This Post Is Brought to You By Another Hump Day - At This Point, Though, Hump Day, Fridays, Mondays...It All Blurs

Up at 7 a.m. and reading/writing/reporting/creating/ thinking/planning/analyzing/charting and editing until 1 p.m. - then I decided I needed lunch, but also took time to cook dinner on the grill, because I knew I wasn't going to have time in the evening because we were recording another episode of THE WRITE TIME. 

Did the same from 1:45 until 4, before I took Glamis for a long walk. Then, from 6 to 7 pm I conducted the interview before running to Big Y to pick up deodorant for Chitunga (strange that he's 100% independent, but made this request today - sure, anything to contribute to his needs). Then, I came home to read/write/create/think/plan/analyze/chart & edit until 10 p.m., when I decided to catch up on the tomfoolery of the debates (not by watching them, but by reading comments and tuning into comedians --- they have their eyes closest to the ridiculousness of it all...what an absolute disgrace).

Seriously, though. The days blur together and usually this is a space were we high-five one another and say, "We're halfway there, folks." The trouble is, halfway to where? When? Why? Halfway from where, when, and why? We are heading to month 8 of abnormal, and I'm sure many can count many more months before, too...2020 is not like any other year we've ever experienced.

But, mid-week, I can finish a report, almost send POW out for publication, and begin to transition to grant work (although I also need to work on my other publishing goals, too). 

I can say I spent the majority of the day in my new space. It may be a small environment, but with the money I spent, it's the least I can do. I will frequent it as much as possible. So far, it works.

And now, a rain event. That works in my favor, because I won't be tempted to go outside (although Glamis and I were doused yesterday, even though they said the rain would stop in the afternoon. Nope. That's when it actually began!)

Last day of September. GEESH!

1st Day Operationalizing Our New Reading/Writing/Thinking Space on Mt. Pleasant. We Will Get Used to This. Promise.

The steps to the front porch are now set, and only need to be polished and edged (moderately). The porch is structured, windows in, and the interior good to go. All that is needed is a ceiling fan, which I've been searching for online for several weeks. I had the contractor order one, as it is slight in height, matches, and (he should be happy) way under budget.

The skinny for those that don't know. I had windows on the 2nd floor replaced, and asked the contractor to check on the front porch that was slanting and detaching from the house. I wanted him to pump it back up. It was unusable, and sort of a pain in the ass. When they got into the porch structure, though, they saw it was being held together by shreds of ply-wood and would collapse any day  - what you get for a house built in the 1930s. So, I said, do what you got to do and when I saw the $$$ tag, I said, "Okay, we are all moving into the front porch because that is a lot of money. I want to make it a literacy work space."

It used to be a shoe room, but because it sees full sun all year round, I decided to make it a reading/writing/thinking room (especially in the winter, because it gets the heavy sun). We shall see. Thanks to Pamela Kelly and Cynderballz for nodding up and now and saying, "fuck no" or "that works" when I sent Amazon possibilities with my interior orders. We still have to install the ceiling fan, and I'm also thinking I may want to get a giant bean bag chair as the 2nd seating possibility - that, and a computer table for the Crandall chair (it really is called the Crandall Chair...bought at Pier One several years ago for like $40).

Shout out to Tiffany Jackson, too - I'm getting there! I will get Grown read this week. I promise. I hiked with you two days in a row, and am likely to finish the rest seated on this new porch. I actually brought it outside to test-read in the space while receiving several orders from Amazon for this fall's Reading Landscapes: Writing Nature in the 21st Century This grant allows us to do great work with teachers again this Fall, and I'm preparing kits from home. I think the Amazon trucks stopped six times yesterday with supplies that I need to mail selected participants - because of Covid-19, applications came from all across the nation, and not just Connecticut. Lucky for us, we get to celebrate Weir Farm National Historic Site with the rest of the nation in 2020.

I'm also thrilled to be reading Victoria Jamieson and Omar Mohamed's When Stars are Scattered, which we will definitely use with Ubuntu Academy in 2021. I'm also finished with Angela Stockman's Creating Inclusive Writing Environments in the K-12 Classroom. The second I read the title was being released, I pre-ordered...wonderful to read her work, especially with CNY ties, connections tot he National Writing Project, and her years of expertise.

And I need to say, "Thank you, Big Y, for putting fresh salmon on sale, because it's been spectacular to eat with couscous and green beans." 

It's the small things in life.

It's also the BIG things in life - Tiffany Jackson mesmerizes me with her writing.

Today, I am going full-force in 'transition land,' heading to writing projects yet to begin, and eagerly waiting THE WRITE TIME recording with a tremendous, award-winning author (shhhhh) this afternoon (debuting a student interviewer, too...breaking away from just teachers at the Mic). 

It's Tuesday. 

Yesterday was Monday, but I'm feeling semi-accomplished with it. It simply feels good that some of the household projects are finally coming together.

What Happens When Phish-Loving, Post-60s Hippies Transcend Covid-19 in a Quest for Zest? A 1980s Mall-Culture Takeover.

I'm always up for something new. "Crandall, it's $80 per car, they'll have food trucks, and every other parking space is left open so people can socially distance. It's hippie music. The band is tight, but the singing is bad. Don't laugh. You should come. You'll enjoy it."

Chitunga and I came - rode the same van. There were no food trucks. The band was good, the singing was bad. But there was a Chipotles. Gotta love Chipotles.

The concert, Creamery Station, was held in a dilapidated mall parking lot (Sears, to be exact). The crowd looked like Grateful Dead meets Woodstock,  ready to go with their bright, rainbow lit everything. We were scared to sneak in margaritas, but as soon as we pulled in, it was a field of pot smoke. People would care less about our Gatorade bottles snuck in the mini-van. The crowd was mostly 60+, graying Baby Boomer types, with long flowing skirts, tie-dyed face masks, and the desire to get stoned and dance. It was an atmosphere that said, "This is how we've always chosen to live out lives."

In the middle of a Mall parking lot. At dusk. Cops everywhere. No arrests. It's been a long time since I've been to a concert like this - since Phish in Louisville, I believe. Reminded me a lot of my Lollapalooza days and Horde festivals in my 20s. A sea of people dancing with hoola-hoops, glow-sticks, and flashing lights.

By 9 p.m. we were out. We only made it through two songs in the second set, and now I can scratch this off my bucket list (mostly because it was never on my bucket list in the first place). Chitunga got us Chipotle. That wins every time. Chipotle. A burrito!

And I watched this crowd thinking, "Hmmm...who would ever think a scene like this would occur in 2020?" 

Humans are so weird. I love every second of it.

"Going for a Walk," I Yell Into the House. "I'll Be Right Back." Then, 8.8 miles and 2 Hours Later, I Think, "Dang. There's Still More Audio Book Left."

I had two plans for Saturday. Read, and take a walk. Then I said, "Wait, why not walk to beach and do an audio version of Tiffany Jackson's Grown?" I looked it up and saw it was do-able, I only miscalculated the miles by 2.6. Back in my 20s and 30s, I'd run 11-12 miles on the weekend, so I figured a good walk would be fine. I was into the book and figured I'd kill two birds with one stone, which I did.

It's actually 8.8 miles round trip from Mt. Pleasant to the sand of Short Beach, and it was good to be on the streets to see details missed when one usually is driving. There were a few other runners, bikers, walkers, but for the most part, not too many people were on the sidewalks. I knew it would take some time, but I just put on my hiking mindset and took off.

The water was calm and there were few people taking advantage of the sand, sound, and sky. I found a port-o-potty (dang coffee), meditated for a short bit, then trekked my way back home (glad not to meditate in the port-o-potty).

Tiffany Jackson can write. I've said that about each and every one of her books, and I thought I'd finish this one during the walk. Nope. There's still 3 hours to go. As I said, she can write, and intrigue the reader (well, listener), In this novel, she takes up the R. Kelly / young girl(s) appeal to imagine how it is that a few rich and famous fellas find ways to mentally manipulate teenage girls in their lives. It's something. The topic is not one I'd usually gravitate to, but Jackson's craft makes it alluring, psychological, and clever. In short, the hike was more of a longer-than-usual bout to a book store. 

I will say, though, that at mile 7 there were pains in my hip and I was really thirsty. I figured I might be sore this morning, as I've aged into 5K runs and walks, rarely anything longer. I awoke this morning, however, with nothing to complain about - just a desire to do it again, although I'm not sure I can commit the time.

A perfect day is outdoor recreation and a book; audible allows for doing both together which I appreciate (and thanks to Chitunga for loaning me his ZOOM headset). 

 

Four Months Later, All the Ordered Windows are Now In. News Flash - Windows are Way Back-Ordered. But Mine Arrived

After the contractor biffed on the original bedroom windows for my room (he entered the dimensions in the opposite way), it took several more weeks to get the corrected ones, and even though I've been contacted every Monday for several weeks with, "They're coming tomorrow," they didn't arrive until this Tuesday. And yesterday, Friday, 7 a.m., the guy was here ready to go. It was chaos.

Chitunga and I were just getting up to kick off our day, I didn't have my coffee yet (I am miserable without coffee), and Edem was just coming home from his overnight shift at Amazon. 

Of course Glamis started barking. I was wiping night out of my eyes at the kitchen sink when I heard the knock at the door. Really? Antonio said, "I woke up earlier than I expected, so I thought I'd get a start on my day." 

As soon as he left, the masons came to build the front steps. The front end the house had a lot of noise, so I decided to work for 4 hours, then finish painting inside the porch. Later in the night, I even started to explore how we might use it as a reading room with the new rug and old Crandall chair. It is always nice to see summer projects come to an end, and this one was more than I bargained for, as a collapsing front porch wasn't on the agenda...only the windows. Phew. I don't like having another monthly payment coming my way.

Now, in the Spring, we will work to re-landscape the front, figuring out ways to make it look as nice as the back. We also want to paint the house (it needs it), and now Glamis's window (that's her perch and headquarters) needs to be replaced. There's only so much I can save each summer with the extra work I do, but it looks like I will take on an additional summer course next year, just to chisel away at this adult life thing aka "Jesus Christ, what do I have to pay for next?". 

Now it is the weekend, though, and I haven't a clue what I intend to do. Well, I do, I just need to be realistic with the goals I have for myself.

Apologizing Upfront - This is a Food Post. Actually Went to BIN for Milford's Restaurant Week & Ate Outside (1st Since March)

I remained a bit skeptical, but I've heard stories from others (including Chitunga) about their dining experiences, so when Leo said, "Come on, Crandall. It's restaurant week. Eventually we all have to start being human again," I thought, "Sure." The window of opportunity before things blast off again are somewhat small and, besides, I've always wanted to eat at the fancy-smancy restaurant called Bin. They had huge tents set up in their accommodating parking lot, and tables were all a good 10-feet apart. I was also seated with my back to the other diners, so it seemed like our weekend crew was only having dinner together (but with table cloths). It was one of those 3-course meal shin-digs, and I started with creamy squash with coconut and sour cream soup (beyond delicious), moved to gorgonzola chicken dish with creamed potatoes (not so great...I think they may have forgotten the gorgonzola), and ended with a pumpkin-glazed cheese cake (also delicious). I should point out, however, I also had a blueberry-maple manhattan with my choice of bourbon (ridiculously good). 

To be honest, I only had a bite of the main course, because I loved the soup so much, and didn't want to lose that flavor. I can heat up the leftovers for lunch or dinner later today. 

I should also point out that we picked the last of the garden tomatoes and I knew Chitunga probably cooked bacon in the fridge somewhere. I chopped up lettuce and made a BLT, which may be why I was only hungry for the soup at dinner. I'm late to the bacon game, and rarely cook it, but it really does touch-up a sandwich, whether it's tomato, chicken, or turkey. I'm always like, "Crandall, this is so good." 

Of course, my checkbook has appreciated the slower life and doesn't need to get back to the out-to-dinner experiences, especially with the porch to pay off (the upstairs windows were paid it in full). Restaurants, especially the fancy ones, really eat away at your income. I was good with this, though, because we haven't done it in so long and, like Leo said, I'd eventually have to break out of my home-cooked rituals.

The runner/walker/mid-life fat-ass in me, however, is thinking two meals like this in one day is a bit excessive. I keep telling Chitunga and Edem, "Dudes, if you weren't home, it's be Triscuits and cheese for me. That's all I need." 

It's been so long since I've had such an out-of-house experience; it almost felt exotic. Bless the hearts of food-servers and all my hopes for a lift of this plague so the economy can continue to support them.

Wishing Life's Puzzles Were Easier to Solve - Sending a Variety of Emotions to the City of Louisville (& Encourage Hitting the Books Even More)

546 S. 1st Street, on the corner of Muhammad Ali. That was my home away from home for over a decade, and Louisville's pastiche was an inspiration: beautiful cultures, blue grass charm, rituals, and the wonderful young people of the Brown School. I was fortunate to have knowledge of the location because my cousins went there, and after doing two Masters at the University of Louisville, I was lucky to meet Sue McV and have an invitation to what was a miraculous space - a K-12, public school with a vision for diversity, inclusion, and high standards for all. My saying always was, "It's like the yellow pages. If it's out there in the world, it's in our school." I like Mac Finley's explanation, as well...."Take all the colors in a Crayola Box, swirl it together, and you get Brown. That's us." Brown is a location for blending zip-codes and hosting dialogue between young people and their families who arrive from multiple locations in one city - a mini-democracy, within a larger democracy. An example of what democracy should be that helped me to see that we all have a larger responsibility to our communities around us. 

Chitunga brought a puzzle home the other night. On Mt. Pleasant we do puzzles during the holiday season, sipping bourbon before we go to sleep and making our brains think, but shut off for a while. The latest one was opened, but he didn't start it, so last night I asked for permission to at least pull out the edge work. I didn't put the first pieces together, though, because it's his puzzle. Eventually we'll work on it. We'll solve it, and this one, in the tradition of Chitunga's pastoral love of nature and serenity, we'll create the scene of a man and his dog looking out at a beautiful landscape. We share  a desire for outdoor life, calm, and the ebb & flow of the natural world. We pay attention. We expect more.

If only life's more complicated puzzles could be put together so easily. 

We all lose when a young Black woman is shot in her home. No one is triumphant, even when money is handed out and verdicts get made. Her life was lost, a student of Kentucky, Western High School, a young person, like so many young people teachers across this nation are fortunate to interact with and teach. History and libraries predicted this outcome, because it is an outcome written again and again and again. What differs now is the frustration from seeing the same story told and retold and retold. Over and over and over. And although we see it clearly, and desire change, the tale is woven again. Something has always been wrong.

All of us are good. All of us are bad. It doesn't matter the profession, the income, the location, the childhood, the church, or the schooling. Humans. That's what we are. Pieces of a puzzle that fit better when working together.

I feel for the City I love, and pray for the healing, only to be frustrated that the story will likely repeat itself more. To date, nothing has changed. There is hate in our hearts and we carry it into what we do - There is love in our hearts, too. It's a choice. All the social justice work, and all the equity, inclusivity, and diversity training that is ubiquitous in this nation has not delivered a solution to what Rockwell named The Problem We All Live With. Perhaps, education is the key (that's what I like to think), but with 24+ years in it as a teacher, and an entire life of it as a student, I'm not so sure such optimism works. 

For me, the Brown School worked. For me, Young Adult Literacy Labs at Fairfield University Work. For me, the National Writing Project works. What's the common denominator? Diversity, Inclusivity, & an attempt for Equity for all. Dialogue. Togetherness. Conversations about history - all history, and civic responsibility to work against it division...divided we're conquered, together we're strong. 

I have been working, reading, and thinking about the influence of Dr. Carol Boyce Davis on my worldview ever since I met her as a 19-year old in London. I took her Literature of Exile and the Black British Experience class and she mentored me post-London, too. She is the reason I chose to be an educator and act in the ways I do. 

All of us are losing right now, locally, nationally, and globally. This American quest towards a true democracy is showing its ugliest sides (which many populations in the United States have always seen). Cry the Beloved Country. I'm crying, too, Alan Paton, 72 years later.  Different nation. Same stories.

The teachings of Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Animism, etc. teach us what to do, to be, to strive for....yet.

Yet.

And Then I Barbecue Chicken & Steam Broccoli & Make a Salad & Peel the Potatoes & Do The Dishes & Start All Over

Mom thinks she's cute. Just cuz I bought her a new iPad case out of the kindness of my heart after hearing her complain that her case needed to be replaced and I searched and searched to find one to appeal to her flowery aesthetics and it arrived but she couldn't figure out how to put her iPad in it...

...she sends me this cartoon.

...okay, touché. She wins. 

I did have to Google how to boil an egg only because I never had a need to boil an egg. The fact that someone made this cartoon, my mom found it, and she sent it to be was absolutely perfect.

Universe and Mom - 1 / Bryan - 0

The porch is almost done, but bad news (we think). It might be impossible to get a ceiling fan in there, only because it will hang too low and look weird. They tried to put it up today, but I was like, "I don't want to lose my head." Dang. That was one of the perks for the re-do. I love ceiling fans. Now we might have to rethink the design. Bummed. I have a little more investigation, but Chitunga helped me to jump over to the other side...just go with a light fixture. 

It's already Wednesday, and I need to put a bow on the POW! project, as well as attend two national ZOOM meetings. Definitely feeling Fall outside, but refuse to turn on the heat (Woot Woot for another $0 electricity bill...still loving my solar panels).

So, I'll soak up the sun as much as I can outside. Let's go, Wednesday. Humpity Humpity Humpity. 

And I'm sorry, there are 12 Chuggas before anyone should ever Choo-Choo! That children's book is fake news. 

Getting Close - I Can Taste the 7th Edition of POW! and the Editing Is Almost Finished. Now, Time to Think About This Year's Cover

Syracuse colors for the win. I am thinking this will be the way we go for the 2020 Power of Words Anthology. I took a short hiatus from editing while I went to Syracuse (and a day-trip to Newport), and allowed myself the weekend to do house things, so yesterday I put my nose back to the student writing. I only have two more labs to go, and I'm hoping we can get this to the publisher sooner, rather than later. If so, I will be 5 months ahead of schedule so I can concentrate on the data analysis.

Monday. A full day of laptop focus, with two deliberate walks scheduled. Why the walks? Because I need the thinking space, fresh air, and freedom that releases me from being in my house 24/7. Chitunga and I had a talk last night about how intense this home-isolation is, because we don't have the intellectual boundaries to separate our work lives from our home lives....it's one giant blur that creates a semi-trapped feeling. We love Mt. Pleasant and one another, but no one is designed to be in such space for so long (I know why the caged bird sings). It's the new normal, however, so we have to adapt. 

Also, today Long Walk Toward the Rising Sun by Ger Duany debuts and I'm looking forward to being at his digital book launch. The National Writing Project was fortunate to get him before it launched.

I'm actually looking forward to another day of editing, however, as every page makes me feel a little more accomplished. I can multi-task, but I know I do better when one project is finished, and I can jump in head-first on the new one. I don't want the itchiness that comes from guilt that the more pressing one wasn't finished. 

Okay, Tuesday. This is for you.

When You Make Breakfast For The Kid and Post Walk, You Think, "Hmmm. I Bet That Would Be a Fantastic Brunch Sandwich."

I didn't eat breakfast. Instead, I made breakfast for Chitunga and left it for him while I took Glamis for a long walk. When I returned, there was just enough to make a McCrandall which made for an awesome Sunday, post-walk sandwich. I normally don't make bacon, but bacon really does offer a nice taste to morning rituals. 

(And that is Patrick and Stefanie in the background - they are marrying next summer, so I ate with them). 

Sundays are such bitter sweet days. On one hand we love them, but on the other hand, they're the reminder that another work week is underway. No one wants those.

Monday, Schmunday. Sunday Funday. 

But I should celebrate because today is Chitunga's first day at his big boy job in Stamford, and I'm looking forward to him getting the the ritual of paychecks and workdays. He's worked hard to make it to this point, and I know he's excited to get his adult life started. In fact, I heard him get up at 7 a.m. so he could set a ritual of the gym before work - impressive. I need some of that zest sprinkled my way. I wake up and want to be grumpy for a few hours...not lift weights.

I'm still looking to get my adult life started, but I'm an adult, and childish at heart, so I'm likely to be searching for the rest of my life. 

Now, we pray or the Internet to serve both our needs (and we adapt if it is not successful). We both need the high speeds and and trust. I am hopeful. 

But that McCrandall yesterday? That was one fantastic brunch. 

Okay, October, You Can Push Yourself Back Some and Allow September to Finish Out Its Days (Even If Fires Are Fun)

Yesterday morning was cold. Walking Glamis, I almost wish I had a knitted cap upon my head, rather than a typical baseball hat. The winds cranked down from Canada, and even if it did warm up by afternoon, that nip was memorable, and we knew the prediction for an October night was going to be reality. This clown tries not to turn on the heat until November 1st, so September 19th was a no-go. Evening fire instead. I hate the stale, indoor air of winter.

Tunga had a golf tournament, I did yard work and cleaned out my own garage (with a throwback to how accomplished we felt helping my father with his), and even had time for a beach walk with Jake, Pam, Bev, and Leo. 

Then, talking with Leo and Bev about Umbrella Academy, I came home to re-watch the last 3 episodes of season 2 just to get on top of the hints and clues that might come when they release new episodes. It makes sense that Ben's in Sparrow Academy, but I don't think that looks like him...sort of...but not close enough.

Of course, when 7 p.m. hit, I had a fire going and I think Chitunga kept it alive until past midnight. I was done by 10, knowing that there's never a better sleep than when the cold makes you roll into your covers like a cinnamon roll (speaking of, it's Sunday morning. I so wish fresh cinnamon rolls were on the agenda)

Allegedly, the temperatures will climb again this week, making us forget that October is creeping up, but we will see. Either way, I did pick up Sam Adam's Octoberfest, tasting the flavors to come. 

Does anyone know if they make an air freshener or cologne that smells like your clothes after a night by the fire? It'd be nice to have such calm to inhale at other times of the year, too. Yo! Crandall! You smell like a campfire. 

Indeed, I do. And thank you.

 

Because CynderBallz Pegged Me Perfectly in 1993, and I've Learned to Embrace the Eccentricity That I Roll With

I'm not sure how to describe yesterday, really, because it was bizarre all day long (not in a bad way, but in a good way). I worked on emails, grant reports, and editing in the morning - even took time to set up an eye appointment and to see my dermatologist about my psoriasis that has gotten out of control. Of course, they can't take me for another month. 

Then, at lunch, I noticed that Chitunga moved the bag of letters mom found in Cynde and Kc's room, that I collected during my four years at Binghamton. There were likely 100 letters in the bag and I couldn't help but dig in and feel joy about the way we used to communicate. Communication back then was more intimate. Soul-filled. Developed. Sincere. I had letters from all over the world and it was fun to think, "Oh, I remember these days." I'm still connected with everyone, even though its been years, so it was really entertaining to go through all the correspondence. 

In the collection, I also found a card from my older sister, Cynderballz, and I was sort of surprised because I didn't know she existed back then, let alone had a sense of humor. I didn't think she saw me as a human being until my late 20s, early 30s, so I was surprised to see she made me a card while I was away at college. The letters I used to send always had cut outs from magazines. Cynde did the same. She had several pages of male models that I'd never look like and then I turned to this page, which was her prediction of what I'd most likely end up looking like as an adult. She was pretty dang close, but I can't get a full beard and my love handles and man boobs are much larger (and harrier) than this dude's. Still, there is a close-to-scale look to her prediction and I have to hand it to her. This was the look she anticipated for me 25 years ago. 

Another great letter came from my mom. "I never called you a dick, Bryan. I never would do that. You said that you heard that I thought you were arrogant and quite the dick, but that never came out of my mouth." Captured all in letter form. Neither one of us have any memory for what that was about. The comedy is that mom is going through drawers at home, too, and having laughs at photos of yesteryear, memories, and historical tokens that make family ... family.

Phew. I also found a recommendation written by Dr. Carol Boyce Davies, who was my mentor at Binghamton University. It was a glowing, amazing letter, and I will cherish it forever. I contacted her to thank her and she said, "I want a copy of that. We didn't make copies when we used typewriters." So I sent it to her. I also showed her a thank-you I got from the Chair of the English Department for a letter I wrote for her. I asked, "Were you up for tenure in 1993?" She responded she wasn't...she was up for Full. And she got it! She thanked me for writing the letter that I did. I didn't even know what tenure and all that jazz was. Amazing to be where I am now and having those typed pages back in my hands.

There's no way I can read all the letters that were in the bag, but I did sort them and put them with all the letters I collected from my Louisville days. By the time I returned to Syracuse, and now in Connecticut, the epistolary tradition was almost non-existent. Wait. That's not true, necessarily. I received an email the other day that was like a letter (that I want to save forever)... that's another post.

Okay, Saturday. Back at it. For two hours I went through that bag, laughing, remembering, taking photos and sending to ol' friends, and somewhat sad that this generation is unlikely to ever know such traditions. Many of my friends were like, "I can't believe your mom saved those...."

I was like, "Trust me...it's not just my crap she's held on to."

It's beautiful and I am very thankful.

Sadly, No Julia Roberts Sightings, But Chitunga Did Find a Stray Cat Wandering on the Side of the Road of I-95

Okay, Mystic Pizza. I will take your onion, cheese, chicken, bacon, pizza, and up you one St. Elmo's Fire and a Ferris Bueller's Day Off. As for the cat Tunga saw on the side of the highway (alive), "Happy trails. Be safe."

Truth is, I never ate Mystic Pizza, although I've been to Mystic numerous times. The appeal just wasn't there. 

Still, yesterday with Chitunga's request for a road trip, Mystic being semi-convenient, my forgetfulness for how pathetic the Mystic Aquarium is (that's $70 I will never get back), and a need for mini-celebration for work on Monday, we took off. Initially, we planned an overnight, but he's gung-ho about a golf tournament on Saturday, so we simply made it a day trip. After the disappointment of one white beluga whale (seriously, the Mystic Aquarium is pathetic), we looked up Newport and said, "Why not? It's just another hour down the road."

Our revelation? For absolutely free we got to see a beautiful coastal town, hiked around Fort Adams, viewed beautiful seascapes, and enjoyed fresh air and exercise. We kept laughing that the free hike was 180% better than the money spent at the aquarium. I scrapped that up to the fact that I was donating to a good cause. I mean, fish need food. Eels need sand.

Back to the pizza. I don't remember the movie much, but I can say that the pizza was outstanding. Thumbs up. Both of us approved. Bacon on pizza. Well, dang. 

As for Rhode Island....what a nice blessing to visit. We definitely need to go there once this shit lifts, because there's a lot of potential in Newport. As Chitunga said, "How can so many restaurants exist in one area?" It would be fun to find out, once we don't have to wear masks.

I admit, the mask-wearing, social-distancing sort of ruins everything (for a make-shift get-away). It's too toxic out there to take chances and when in areas of high-mask use, it's simply disturbing in a Psy-Fi kind of way. Buzz kill indeed. Doesn't seem like planet earth.

Still, the day was a success and I'm very glad we went on the adventure. I imagine there will be fewer and fewer opportunities for such bonding, but I cherished every second of yesterday's mini-adventure (except the aquarium. I basically went to my car and sulked, "Why the hell did I pay that much money for that shit hole?"

Of course, the bridge into Newport, especially during construction and one-way travel....that's another cross-your-heart-prayers-up kind of experience. My palms were so sweaty driving that crazy. And I remember crossing it when Nikki performed at the University of Rhode Island. My hands were sweaty while crossing.

Okay, Friday. Bring it on.

I've Met My Match. Okay, UMBRELLA ACADEMY, I'm an Addict. I Think The Entire Nation Heard Me Scream at the End of Season 2

 

It's official. I have an addictive personality, and Chitunga (well, Mike) got me hooked on Umbrella Academy. I've heard complaints about season 2, but I plowed through it and last night, thinking I had several episodes left, it ended up being the last episode. As the storyline unveiled itself, I was screaming, "Don't let this end! You're going to end and then I'm going to have to wait for another season."

I'm totally saturated and infused by the storyline and writing. I want more. I crave more. I can't stand the fact that it ended, and I was like, "WTF?" and left looking for season 3.

Of course, I ran upstairs to Chitunga screaming my head off (he finished much earlier than I did) and we put our heads together to plot possibilities for storylines and next steps, wondering and piecing together what we missed from Seasons 1 and 2 (and no, Mom. This isn't Days of Our Lives. This is so much more exciting and alluring - but I will give in to you an addiction for the stories....it's just that THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY is so much better).

I'm typing this while shaking my head back and forth, frustrated that I finished the two seasons and now have to wait (Do you not know how impatient this Crandall guy is? I don't get addicted to such shows, because I don't have time for them...but this one hooked me the entire way). 

Okay. I'll wait. I'll be patient. I'm in love with all the characters and love the writers behind them. There's a billion and one possibilities for where this is going, but they ended Season 2 perfectly. I bite my lip impatiently waiting for what comes next.

And I also kick myself in the arse again and again that my brain is not clever enough to imagine and create such a storyline. 

Mesmerized. That's what I am. 

Saying Goodbye, Then Hugging Hello...Fortunate to Be Mid-Life, Healthy, & Flexible with the Schedule. Embracing the Beauty.

I remember Sundays, when my sisters and I would be packed into a smoke-filled vehicle for day trips to visit the grandparents in Sherburne and Hamilton. As we got older, we were able to drive ourselves, and as my grandparents aged, we'd lend ourselves as legs, drivers, arms, and ears...just to be there. At the time, I didn't think much about the teeter-totter performance my parents played with their lives: working full time, attending to their home, taking care of the the kids, and making space for their folks on weekends. On a number of occasions, too, I remember when the grandparents moved in with us. The in-between phase comes at you quickly...that is adulting (and I've been warned about it for years).

Funny that all life moves full circle, as I teeter totter myself now. I spent yesterday morning moving more items from the shed and backyard to the dumpster, talking to my mother who leaned out of her bedroom window talking to us, and following instructions of my father. Much was accomplished over the period of six days, including several fantastic meals made in the crockpot. My muscles aren't sore as much as they are fulfilled by days of hard work. Pool concrete is heavy and so are rocks, especially those brought in to fill the hole left by a removed pool (hey, it looks like Corbett and Laurie have company...oh, wait, that's me). 

At 3 p.m., the parental units were satisfied with the progress made from my visit and relieved me of my week-long duties. As much as I didn't want to depart the crisp CNY air (shoot, I should have gone apple picking), I'm two weeks into sabbatical without touching the academic work I've set out to accomplish. So, Glamis the Wonderdog and I drove back to Connecticut listening to the 2nd half of Trevor Noah's Born a Crime. Glamis, of course, was a nervous wreck, while I simply enjoyed the rolling hills, light traffic, and insight on S. African identity politics (wish I knew what made Glamis so paranoid in the car. If she laid down, all would be fine, but she stands as if she's surfing a giant wave and pants the entire way).

I returned home to find Edem and Chitunga in the kitchen, where Chitunga immediately suggested we build a fire (He spent my time away building a bigger pit better suited for our habits). I said, "We'll need wood," in which he remembered that Kris and Dave had wood for us from the trees they were forced to take down (so we drove over and packed the car). I didn't last long by the flames (was in bed by 10 p.m.), but enjoyed catching up on the week, sipping a bourbon, and longing for a good night's sleep on my own bed (I slept until 8 a.m.). I also knew this blog post would be late because there was no way I could muster anything to write last night...I was brainless from the drive, unpacking, and transition back to CT.

Glamis slept even more. She curled up on the couch as soon as we returned and stayed there for 14 hours, looking like a hibernating, resting fox. 

Okay, time to get the hustle back on...As I'm typing, I am thinking, "Okay, what do they need me to do next?" only to realized I need to work on my own list.

More Class of 1990 Footage from a September Trip to the Parental Units in Clay, New York (I Will Be Sore After Today)

Mom had a 2nd request. Why don't you help your father straighten out the garage? Well, Mike also helped out. And we loaded his truck up. The problem was no dumps would allow us to dump on a Monday (or a Tuesday or a Wednesday). What is up with CNY? They only accept dumped materials on Thursday and Friday? Long story short...We had to act fast. Mike was smart and we ordered a dumpster for one week. 

Because I'm 1990 and it was 30 years ago this Fall that I left Amalfi Drive to Binghamton University, I decided I'd give my parents all that I could. Long story short....10 a.m. until 7 p.m., I loaded the dumpster, included all the rocks and wood left over from the great pool-break down of 2020. I don't think I've ever shifted so many rocks in my life. And even if we did load 98.7% of the garage materials that haven't been in use for years, I have to say that the garage remains a good 95% full. I guess it's because there was that much material in it. Still we made progress

Meanwhile, my mother found my Fernando senior photos and simply said, "Look how skinny you were," basically implying, "Look, you FAT ASS, MID-LIFE DOUCHEBAG, I told you it would catch up to you. You and your Vanilla Ice haircut and Sibley's discounted sweaters. You think you looked good, but you still had that widow's peak. Now go back to Price Chopper and get me more Reese's Peanut Butter Cookies, and if you can, grab me a diet coke from the fridge downstairs." 

Class of 1990. 30 years ago. Phew. Dad allowed me to throw out some of the wiffleball bats that accumulated in his garage and even a few little league hats (cough cough - hence, the dumpster). Cynde is the one that found the jar of what I guessed were 40 year-old pickled peppers, but dad said, "No, that is is venison sausage." 

In the dumpster it went. Note: We did not smash the pickled jar because we were afraid of the smell that would come from it.

We seriously only worked on the garage and that was enough for a 12-hour day. Kudos to Papi Butch who simply allowed it all to go forward with little complaint. Meanwhile, this 48-year old is looking at the 18-year old version of himself and wondering, "Who the #@#$ is that kid? He doesn't even look real!"

And that, my friend, is aging. 

Standing Tall in Central New York: Rain, Groceries, Reunions, and Family (Yo! This is 30 Years for Class of 1990)

The weather people were not cooperative. They argued for rain all day, and even so I got a run in (with mom's green rain coat) and dad was able to mow the new neighbor's yard (whether that was permissible or not). Dave and Casey drove to Clay to provide the resources to bring Cynde and Mike's lawn mower back to them, and we had a size-up between Papi Butch and Sean-Man (the argument was that dad was in his sneakers and that wasn't fair). We believe Sean has surpassed him.

A trip home isn't a trip home without a voyage to Price Chopper (Prithe Thopper, as they used to say in Binghamton), where we bought items to recreate yesterday's great meal: more chicken, more Pierogies, more coleslaw. Two nights in a row, a phenomenal meal.

It's also been over a year since I've seen Kanyea, as his administrative role and long hours make it almost impossible to catch up with him face to face, although we remain regulars via phone calls and text. He stopped by yesterday afternoon, as well as Rhiannon and Eric (who I finally was able to meet). I felt bad for my parents as they aren't used to so much social stimulation. People. Then more people. And even more people.

Today is supposed to be pretty gray, but I'm hoping to move on to request #2, the garage, and help the parental units to get that more organized. I said to dad yesterday afternoon, "This could be a rough winter for you and mom," in which he replied, "Bryan, you don't want to get old. This is so much harder than I ever thought it would be. 

Meanwhile, Kanyea is in his mid-twenties prime, making money, surviving on his own, and making his way.

As I ran once again yesterday, I kept thinking, "Phew. If only I stopped in front of every home of every classmate I had in Cherry Heights and began writing."

There are so many stories to these streets, and 30 years later, they are stories that simply belong to my generation alone. It seems that every corner and crevice in the neighborhood is 100% loaded with the stories of my generation, but then comes Sean, and then there's Kanyea, and of course Rhiannon stops by, and I'm like, "Well, the stories go on and on and on." They aren't contained to Cherry Heights.

Who we were once upon a time is absolutely no longer the same and that is a beautiful thing.

Next time, Jacob will be taller than dad.

Pierogies, Parental Units, & the Bility Pair (Well, Twins) on Amalfi Drive. All Good. All Love.

Crazy Crandall slept until 8:30 a.m. yesterday, when Abu texted they were heading over for coffee. We visited for a while, Abu, Lossine, my dad, and my mom, catching up, laughing, updating one another, and taking advantage of a great day. Phew. 26 years old now. Where has the time gone? When can we get past this Covid-19? I'm ready for it to be over. I miss them in Connecticut.

So great, but overwhelming to have the rush of memories all at once. Beautiful. Fast. Crazy. Sad. Wonderful. Special. (Time...so cruel...but I so appreciate it all).

Chicken in the crockpot soaking in Wegman's BBQ sauce (Asian and Memphis delight) and Pierogies, fried in butter and a little oil, with coleslaw, and potato salad. Dang. It was just a little good...okay, it was phenomenal. I ate the extra pierogies. Definitely adding them to the Mt. Pleasant dinner rituals. Grew up hearing mom talk about her love for them, and yesterday I felt like I mastered the delicacy. They were so good. Stephanie, age 92 next door and from Poland, will be thrilled to know I'm pierogie-certified, too.

Also had time to visit with the Perras (drank a lil wine), went for a walk with Glamis, and then watched some Cobra Kai on Netflix with mom (didn't realize she had a fetish for Ralph Machio). Sort of odd to see an old 80s craze turned into a tv-series...I get its appeal, but am unsure of the series quality. Time will tell (because I guarantee I've found another thing to serve as a distraction). We watched a couple of episodes and my first thoughts were, "This is sort of stupid."

Yet back to Umbrella Academy... much, much appreciation for Chitunga who shared his account with my mother and me for the evening. I definitely binged. Hilarious to explain what was going on to my mother. Revenge for all those years of Days of Our Lives.

And back to that meal. It was the kind I wanted to rewind and eat all over again...and then over again....and then over again. So good. Now for a rain day (at least that is what the weather people are reporting). 

Thank God It's Saturday, Because I've Finished My Friday's Parental Request. Room Repainted and Cleaned

When I said I was coming to Syracuse, I said I wasn't going to unless the parents units had specific tasks they wanted me to take care of...which was interpreted as, "Why don't you repaint the ceiling in you old bedroom and redo the paint? While you're at it, why don't you get rid of stuff you no longer need."

News flash. Most of what is in that room isn't mine, but I can admit than Cynde found a pile of letters and a couple of photos from college that I didn't know were left behind. That made me smile. 

I was up, coffee'd, then went to town taping, painting, layering, repainting, and then replacing everything back where it was (with a lot of trips to the garbage can, too). There's nothing like repainting a room to see how quickly the ol' ceiling and ol' wall paint has been layered in disgust. 

Another highlight for the day was Day #2 of Corbett and Laurie coming over for drinks and conversation. They are my parents' neighbors and they are getting ready to depart CNY to Georgia for

retirement. They supplied the rum (did you year Michael Wrobel is becoming a nun?) and I provided the limes, juice, and glasses. Needless to say, it's been a two-day celebration which makes the work during the day that much easier.

Cynde said I should have done the ceiling first, but I did it second, and I am thinking that is okay because I was able to use the edger to finish the walls. I've painted many rooms, but none have come out as smooth as this. Of course, I figured I'd be done by 12, but of course I worked until the later afternoon, and we finished after dinner. There's no such thing as an easy project...they always take hours longer than what is expected. 

Even so, I am thrilled it is done. Today, we tackle the drawers, including the boxes and boxes of letters Cynde found from my Binghamton years. I had no ideas those were in that room. I've been staying there during holidays for years and never one saw them. 

Crazy.

It's the Objects We Forget About (That Were Every-Day) That Trigger the Memories of a Life That Once Was

 

For a period in our lives, my mother took ceramics, mostly to get away from the kids and my father but also for something to do. I remember when "The Haircut" arrived to our upstairs bathroom, more because I thought it was in reverse...I was the one cutting my little sister's hair (shaving it) and my mom tried to capture it in the studio. There were two such paintings that hung upstairs, but I noticed one of them was now downstairs hanging up. I imagine they were in the closet, but then my dad found them, and put them back up. Not sure.

Then, I also noticed that the wired owl that used to be the centerpiece in the foyer was also hung in the downstairs bathroom. Resurrected. Reborn. Repurposed. Alive. 

Again, I imagine it was my father...there was no way it would ever go to a garage sale. Why would one store it in the closet? Up, it must go. 

I thought about this because I was forced to the downstairs bathroom while mom was in the shower and I realized, "Hmmm. Someone has redecorated and brought talismans from the past back to the forefront. Haircuts. Owls. Phew. This is Amalfi Drive Art!

I'm shocked that Cynde hasn't claimed the owl for her own house and that Casey hasn't requested "The Haircut" for her own. I'm also surprised they changed locations, and aren't where they always were when we were kids. When did this happen? How did I miss the change? Where did they disappear to for a while? Who found them and brought them back out? Were they always up and I just missed them? What have they seen? Experienced? Witnessed? What do they know from their history in Cherry Heights?

What secrets could they tell Cynde, Casey, and I about our childhoods? What whispers would they offer about Mom and Dad? Do they remember the parties? the barbecues? the times grandparents lived with us and Casey was stranded on a medical bed downstairs? 

Every home has them. Objects that are there and are often overlooked and forgotten. But I see them. I recognize them. They've been with us the majority of our lives. 

Wishing the Northeast a Great First Week of School from My Mommy and Daddy's House in Clay, New York

I heard the middle school students as they walked by my house towards school. I heard them when they returned, too. It is the first week of school in Connecticut and the 2nd week of school at the University. For me, though, it is an opportunity to work from an alternative location and to be more human than I am typically allowed to be...that is, visiting people, talking, reading books, going for walks, listening to podcasts, and writing. 

I'm in Syracuse for the weekend to help, if I can, winterize the Amalfi Drive home for my parents. I'm in my reading space, plotting how I might be of help, and figuring out a plan to stay on top of my own academic writing and goals. Without meetings, without advising, without teaching, without professional development responsibilities, I am given an opportunity to process 7 years of collected data. I'm a little overwhelmed by it, but I will get to it. 

Meanwhile, I finally listened to Born a Crime by Trevor Noah and, to be honest, I know very little about him, his show, or what he stands for. Now, however, I feel I know more. His writing is incredible, his story is fascinating, and his perspective is globally mesmerizing --- and he's a comedian, talk show host. Fascinating, actually. I couldn't help to think while listening, "Phew. He'd definitely be a Brown School kid."

Now I'm at the folks, had my first grilled cheese sandwich in years and tomato soup (my mom kept the one she dropped on the floor), then was swiped up by Cynde and Mike for hot fudge sundaes (in which the folks ordered two - super impressed my dad ate all of his.  I predicted he'd take a bite and say, "Yuck. This is too much." He didn't. It was a Black Forest Cherry Cake Sundae and he ate the entire thing).

And Chitunga reported the curtains arrived, so I said, put them up and let me see they aren't too short or too long, which he did. Okay, they work. They just need to be pulled back....so now it's time for the electrical part of the job. The reading room is coming together, although this photo makes it look ghostly. 

It looks like one more day of warm weather for CNY, and I hope a good day for running. Then, well, I'm letting my mom bark orders at me for what she wants and needs done. If she doesn't, I have plenty of editing and writing to do (that's a priority, too)

Random Act of Kindness - Well, Not Really...How Could I Resist? I Mean, New Beagle and All. Welcome to Stratford, Carlo

 

In the spring, colleagues and friends of mine lost one of their beagles and I hoped (now know) they would soon find location in their hearts for another one. Losing Levi was devastating, as he provided so much love and comfort to their home.

As soon as I saw a new puppy, Carlo, was in their house, I immediately went to get a 'Welcome to Stratford' gift. It's not only that puppy dogs have tremendous cute factors, but the love Emily and Nels have have for their pupperdoos is immeasurable. I appreciate they love like they do.

It was a busy day and I was at it early, editing, creating, planning, and thinking. I took a mid-day break to get groceries, and made it a plan that by 6 p.m. I would walk to their house and leave the surprise for Carlo. Chitunga wanted to join, so we trekked across town, through the Greens, left the bag, and carried on our way (I had a NWP show at 7 p.m.). We left the package next to the Amazon deliveries and texted to say it was there.

Soon after I learned our gift was well received by Carlo and was asked if the photo (shown here) could be shared on Facebook. Wibbits and woofs! Of course. So then I asked for permission to blog about Carlo to mark my calendar ( my daily thought). Emily said, "Of course. it would be an honor to Levi."

I haven't met the little guy in person yet, but one day will. In the meantime I await updates of wonder from the beagle-loving duo. Seeing the frog next to Carlo helps me to know his scale for sure. He's a fuzz-nugget indeed. So precious. He's the size of the frog!

And here's to all the dog owners out there who love their shedding and licking pals. They really are best friends. I am hoping good karma continues to swarm Nel's and Emily's home.  They deserve it. 

Labored Little, Chilled Much, Got My Feet in the Sand, and Felt Thankful for It

Perhaps it is the times, but the thought of closing up indoors again is non-appealing, so these perfect beach days are too hard to pass up. It's more fun to kayak, listen to music, watch the few people allowed on the beach, and to contemplate the waves.

We lasted a long time, too...having first toes in the sand before noon and departing some time after five. There were rafts to float on, waves to jump, and sun to soak.

There was also leftover food and snacks to eat. Can't complain there.

As Beverly said, "We have to take in these days as much as we can because they mean so much more now. We have no idea what will come in the colder months. Create memories today."

We've been in a safety pod for months, being honest about who we visit, etc. in this mask-crazed world.

I preferred tequila on the beach over beer, but after kayaking for a while I needed something to quench my thirst. I said it might be a beer, but after I finished I realized it was the tequila I really needed.

Chitunga read a book, Oona's kids played with shells, and the rest of us just talked and enjoyed the nice winds, warm sun, and gorgeous day.

Fortunate for Chitunga and me, too, we were invited for a barbecue at night and I sent Tunga to the store to make/get salads. He delivered. There's nothing like a barbecue hosted by other people.

We are fortunate, too, because there's no parking at Walnut Beach except for locals, and Silver Sands is closed. The crowds are scarce and it's easy to find a space away from others.

I actually put on sun screen for a change, only because I've been getting a lot of sun over these last few gorgeous days. I know I end up browning in the end, but even so, I wanted to prevent sun burn if possible. Because the temperatures are cooler, we forget how hard the sun is actually beating down.

I'm thankful to live so close to the water and the inner-Aquarian really appreciates a beach life (who'd of thought such a life existed in Connecticut?). Mild winters, beautiful falls and springs, and scrumdiddleyumptious summers. I can't complain, especially when I take (and have) the time to enjoy it.

Very thankful for the much needed rest and relaxation this weekend. Sort of difficult to return back into work mode. I simply want to be on a float in the water chilling out. 

Front Porch Update. Of Course I Don't Have 84 inch or 63 inch Windows. As for the Curtains...Well, I Wasted a Sunday

I spent the first part of Sunday, two hours, putting up curtain rods, forgetting how shitty the screws are that are sent with the assembly packages. Of course they all broke and stripped, so I got better screws and that task became easier.

A tad obsessed about finishing my part of the project, I went to find curtains, and found the perfect ones - a sheer gray with a nice pattern in them. They were 63 inches. That length of course, didn't quite cover the entire window. The 84 inches draped on the floor. So, I went online and found that several shops do sell 72 inch curtains, but of course not a single store in my area had them. I will have to order online (which I don't like because you don't know what you're actually getting) or go with the 84 inch ones and have Stefanie, the 92 year-old woman from Poland who lives next door, hem them 10 inches.

She said she would. 

Want to know why? Because Glamis the Wonder-dog ran to her house after we walked and I took off her leash. Stephanie had the front door open and Glamis noticed  as we maneuvered around the corner. She darted over there, and I ran after her, but it was too late.  Glamis was inside and Stefanie already had a plate of ham and salmon for her. The dog feasted.

Argh. I didn't get beach time, kayak time, cleaning time, or cooking time. I was curtain-obsessed and I failed.

On a better note, I walked Glamis in the morning for 4 miles and then did the same at night. So that was a highlight. I'm not ready to give up running, but I know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away, and no when to run.

I walked yesterday. No running for this aging fart.

Today, I kayak.

Song of Bry's Self - Thankful for the Long Island Sound and Its Metaphors (Thinking of Whitman) and Content for a Day

13

I believe in those wing’d purposes,

And acknowledge red, yellow, white, 

playing within me,

And consider green and violet 

and the tufted crown intentional,

And do not call the tortoise unworthy 

because she is not something else,

And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, 

yet trills pretty well to me,

And the look of the bay mare 

shames silliness out of me.

I live and think on the other side of Long Island, but have to believe that Walt Whitman, for a time, had views of the sound as well as the Atlantic (hence similar views). I was fortunate to take classes on Walt Whitman: one as an undergraduate student and another at the University of Louisville when I did my 2nd Masters. He's robust with language, passionate with love, and hopeful for a fledgling United States, even though his vernacular and language was tainted by 19th century understandings of the world. Still, he saw America, celebrated its richness, saluted its biodiversity, and championed the people that blended the nation into a miraculous opportunity where, in theory, democracy was to be granted to the tired, the poor, the hungry.

It's hard to have such optimism now as tales of Sauron and Voldemort weave new metaphors in the nation and Orcs and Deatheaters show the ugliness for who they are, what they stand for, and a strong appetite for rage and cruelty. 

I was thinking about J.R.R. Tolkien and his brilliance with the Lord of the Rings trilogy, especially the Orcs and why he created them ... Sauron's faithful. As I paddled to Charles Island and back yesterday morning (it was like glass, the water was that smooth, and the rowing allowed for a stunning view for an hour and a half of exercise), I thought about Whitman, what he wrote about, and what he stood for, and I wondered if he'd still be celebrating our nation in 2020, where vision and direction seems to have fallen into the Jerry Springer show (phew). 

I also thought about Whitman's use of nature to name what is beautiful about life, those wing'd purposes, as my boat was guided by not one, not two, but over one hundred Monarch butterflies (thanks, Grandma) traveling with me across the sound. At one point I placed my head on the back of the canoe and simply looked up at the sky as they swarmed above me. I've never seen so many at once except in National Geographic photographs and nature books. It was stunning. Then, when I made it to Charles Island I noticed other boaters pointing up to the trees where two bald eagles were resting on branches. The life was beautiful and, thinking of Walt, the biodiversity was rich...a bounty for all that's good. 

Then, as I headed back to Connecticut, I found myself in a pack of bluefish, hundreds of them, feeding atop the water and jumping at the sun to put shine on their silver backs. At first I was skeptical to row through them, but there was no way around. Besides, as I paddled forward, they moved to the side (and the monarchs remained above) and the eagles behind. I guess I had some Wendell Berry and John Muir in me. 

I know the monarchs have struggled due to a lack of milkweed (as a result of herbicides in farming communities), but I also recognize there's been a movement to replant milkweed in other locations to assure areas for them to feed and lay eggs. I'm guessing those moves are working because their wings were everywhere....a sight to see across the blue sky as the stars bathed in the Sound.

I'm with Whitman. So many winters and summers ahead. Why such anger and hate? I pray to the Great Whatever love is found within the hearts of those traveling in fear. For me, ugliness disappears within the diversity and richness of it all. 

44

It is time to explain myself—let us stand up.

What is known I strip away,

I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.

The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate?

We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,

There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

Births have brought us richness and variety,

And other births will bring us richness and variety.

I do not call one greater and one smaller,

That which fills its period and place is equal to any.

Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?

I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,

All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,

(What have I to do with lamentation?)

I am an acme of things accomplish’d, and I an encloser of things to be.

My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,

On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,

All below duly travel’d, and still I mount and mount.

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,

Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,

I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,

And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.

Long I was hugg’d close—long and long.

Immense have been the preparations for me,

Faithful and friendly the arms that have help’d me.

Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,

For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,

They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.

Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me,

My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.

For it the nebula cohered to an orb,

The long slow strata piled to rest it on,

Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,

Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.

All forces have been steadily employ’d to complete and delight me,

Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.