, the follow-up to New Kid that will be in print this Fall. The occasional teacher came up to him for a photograph and I said to him, "Um, this is probably the last time you can be in public like this, especially with teachers, and not get mobbed."

Covid hit. I'm not sure if he's had the luxury of being mobbed yet. It's coming. He's a phenomenon.

Yesterday, The Westport Library hosted Jerry Craft for a kid's workshop from 4 to 5:30, and I was so pleased to hear him speak. Truth be told, I've not heard him talk...only met him in Stew Leonards to pick up 100 autographed books for my teachers and kids!!!! And when he presented for CWP, I was presenting in another room - I had to hear what the kids were telling me (and was always jealous that I couldn't hear, too).

WHAT AN ABSOLUTE THRILL IT WAS TO HEAR HIM YESTERDAY WHEN HE SHARED STORY OF ILLUSTRATING, MODELED HIS COMPOSING PROCESSES, DEMONSTRATED HIS COMMITMENT TO CREATING BOOKS, and MODEL HIS INCREDIBLE INTEGRITY.

Jerry Craft was marvelous with kids, and I was mesmerized by the drawing he did as he talked with them (note: I put his head on his drawing above, because I could).

Jerry Craft is a national treasure...he was before, and he will continue to be. I write my blog today in hopes that every school district orders his book for their libraries and classrooms, and they find a way for him to speak to their students. There are superheroes on the page, but there are also those in real life with pens in their hands, illustrating possibilities for the nation.

I haven't seen Jerry Craft's cape yet...but his magical powers saved me yesterday. I needed his up-lifting spirit and humor...and he made the day super awesome. I love everything about his soul and skill, and feel blessed he's a Connecticut writer!

Happy Tuesday, Everyone.

May you craft your day like Jerry does.

Entering Monday Wondering Where the Weekend Went and Exhausted Getting Ready for the Week Ahead. We Have No Choice. We Got This.

At 10 p.m. last night, when I finally shut my laptop down, I thought, "Crimminy....you spent almost all day Sunday writing, editing, planning, correcting, shaping, inquiring, and responding." Then you went to sleep knowing that every day this week is one item after another requiring much attention from multiple directions.

It's all good. I am thrilled to have the opportunity to work, to carry forth CWP projects, and to stand in support with the wonderful educators I work with. I did enjoy the run yesterday (super hot) and even the walk with Glamis the Wonder Dog (super hot, still).

I also enjoyed that I had my potato salad to put a smile on my face.

It's also hard to believe that we're entering the midway point of summer programs. It doesn't seem possible (and I'm still wondering how I usually have a teacher institute, too). I remain proud of what is being accomplished and look forward to the exciting learning ahead this week.

I am biting my nails, however, with nerves. I guess this is what leadership looks like behind the scenes.

Well, I Was Able to Hold Off For a Week. Caught Up with Friends This Week. Now Have Visuals for the Music

I've read the controversies (there are always controversies) and I get the controversies (because they're controversies) but after listening to the soundtrack for 4 years and finally seeing the production, I can only say that "whereas" the lyricism has always blown my brain, actually seeing how it was performed sent me to another world.

So much talent. So much brilliance. Such a story. And so well sung and acted.

I'm not going to write too much here this morning because I'm heading to my own writing projects, but I will say that the whole time I watched, I kept saying, "I wish my mom was watching this with me." Great to watch with Bev and Leo, too, who knew all the words.

Definitely worth watching again.

Up and beyond the controversies, I'm just in awe. Period. So clever. Give me a classroom full of Lin Manuel talents any day.

Crandall is Skeptical, Slow, and Meticulous. But When He Jumps In, He's All In - The Potato Salad Success Story

Another week of Literacy Labs - Success! Another episode of THE WRITE TIME taped - Success! Laundry folded and put away, then the thought, "Hmmm. I should attempt to make a potato salad."

It's long in the coming. I loved potato salad but never tried to make one. I think it's because my mom said we were genetically incapable of a successful potato salad because that Ripley gene wasn't handed to us...it went to the cousins.

Walking downstairs, however, and seeing Tunga eating a butter sandwich made me feel guilt that I didn't have any thing cooked for today. It's hard to keep up with three meals a day with three of us home, especially since he's on a different schedule and eats dinner when I am waking up for breakfast.

Anyway, last week, Pam made potato salad and I said, "I want you to teach me how to do it." She gave me her secrets, but then I read several hints and suggestions online, figuring out what I could use and not use (I admit I hate celery and the thought of chopped pickles didn't float my boat and I excluded them both - although I think I know why the pickles would be good).

The result? I was scared to death to try it. I did use dill, carrots, red onions, a garlic clove....and I also left the skin on. My secret ingredient was chives, because I love them, and I did find one recipe that called for them.

Delicious. I was doing the Rocky victory dance around the house, because my mom had me believing I would fail. "It's one salad I never could master."

First try, and I mastered it. So good to have in the evening (and now I wished I cooked that rib-eye, too).

And this is how I'm entering the monsoon weekend. Winds. Possible tornados. Rain. But a good potato salad, too. 

On Behalf of @CWPFairfield, Wow! @JanaeMarksBook - You Offered So Much Brilliance to Our Young Writers

(In which I couldn't help myself. I took a ZOOM photo, unfair, but I wanted to capture the one-of-a-kind advice from Janae Marks, author of From the Desk of Zoe Washington).

There are times when teachers look at one another and simply say the same thing at the same time. This was the case for Westport Public Schools teacher, Emily Sawyer, and me when planning the first week of our Novel Writing - Character Matters Literacy Lab. Janae Marks.

Jinx. You owe me a coke.

I've been fortunate to hear the middle school author speak at the Saugatuck StoryFest, and more recently have loved hearing the buzz about her writing build across the nation, and build, and build. I knew it was a long shot to get her, but Emily Sawyer was like, "She's in." Okay. Lucky Us.

She came.

The timing of her discussion, her remarks, and her advice were superb, especially as our writers are adding more and more finishing touches to their novels with this week's focus on character development. I filled many pages from a writing prompt she gave, and focused on her top five: (1) a character's external goal (although mine might be internal, too), (2) an emotional arc (the outward person, but also the inside one), (3) the character flaw (if only they could borrow some of mine), (4) specificity (I overwrite, so I need trimming), and (5) the backstories (which get easier and easier the older I get).

Of course, my writing is typically academic (that is, the stuff that is shared with others), but I've been listening to incredible advice for years and I want to put the expertise given to me into action (I've always written creatively....just not shared it so much...except for this blog and with my students). Janae Marks gave me a great idea for the upcoming months which I'm looking forward to working on. She's definitely one to read and invite to the classroom.

I highly, highly recommend From the Desk of Zoe Washington, especially if you love inquisitive protagonists - the middle school kind, and say, "Order it today."

Here's to Janae Marks, her ability to answer rapid-fire questions, and the impact she had on our young writers yesterday. If you know middle school librarians and teachers, share this post. It's a must have.

PS: How many writers showed up with popcorn this morning, because Janae recommended that as a snack!!!!!

The Debate is On. 2nd Degree Burns or Sweat Trying to Escape Browned-Skinned?

When I finished teaching yesterday, I immediately went for a long run and when I came back, I noticed all these crazy bumps on my skin. If I touched them, they would squirt water quickly. I have had this before and I have always thought it was sweat trapped under browned skin. Of course, Pam had me paranoid that it was a 2nd degree burn, but then her daughter sided with me. It was water under browned skin. My medically-inclined mother/daughter duo then began debating with websites, photographs, and doctor reports.

Sort of cool, actually.

And I post this knowing I had a 10-hour Zoom day. I did it to myself, and I should have been more strategic with how to spend a day. I am beginning to think that work is my coping strategy.

It was all good I barbecued around 3 pm so the boys had food while I went back to work, and spent the rest of the day teaching writing, coaching writing, and dealing with the craziness of the reopening of the University (which I'm not even a part of this year). Tents! TENTS! Tense!

Short post today. My brain is thinking a million and one things. And it's another day. Another million and one things are on their way. I love the kids who sign up for CWP labs. They are amazing.

Stock Photo from Last Year: But Perfect Metaphor for Gaining Perspective This Year Online. Loving these Labs!

Perspective. That's the glory of directing the National Writing Project site that I do in Connecticut, and having the privilege of witnessing phenomenal teachers doing phenomenal things for and with kids.

Yesterday, I teeter-tottered between two classrooms (which really turned into four or five because teachers have mastered the break out rooms) and in each space I entered, I was tasked with cool prompts and new ways of approaching my own writing.

Earlier this summer, I attended a workshop led by Dr. Tonya Perry through NCTE and in it she prompted us to read the writing and thinking of a kid named Darius. I responded in a drawing and for purposes of the workshops with CWP, I thought I might use the drawing to walk through some of the workshops the teachers led with the writers 3rd-5th, 6th-8th, and 9th-12th. In one, students had to show the emotion of anger from the character they were working with,

Darius stormed out of the house wanting his mother to know that he wasn't pleased that she was his mom, that he had to live by her mother code - a single mom code was the worst, and that her lectures were getting really, really old. He stretched a bit, looked down Central Avenue, and decided he'd rather feel the flames in his thighs - he'd just run the stress off and hide in his stride. 

"I deserve my own story; I'm making a choice," he chanted, creating a rhythm for his run. "I want tomorrow, not the sorrow. I deserve my own voice."

I DESERVE MY OWN VOICE. 

Voice?

He was practically sprinting at this point, putting their fight onto the pavement, punching his sneakers into the road. His mother lived Black history, loved Black history, made Black history, and this frustrated his own history of being the only child, the athlete, and as he already knew it, a Black male. He hated her reminders.

"@$#$," he screamed at the revelation, but also because he tripped over his own feet and slid across the pavement, scraping his knee, shin, and left shoulder. The slide across the gravel and stones scratched the flesh, letting blood trickle in the tar that stuck to his leg. Clumsy. He hated when this happened.

Then in another room, kids were being asked, "So, you have this character, but they need to go somewhere? What do they pack? Clothes? Games? Accessories?

Darius stood up. It hurt, but the adrenaline didn't share how deep the scratches really went. His mother said, "I'm asking you to stay with your Uncle for a couple of days. Just until the two of us calm down. I don't like the fighting, D. I don't like the lip you're giving either."

He knew he'd have to pack a bag when he got home. Socks, indeed. A couple pairs of sneakers - he never did like to run in the same shoes every day. Red licorice. No nutritional reason...just his thing. Something nice to wear, cuz his Uncle always took him somewhere nice to eat. Cut off sweats to sleep in. The baggy ones. Hated clothes to stick on him at night. And his chain. Never took it off really. A gift from his father before he passed.

The University life has me always writing academically, and I miss creative exploration...at least tapping the voices of students I've taught over the years, hearing them tell me their stories, and trying to make sense of them with the research I do and the theories I hope might apply.

It's a hump day today (again) meaning we're halfway through. Normally, these literacy labs run 6 hours a day and I'm also working with a room full of 20 teachers. This summer, though, the teachers who aren't teaching for CWP are off...the institute, I hope, will move to a hybrid model beginning in the spring, where we are online mostly, but come to work with kids in the summer. We shall see...that's one of the 20 grants I have out there without any news.

And now I go back to learning! Have a great day.

Little Labbin' with Big Imaginations! How Cool Is It To Get Homework from 8 - 11 Year Olds? I Got This! Ribbit Ribbit!

I am loving the online literacy labs and am so proud of my teaching network for making the summer camps extra special, humorous, fun, engaging, interactive, and inspiring. I was with the older kids on Day One of developing a character then swiped over to see what the 2nd week of Little Labs for Big Imaginations were doing. They were laughing hysterically when I entered and I asked, "What's so funny?"

Of course they replied, "Your face."

Actually, I am too new to them for such humor, so I arrived with my frog-friend and listened as Jessica Baldizon was challenging them to create a super-duper list about something they love and are passionate about.

50 THINGS! Wow. I wish my elementary school teachers challenged me to 50 things! Then a boy put the challenge out to me. I bet you can't come up with 50 things to do with a rubber frog!

Challenge taken, buckaroo. There's much to be done with a rubber frog.

50 Things to Do with a Rubber Frog (aka meeting the little lab challenge)

1. Chase your sister, of course.
2. Torment the dog.
3. Do rubber dissections.
4. Walk the streets in search of a rubber Miss Piggy.
5. Scare the neighborhood flies away.
6. Juggle him with your rubber chicken and rubber ducky.
7. Play a rubber chef and make rubber frog legs (they say they chase like chicken).
8. Challenge him to a game of hopscotch.
9. Attract herons to the yard.
10. Also attract snakes.
11. Leave in toilet somewhere.
12. Make frog noises with it.
13. Name at least 10 other green things with him.
14. Upload videos to Tik Tok, of course. 
15. Put it in a wig and tell everyone it's your grandma.
16. Take it for a bike ride on your shoulder.
17. Teach it to skateboard.
18. Teach him how to dance the floss.
19. Have him use his tongue to get the crumbs off you from the cookie you just ate.
20. Use him to spellcheck.
21. Have him stuffed when on a cruise and gifted to a friend like Jessica did.
22. Put him in a top hat and give him a cane to see if he can sing.
23. Play Frogger with him and his friends.
24. Ask him to tell you what it was like when he was just a tadpole.
25. Duh. Play Leap Frog.
26. Put him in lipstick and wait for all the women to flock to him looking for a prince.
27. Teach him to sing Baby Shark.
28. Debate with him what is better? Pizza, Hamburgers, Hotdogs, or Dragonflies.
29. Have him teach his friends to stay out of your mother's pool.
30. Put him in the freezer and take him out when you need a friend.
31. Brush their teeth. They do have teeth. 
32. Read Frog and Toad stories.
33. Stretch him around your head like he's a headband.
34. Leave him in the mailbox so the mail person gets a surprise.
35. Pretend to eat him like you're an alien creature.
36. Bring him to school and only talk to him so everyone thinks you're super crazy.
37. Shake him frantically as if he's Kermit at the end of the Muppet Show.
38. See if he floats in the bathtub.
39. Have him watch you fill up your writer's notebook
40. Take him to see Hamilton.
41. Have him go eat Vietnamese food with Miss Mindy.
42. Get him stuck in Ms. Stefania's hair. 
43. Assign him to get all the indoor spiders.
44. Teach him sign language.
45. Share your best frog noise impersonations.
46. Write him letters and send them to the Lily Pad (true story that).
47. Buy him wind-up toys to play with.
48. Write him a frog-poem that leaps across the page.
49. Introduce him to your invisible friends, and
50. Obviously, sing the Rainbow Connection.

Ta-da! The 50-list. Thanks for the writing prompt. Absolutely love the big imaginations!