Thrilled by the Years, 2007-2011, but Resentful for them Stealing Away Personal Reading Time

Kwame sent me a few books for a project he's working on, asking me to contribute my views and resources as a proponent of youth and a writer of curriculum. In the pile sent, was All the Broken Pieces, a poetic narrative by Ann E. Berg. On the cover, Booklist writes in their starred review, "Will make readers want to rush to the end and then return to the beginning again." 

I am unsure if I've ever read anything as accurate. It took a few pages for me to get the gist of who was narrating and where we were (I thought, "Hmmm. This is YA Lit? It's heavy"). Then, I got hooked and tasted every word, poem, and moment like I was eating an apple dumpling in October, or having a feast at the Vietnam Kitchen with my friends Sue and Dave. It simply was delicious - and emotional read  that punches the gut in all the right places. 

My summary: It's gorgeous.

I'm trying to find out how I missed out on this book, especially with my work with Vietnamese students in Kentucky, but then I saw the publication date - 2009 - and realized, "Well, that explains it. Not much pleasure reading while one is doing a doctorate and having to devour academic writing."

This is a stunning book about Vietnam war vets, memories, an adopted boy from Vietnam, his memories, and the love of parents who stand by to help the healing process - the best that it can be. The weaving of baseball, playing piano, and PTSD workshops was tremendous and I was thinking, Phew! The muses must have had to leave Ann E. Burg alone for a while after they brought her this story. It's pretty remarkable. I don't think I've ever read a book before that made me want to instantly do research: Who is this author? How did she come up with this book? What awards did it win? Who's written about it? etc. I talked to the Book Dealer in Florida, Dr. Susan James, and she simply said, "Frog, it's one of my favorites, too. I can't believe you haven't read it." "Doctorate," I replied. "Oh, that. Now I see," she said.

Go, Scholastic. Classrooms need this book and I am definitely throwing it into my curriculum somehow, somewhere. I'm saving my real thinking for the work I'm doing with Kwame, and I have so much to say. 

Read this book!

After the Game - a Sestina for @AbuBility & @LBility (the Twins) on #NDOW #WHYIWRITE @WritingProject

If I traced the veins from a leaf (on the back of my hand), the roadways would be many and the stories plentiful. Today is the National Day on Writing, but it is also the birthday of Abu and Lossine Bility, the twins, who have walked, driven, and sailed with me since I met them in a library in 2008 in Syracuse, New York, 12 years ago today. Because of them my life was redirected for the better and I am thankful.

We're all given one leaf upon this life tree, and lines can be traced alongside theirs. Abu & Lossine helped me to understand the power of ubuntu, the importance of family, and the joy of laughter more than I knew was possible. Every year, October 20th, the National Day on Writing, I also get to celebrate Captain Splash and Lieutenant Glue Stick, both sidekicks to my Dr. Lick 'em. Between them in the photograph to the left is an individual who deserves awards and accolades for all she's provided. They are a result of the warrior woman who raised them - their mother who fought for them and did everything she could so they would have a chance in this world - the truest superhero of them all.

The National Park Service/NWP prompt for today came at a perfect time. I looked at my hands and started tracing their veins, but then went with intricacies of a leaf. This, set upon the oldest picture I have of Abu & Lossine, reminded me of the semester we spent in a library talking and putting story to page. Stories matter: they lead to driving lessons, soccer games, high school graduations, college, summer employment, building the Connecticut Writing Project, Crandall specials, alien invasions, teaching, and adulthood. 

From every leaf, a labyrinth of hope and possibility.

I'm thanking Ranger Ann from Capitol Reef National Park for prompting today's thinking. I didn't label the lanes or bifurcated intricacy of the leaf, but was able to name memories put them in sestina form, the traditional structure that offered me a way to branch language into a poem. This one was written for their birthdays. Happy B-Day, boys. Phew. Years fly by.

After the Game (2008) - a Sestina

At first, we’re all new to the field - immigrants,

arriving to green grasses, Sudan, Somalia, Liberia,

with histories intertwined & ready to be written

from veined leaves of colonial and imperial games

that uprooted ways of being…ways of life - 

it’s a global story, after all, and we’re in this together.

They were 15-years old and education brought us together -

stories shared between a teacher, youth (aren’t we all immigrants?),

sitting at a table talking about war, “Ah, man soccer is life!”

Charles Taylor, Samuel Doe, violent coups in Liberia,

running from bullets, losing family, hiding, death, it’s a game:

crying, laughing, hoping, praying, dreaming - and we’re writing,

capturing words to page that have never been written.

We are weak on our own, but stronger together -

“Tell me more about life in the refugee camp.” They discuss the games

played in dirt with bags taped into balls, the sport of immigrants,

Mandingo twins caught in civil war, violence, Monrovia, Liberia

“The man in charged wanted to kill everybody…to take life

from others. He wanted power.” Uprooted. Displaced. A refugee’s life.

“Now We’re busy. We play on varsity. Video games. YouTube. Who has time to write?”

Yet they do. Excel. Gaining honor in a new society. Boys from Liberia

on a team of twelve nationalities in an American High School playing together.

“The kids who were born here cheat off us, immigrants,

because we do our homework. Stay up late. Study before and after the game.”

“Playing in the suburbs is the worst, too,” they say. “Did you see their fans at the game?"

Stands were filled, cheering & chanting “Go back to Africa." Such privileged lives.

“Our mom works three jobs. All our parents do. We’re immigrants

and they can’t take off work to watch us play.” I have a note pad and I write.

The boys tell me everything. What fortune it is to be together,

stitching history and truth in the United States, in a library

with so many books and resources. “We're proud Liberians,

proud to be American, land of milk and honey. Here we can enter the game.

Here, we need three things to be successful as we work together:

Education. Education. Education. We have to take advantage of the life

given to us. In America, learning is free and it’s up to us to do what is right.”

Lady Liberty. Huddled masses yearning to breathe free. Sunset gate for immigrants,

opened for these young Liberian men, a leaf, offering the chance for a new life,

before 2016 changed how the game is played and hate rebuilt itself on walls writing

another narrative for our nation...what we’re supposed to be…this land built by immigrants.

All love, as always. Shoes and elephants. Elephants and shoes.

Bridge Over Somewhat Calming Waters, but Worth the Hike (Albeit, a Challenge Unexpected)

I chose to hike to a different beach today, Walnut Beach in Milford, and was surprised the distance was the same as the one I've been doing to Short Beach in Stratford. I should have known it would be a bit wonky when I realized I downloaded a book I wanted to listen to, I German. That is what happens to Crandall without his glasses. I was thrilled that the trek was rather easy, with sidewalks, and was looking forward to crossing the bridge in Devon. Just as I got to it, however, the barriers went up (which never happens...only once in a blue moon). It was because three sailboats with tall sails were coming in to roost. 

And I had to wait. 

And wait.

Which caused my knees to cramp up and ache, despite the fact that I was stretching. I can only imagine the jokes in the cars behind me that were also stuck.

It was worth it though. After helping run errands with Pam, and hanging up her solar lights on the patio (again), we were able to walk to see the sun slightly before it was setting. That's always a win, and I never lose when looking out at the skyline and ocean.

I came home and Chitunga treated me to Chipotles once again - so delicious, and perfect for a Sunday night (although a burrito in the stomach makes me feel like I drank a keg of beer).

Ah, but it's Monday again. I did stay away from work all day Sunday, which always makes me feel guilty, although I read another book at night - which was on my agenda for the project I am working on (so I guess that is work).

So, we're off once again. Have a great work week. 

I'll Take It. It's the Simpler Evenings (& Flashbacks) That Mean the Most (and I Know They Are Never Set to Be Forever)

This is actually from Friday night, because as I was writing on the front porch, Chitunga came downstairs to watch a documentary, and within minutes of listening to the voice-over, I was hooked and came out to see what he was watching. At that moment, Glamis was asleep on his chest and I realized, "Shit. Fewer are these  moments." When I got a photo, she moved down by his feet.

Moments of relaxation and chilling out are rare on Mt. Pleasant, but the parent in me loves every second of such moments when they happen. 

Boy and his dog. Watching t.v. - relaxing. Not necessarily normal in the adult life, and I totally understand anyone and all who post similar pictures at the chagrin of their kids. This is the very definition of bliss for me - they're relaxed, which causes me to relax, too.

Okay, weekend...not sure what's going on, but Saturday was like a Friday so I'm somewhat confused on where I am and what is going on. I do know, Sunday, I want to move a bit more, read another book, and finish 4-projects that I think should be easy to etch off my list.

Then again, I can save them for Monday, so I will see. 

In the meantime, I'm going to hold onto the more 'chill' moments in my house, because they don't happen too often. When they do - I love every second of them.

Crandall's 5 Reasons: The Importance for Protecting Public Spaces & an Argument for Those Who Work to Conserve.

Public spaces educate: teach, mentor, guide, coach.

Public spaces provide: feed, shelter, clean, protect.

Public spaces heal: harmonize, offer, allow.

Public spaces historicize: live, exist, become part of.

Public Spaces know: keep records, understand, caution.

Today is the 5th day of prompts from the National Park Service's rangers, and it took me a short bit to think how I'd respond. I don't like to argue. I know that the Common Core State Standards has been in tremendous favor for argumentation, especially with fact-based justification and reliability, yet as this movement has fogged the national education system, we've also arrived at a time in history where facts are ignored, people believe the unreliable, and the simulacra of factlessness is upheld as truth. C'est la vie (which is French, not English...but that's not my argument: although they're knee-deep in this crazy, too). 

My discussion here, which is mostly for me, arrives 25-years after I was given a tremendous opportunity in Louisville, Kentucky. I was hired as the Beargrass Creek State Nature Preserve intern to write newsletters, to create educational programs, and to keep the preserve clean. Across from the Louisville Zoo, and within city limits, this green space was set aside to maintain a greenway along creeks and forest. I was an English literature dude with a passion for the written word, and this gig was incredible. I had my Birks, long hair, hiking boots, and optimism. I also had the most incredible mentor in the world: Barbie Bruker-Corwin. Also of note, I met my Louisville mom, life-coach, and host-teacher Sue McV when she was hiking in those woods. In that space, I saw my first flock of migrating cedar waxwings (so amazing), became friends with a protective mother raccoon and her kits, moved numerous box turtles out of harm's way, and had bark dropped on my head from an enthusiastic pileated woodpecker (as if Woody himself was laughing his wonky humor).

For several years, I led hikes, offered programs for urban, suburban, and rural kids, and learned much about how quickly people would take away green spaces for their own whims and fancies. I also chose to do a 2nd Masters with the Kentucky Institute for Education and Sustainable Development.  As a result, I see green spaces as necessary:

Green spaces educate: teach, mentor, guide, coach. To know life, is to know nature. To know the meaning of life is to comprehend nature. A sure way to keep children from developing an appreciation of natural spaces is to force them into concrete jungles and rectangular, bricked-buildings to make them get  believe such environments are 'home.'  I'll never forget when a group of refugee youth hiked with me one day and they asked, "Why did Americans move kids like us to cities with roads and buildings when we came to the U.S.? Why didn't they bring us closer to outdoor spaces? That is what we know." Good question.

Green spaces provide: feed, shelter, clean, protect. I don't have to go far with this one. Oxygen is good. Animal life: birds, insects, fish, mammals. They're beautiful. When they are plentiful, we understand the world is in good shape. I'll take a path (even if I can be chased by a mountain lion) over a road any day. There's wonder that comes from how sunlight trickles through varying leaves and hit the patterned trails. And it's exercise. Hello. Move.

Green spaces heal: harmonize, offer, allow. This is simply Zen and spiritual. Anyone who has ever gardened understands the therapy that comes with having one's hands in the soil. I need the outdoors, not only for my lungs and sanity, but for the earth's lungs and sanity. To be in opposition of the natural world (let's take, conquer, destroy) is to set one's self up for mental aggravation throughout life. Go with it. Be with it. It cracks me up, even as a home owner. Yes, I buy grass seed to sprinkle in my yard and I have grass. I own my house, but do I own the blades of greenery that blends with my neighbors? Does the grass see me as its sovereign? Nope. It's why I love every blade.

Green spaces historicize: live, exist, become part of. I'm not the historian, but the older I get I realize the importance for history. Land politics are world politics. See how land is destroyed and you'll learn the power-infrastructure of the globe. All trees can tell the same story (ask the Ents). It is a tale of humans losing their way, taking, overcoming, flexing, proving, and capitalizing. Funny how an economic structure has been built to claim ownership, when in the end, we all get owned by nature. I've told the boys bury me out back like a dog and let a tree grow out of me. That's what I desire when I, too, become history.

Green spaces know: keep records, understand, caution. Look at a tree's rings or ask the soil what it can tell you about human influence. As part of God's plan, perhaps, they narrate a better story for all of us when we enter St. Peter's gates. Wouldn't mind being greeted by Maude and St. Francis upon arrival and hearing, "Crandall, in favor of your entrance is all the work you did with kids to put nature on their radar and the attempts you've made to create butterfly and hummingbird gardens in the homes you've owned. Working against you, however, are all the miles you've put in your cars constantly on the go with a need to see the world; such hypocrisy doesn't bide well with us (and, yo! what's with all the environmental paraphernalia you've accepted from organizations trying to make you more green and conscious - have you not seen the silliness in this?). Note: Of course I have.

And that's my argument. It's simple. The more we preserve and protect natural spaces, the better future generations will be. Alas, I leave such argumentation to the ladybugs, wolves, cockroaches, and eels. Long after humans, nature will prevail. Perhaps our decisions will destroy us, but I have faith in the power of nature, itself. I'm a comma, semi-colon, and period in a Walt Whitman poem.

And it's okay if you give me a C on this argumentative essay. It was written on a Friday night after a full week of work and before a full Saturday of teaching. I'm tired. I'll let Blue's Traveler be my final statement. Whoops.

Of Squirrels, Squids, & Flamingos: The Day The Greening Began - a @WriteOutConnect Story Prompted by Ranger Scott

My friend Rich and Kristin were late. They were specifically instructed to arrive, ready to go, at 4:35:35 a.m. with their backpacks, their Google-Goggles, clippers, and their favorite stuffed animals (Kristin was partial to a panda bear, while Rich was too good for stuffed animals - "I'll carry my blankie, thank you.")

Back story. Rich, Kristin, and I have been friends ever since we can remember, which is only a few years. Our parents thought, unanimously, "You need to socialize more. You can't always hover in your tree houses with all those books and nature guides. But you need friends." 

Crazy thing. We didn't know each other, but all three of us loved to geek-out in tree-houses built in separate forests unbeknownst that other kids like us existed. Our parents made that connection. Our moms attended a Tupperware party where the grumbling of eccentric kids turned into epiphanies that eventually sparked our fathers to start golfing together. In other words, we tree-huggers suddenly found ourselves on playdates.

"Where the heck are they?" I wondered. "It doesn't ever matter to them weir were supposed to be. They never are on time," I thought to myself, making sure my Kermit-the-Frog stuffed animal was safe inside my backpack. "And they'd better be wearing their socks, too," I thought, looking down at my green kicks with the yellow squirrel socks that came with the package. That's what the the note instructed. 4:35:35 a.m. and "WEAR THE SOCKS." In my package were the squirrel socks, the squids for Kristin, and the pink flamingos for Rich.

Why? We didn't know, but that is the way the Greening worked. Once upon a time, we lived in our apartments and homes, adhering to the safety and guidance of parental units that doted and worried about us. Then came the GLOW, the rain, and the growth. 

Adults gone. Kids behind. The Greening everywhere. And, of course, the stuffed animals. You had to have your stuffed animals, except for Rich - he had his blankie.

"Do you think they're on their way?" I asked Kermit, looking through the pine trees that used to be a patio, a shed, swings, and my father's weird, naked concrete Goddess statue of Artemis.  She was still there, but covered in ivy that offered her a bra and underpants she never had before.

The Greening greened everything. Adults gone. Kids behind. Stuffed animals (a blankie). Socks. And growth. We returned to the Garden of Eden, a paradise of sorts.

It would be perfect, too, except Kristin and Rich were late.

Before every thing changed to leaves, bugs,  vines, and flowers, life was more commercial: computers, Amazon deliveries, paved roads and sidewalks, nail salons, billboards, and strip malls. Oh, their were phones, too, but they were the first to go. One minute, my parents were upstairs and the next second they weren't. Dad was trimming a beard - he always wanted to look like some guy named Ranger Scott - and mom was in the bathtub shaving her leg (she only had one. That's a different story, however, for another National Park Service prompt).

"Crandall," I heard Kristin's voice suddenly call. "Sorry we're late. Rich was lecturing pre-schoolers about eco-critical perspectives of The Lorax and how Dr. Seuss missed the real point about Truffula trees."

"Hi, Rich. Hi, Kristin," I said, allowing Kermit to kiss Panda and Blankie. "I'm glad you wore the socks."

White socks for Rich with giant pink flamingos all the way to his knee cap and blue socks for Kristin with elongated, purple squids.

"4:34:35," I said. "You are exactly 2 minutes and 45 seconds late. But it's okay. I knew you would be, and planned ahead. I gave you a different time...one much earlier. You two are as predictable as always. We don't actually have to move until 5 a.m."

Rich wasn't listening, though, and Kristin said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't get Rich away from the Rachel Carson books he was preaching to the lil' ones. I lured him away saying John Muir and Wendell Berry were waiting for us in the woods."

A few woodpeckers flew down to investigate the three of us. We weren't wood, but they've become more curious since the Greening. Adults gone. Man-made (and women-made) structures covered in ivies, kudzu, Virginia creeper, morning glories, and poison ivy. Trees everywhere as if the botanical world were fed Arnold Swarzenegger steroids.

Squirrels. Squids. Flamingos. 

That was the call. 5 a.m. in the woods. But where were the adults? That's what we had to find out.

~thanks for today's prompt, Ranger Scott!

Cattails are a Watershed's Good Friend & If I Could (actually, I should), I'd Teach the Town of Stratford to Protect Them (They Heal)

Dear Ranger Kristin,

Thank you for your writing prompt, and I had to go for a long hike thinking about it. Normal Crandall would write about preserving a gigantic purple frog outside the 7/11 in the town square but, alas, that beautiful creature doesn't exist. I think I need to write my town about that. What town doesn't need a gigantic, purple frog outside its town square?

Actually, as I was going for my run yesterday I passed what I think is named Bruce Pond, because it is the larger body of water that extends out of Bruce Creek and back into it again. It exists in Wooster Park (What does a Wooster order every time he's out to dinner? A diet-coke-l-doooooo), the area around the corner from my house that huddles behind Wooster Middle School. Since moving here, I've always thought, "Holy-ideal outdoor classroom, Batman." On occasion, and it's rare, a teacher might have their class there.

When I first moved to the area, I loved how the town allowed the plant life surrounding the pond to inhabit the waterway as it would. There were beautiful cattails and wildflowers, and only a couple of places where you could step up to the water. As you did, bullfrogs and turtles would scuttle in every direction. Yet, a year after I moved in, I remember seeing the town mowers literally put their blades down to the shoreline, desecrating all the plant life that existed there, leaving it as an open-space for anyone to go directly to the water. Well, this was great for human beings who wanted to fish, but not so good for the insects, fish, water fowl, reptiles, and amphibians. For a while, I'd see all the creatures along the edge as if they were thinking, "$%@! What just happened? Where's my shelter?" Then, I imagined they retreated, or thinned their population, or maybe fled to another location. They're not in the abundance they once were.

I remember when I was part of the Beargrass Creek Task Force in Louisville, Kentucky and active in many watershed groups. Having easements along water ways allows plant life to grow as nature intended and it's actually a good thing...with cattails being one of the best purifiers there are (sucking out the toxins in the water, offering shelter for critters, and thrilling red-wing blackbirds during their mating season - hotdogs on a stick).

Then came the mowers. Vvvvvvvvvrrrrrrrr. Wiped out.

So, if I could, I'd like to see the town preserve more of the water's edgeways, so that they are more sustainable for the creatures that intended to live there. I don't mind if they cut occasionally to the edge, but do so in  small swaths, and  rotate each year so life can restore itself. Be strategic. Think.

I'm in the South Central Coastal watershed with the Housatonic River and the Long Island Sound nearby. Every waterway is like a lung to the earth, and I'd hope my town's people would have more environmental insight in their choices over their parks. More importantly, I would love to see the educators of Wooster Middle School adopt Bruce's pond as their whole-school project. 

Why do I think this way? When one pays attention to life, and its intricacies, it is easier to see the importance of sustainable development. We two legged, two-eyed, loud-mouthed, canine-teeth baring, polluting, machine-inventing predators have the potential to do smart things from time to time. Logical planning is one of them.