Here's to the Tiny Ways Small Deeds Bloom Humongously One Blueberry at a Time. A Photo I Will Cherish

My next door neighbor is in her 90s, used to make me pirogies, and in the last couple of years she's lost her husband, broke her hip, and helped a son fight cancer. She's frail, so on her birthday I bought her two blueberry bushes so they could sit on the other side of the fence (better for cross-pollinating). My blueberries bloomed in June and I told her she'd have to wait until next year most likely for her own.

Nope. As Karal and I came home from our walk yesterday she greeted us with a smile and her palms opened. She speaks Polish and knows only a few phrases in English. It's wild that they are blooming this late, but I'm excited she got some fruit.

Seriously, I'd own a blueberry farm if I could. 

Deb, who lived on the other side of me, also planted blueberry bushes. It be nice to have multiple bushes in the neighborhood (oh, wait. I also bought a colleague two blueberry bushes when she married her partner earlier this year and they are live a few streets over). I can't believe the birds didn't get to Krystyina's plant!

So, I'm proud to think I gifted these bushes to her, as she gifted me today with fruits of the labor. If we're not nurturing the planet, gardening, and being stewards, we're not raising a generation who may one day check on me, too - where I can also smile with a palm full of berries. 

Get your hands in soil.

I've Graduated to Popcorn. It's the Little Things in Life We Need to Appreciate Most. This Means Karal Was Super Happy Last Night, Too

You know Google is your friend when you search, "Is Popcorn bad for acid reflux?" and John Hopkins has a site for why it's actually good for upset stomachs. That means I can add popcorn to my rice, applesauce, toast, and egg dinners. Banana desserts. 

Go, me! I was just excited to find an alternative.

I've always had sinus issues and I'm used to the dry throat, headaches, and drips, but this acid reflux with the dry throat and drips has made me miserable. I just want to more Bodega Taco Truck (which is what put me over the edge in the first place...it was so good and I overindulged).  

Of course, now I probably will start getting diverticulitis attacks triggered by popcorn seeds. I can hardly wait (not to be pessimistic, but I tend to inherit everything bad that is possible). 

I'm hoping for noodle soup at lunch, as I'm meeting with a colleague to polish a syllabus....hopefully the broth will have a good flavor. 

Hump day. Garbage Day tomorrow. Ah, the things that we look forward to...

Well That Didn't Last Long...Two Weeks without Teaching and What Do You Know? I'm Teaching Again. Well, I'm Training 75 New Student Leader Instructors

Dr. Erica Hartwell's departing gift to me was to tell the New Student Leader consortium that she move to Seattle and couldn't do yesterday's training, but they might want to check in with Dr. Bryan Ripley Crandall to see if he is available. Well, the message was relayed to me that Dr. Hartwell said I agreed, so I did this one for her. Actually, I love discussing strategies for effective classroom and, even better, I like to simply have fun. What's a room full of 75 individuals I don't know other than a blank canvas for trying out new ideas!

We did turn-n-talks, think-pair-Chers, dry erase dialogues, walk-n-talks, jokes, kick-offs, sign-offs, and another dozen ways they might think about their classroom spaces this year. The First Year Experience course is a no-credit bearing requirement for all freshmyn and they undergraduates get paid to teach them. It was actually a recruiting tool, too, because many stayed after to talk to me about a degree in teaching (which schools desperately need). 

On the final note, I said, "Before we depart, you must also remember how important it is to sing together and to make music." I was surprised they were as agreeable to this prompt as they were, and I enjoyed their happiness. I hope they will spread it to others this upcoming year. 

I'm Celebrating Monday's Accomplishments with A Greek Omelet Tonight. I Don't Care If It Will Be My Dinner, I Just Want Spinach, Feta, Tomato, and Eggs

Ta da! 

I'm getting good at this self-paced congratulatory way of living. I already have dinner planned and the ingredients purchased. Of course, I also have a day in the office followed by the training of 75 undergraduates, but I have my reward already planned at the end of the tunnel. 

And yes, this will include rye or pumpernickel bread, too. I want breakfast for dinner. 

I'm also super excited that I have an appointment with Dr. Moss this week; he's my dermatologist...sort of if Doogie Houser, Fred Savage, and a Keebler Elf were to have a love-child. He's good to me and gives me a 100 wasp stings of Kennelog which I need because my legs are poisoned with burning psoriasis right now. I thought the beach day yesterday would calm them down, but it just caught them on fire. It's fun to go around town and hear kids asking their moms, "What's wrong with that man's legs?'

It's my revenge for being so vocal as a kid wondering about the diseased, obese, smelly, and odd adults that shopped in stores my mom frequented. 

I can't believe August is almost over, as last semester just ended and blurred with CWP summer programs. Drat. I'll get my time off...I promise. I dream of it, actually.

Alright, there's much on the plate today which will be awarded by my breakfast plate tonight. Time for a shower and to hit the road. 

The Real Reason They Get Us Up at 6 a.m. Is So They Can Come Downstairs and Do This the Rest of the Day. They Want to Rub It In How Easy They Have It

It was a beautiful day, and she did get a walk in that was good for her bowels. I was like, "Karal, what did you eat yesterday, you went twice today and they were quite the piles?" She didn't answer. She likes her walks but really wants to sleep while you run ragged and frantically do your human things.

Yesterday was a National Celebration of Dogs and she went forth with what dogs do best - laze around in complete do-nothingness.

I guess it's good, because the opposite of it is the spastic, in your face, wanting attention mood, which is quite obnoxious when it kicks in. I believe a settled dog is a better dog. 

Okay, it's Sunday. At Joanna's party last night it was a back-to-school bonanza where teachers were in frantic mode knowing the crazy, the good crazy, is still to come.

To be honest, I wouldn't mind a day like Karal today. It's not my nature to sit still much, but it does sound nice. It's not a beach day, but I wouldn't mind one. 

Ah, but I'm going back at it, ram mode. It's my nature and I have my eyes on the prize. Here's to the inspiration, though, of canines. They're onto something we can all learn from. 

My New Approach to the Insanity of the Work Always Needing to Be Done (Discovered at 10 p.m. on a Friday Night & Posted Saturday Morning)

My new mantra is simple. When I finish any work for the day and simply move to resting my mind, fingers, and eyes, I'm simply yelling, "Ta-Da!," and calling it a day. This past week, I put in a lot of time to get ready for the new semester and ahead, hopefully, in my career and work. Sometimes it's like, "So you lived the last six years, right? Articulate all you did in these six years, offer your philosophy for doing this, add theory where you can, and create an appendix with proof that you did as you said you did." 

Ready. Set. Go!

Ta Da!

I put into each day what I can muster, but then there's a moment where I'm like, "Why the hell am I doing all of this?" To be honest, last night I took a break for three hours simply to put together workshops for 75 New Student Leaders who will be teaching the First Year Experience courses on campus. Thanks, Dr. Hartwell for leaving the University and giving them my name to replace you. It was actually fun putting together the workshop because I love teaching and sharing pedagogy and practices that can be helpful to others. Of course, I'm stealing from the expertise of all my National Writing Project years. 

Ta Da! 

Another item off the plate, two syllabi to go, and organizing for the first week of classes. I'll get there, but first I need to tackle the monumental task of proving all I've done since 2018. And then I brushed my teeth. Here's a photo of the tube of toothpaste and a letter from the tooth faerie proving that this was accomplished, but a cavity chart explaining why brushing my teeth is important (See Appendix A: On Flossing, Hygiene, and Dental care)

Ta Da!

Okay, I'm going at it for a few hours but taking tonight off for Joanna MacKenzie's 49th (forever) birthday. She got a taco truck...how can I resist?

But I'll be back at it Sunday morning. Trust me (unless there's a call to the beach that I can't resist)

A Post About Time, Pace, the Gentle, but Cruel Speed of It All, and the Grace It Offers as Wisdom Trickles In. Thinking of the Sealey/Johnson/Wooley Household

I'm not quite sure when our families blended. I tried to find photographs of the very moment, but there isn't one. I recall interviewing Dave for the summer institute and apparently the first time I met Kris I asked her, "How the hell do you work here," but I don't have an exact moment of the friendship's beginning. They moved to Stratford and I recall Abu, Lossine, and I going to a party at their first home in the backyard. Justin was still in high school then. Was it Ish's first birthday? I have no idea, but they were strangers and I went because Dr. Sealy was being collegial to others in Stratford. 

Of course, Isaiah and Val started to attend CWP programs and Justin became a student at the University, and Dave began co-teaching Project Citizen, and Kris and I gathered often over campus stuff. There were Chitunga events, and Kris awards, and MLK obligations, and summer work, too. Our families both looked at the same house on Williams Street while finding more permanence in Stratford (both loved it, but it was impractical to our needs). I bought on Mt. Pleasant. They bought on Nichols.

And then it sort of fused together. Dinners. Favors. Covid groceries. Driving lessons. Graduations. Birthdays. Parties. Emergency trips to the hospital and Crandall nudity scares (I'm sure that was cause for panic in Dave). Possibilities. 

Abu, Lossine, Chitunga, Kanyea, Edem...they became men. Justin went to grad school in Memphis. Then the next in line,  middle school nerds and 8th grade dances, the photo shoot in my backyard.

But Sh'Zaam. Val's in Louisiana as of last week and today, Isaiah is driven to Oberlin. And the Sealey/Wooley/Johnsons still managed to have me over for dinner last night before they take off. It's gone by too fast and I'm thinking of the night before I departed for Binghamton in 1990. It is vivid in my head. I was packed and it was time to go. I was dropped off. That was that.

I also remember Abu and Lossine starting Brockport, Chitunga....LeMoyne.

And the feels are plentiful and a lot. So much so that I could only look at Kris and Dave last night to say, "Well, there will be many changes coming your way. I'm here for you to process when you're ready."

And Isaiah...this mousy, tiny, introverted kid has blossomed into an intellectual, creative stud who is a fascinating thinker and doer. There's no way to predict where he'll end up. He's on the road to find out and, as parents, Dave & Kris invest their everything. It'll all evolve as it should.

I took the photo above at the graduation party with Isaiah and Val - some of their friends. Sadly, Maddie had already left. 1990. 2023. 33 years difference. Same whirling of time, pace, departure, and next steps. 

It is something and I am wishing him the best, just like I did Val. 

As for the parental units...there's only this hug. It's always hard to believe that one day nothing will be the same, but it happens...and that is why we invest so much into the now while we can. 

Here's to the road trip. Here's to the learning ahead. Let another phase come and go with painlessness and ease. 

I Worked Until 4 and Then Thought, "It's Simply too Gorgeous Not to be Outside." Almost Had the Entire Universe to Myself. So Beautiful

The fact that they're calling for rain encouraged me to take advantage of the non-raid day that was yesterday. It was beautiful and I simply wanted to look at the waves and count the clouds in the sky. There were five the entire time. The breeze was nice and the sun was warm. Who could ask for more; I am thankful to have this so close by. 

I'm going back for more writing today and hoping to make the progress that is coming. Chisel. Chisel. Chisel. Also am invited to Kris & Dave's for the last Isaiah dinner (EEKS, too fast). And I will finish the day with a recording of The Write Time. 

Sadly, I know I need to replace my Crandall chair on the front porch. I've redone the cushions three times, but now the springs are poking into my gluteus Maximus and deep into my back. I got it for $50 at Pier One and know I need something else. I live on this chair and on my porch. Whatever I get needs to be perfect.

Yesterday morning, cops were snagging drivers who don't stop at the four way stop at the top of Mt. Pleasant and then flying down the road. I had the great fortune of seeing all the faces the people made as they were pulled over and given a ticket because it was in front of my house. Sad to take pleasure in another's misery, but school starts in a few weeks and people drive crazy on this street as they cut from one side of Stratford to the other. Not always the greatest fan of cops, but when they do right, I'm okay with the lights.

Alright...time to get inspired. Back to the keyboard piano I go. 

It's Been an August, and Although I Haven't Gardened Like I Usually Do, I've Enjoyed the Blooms Around My Yard, Including Those Outside My Front Porch

I don't like being on my arse as much as I've been, getting the writing done that needs to be done, and getting outside for soil and weeding therapy hasn't been a top priority. Even so, this year's blooms have been extra vivid and I've enjoyed the colors as they've come forward from black-eyed Susans, irises, cosmos, gladiolas, and all types of wildflowers. I definitely want to add a milkweed collection this fall so I can bring more butterflies this way.

You know it's too much writing when you get excited to mow the lawn because it's a little too high for one's neighborly discretion, which I also accomplished yesterday.

And thank you Stratford Chinese take-out for sustaining me the last few days. I needed the smile on my face to counter the stress of the work needing to get done. 

It's already hump day, and I'm going back at it, because that's what it takes to get the work done. I suppose I never thought too hard about the labor that goes into being an academic - it never ends - but I remain appreciative to do the work for CWP and the University. It's just a lot. 

So here's to the process. May my commitment bring blooms to the world like the seeds and bulbs I plant each year. One can only hope. 

Looking Back to the Last Weeks of CWP Work and Remain Super Proud of Mateo Planas, Jalen Johnson, and Isaiah Johnson for What They Achieved with WRITE ACROSS AMERICA -TEENS

Last night, I shared work from the summer with a teacher and realized it is probably good to share here, too. Kel Sassi asked CWP if we wanted to take part with Write Across America-Teens with NWP and Scholastic and I had the perfect three to lead the charge: Isaiah, Jalen, and Mateo (all hired for programs with youth because, well, they attended programs for youth since their elementary school years and they are now in college). 

They did an incredible job highlighting our region, making their prompts interactive, and leading 100s of teenagers from across the country with their sharing....the Padlet is very interactive and the three prompts end with a request for you to write, too. It was really amazing, but I love the way they featured this part of the country for others to see, too.

Isaiah, pictured here, will be leaving for Oberlin College at the end of this week (hey, I remember sending the Lobb kids there, too - some of my favorites from the Brown School). I thought this would be a good time to showcase his leadership, as well as the others, as I think proudly of what they achieved over the summer. I'm also hoping the Padlet might be useful to others to think about writing in their own regions with kids.

So thankful to Kel Sassi for giving us this opportunity. 

And I Took One for My Blood Pressure and It Seemed to Work. Beach Therapy in Milford For the Rescue (with No Flesh-Eating Consequences)

I have to get over the stress hump, simply to take a little down-time just for me, and I was glad Oona, Leo, and Bev joined me. Of course, when I made the decision, the flesh-eating bacteria decided to invade the Sound, too, so I didn't go into the water. I have too many open wounds caused by psoriasis. I got sun and that's what I needed. I returned to lower blood pressure which was what it was all about.

But now it's Monday and back to the grind. I should have mowed my lawn this weekend, but I didn't want to ruin a day putting carbon monoxide into the air...it's bad enough California got a Hurriquake and Iowa will see temperatures in the 100s this week (not to mention Canada and Hawaii).

I did work on syllabi some this weekend as I'm teaching an Honors course called Enduring Questions: Refugees in Literature (a course I've always dreamed of one day teaching, but agonizing over what the selected texts will be). I will have 20 bushy-tailed freshman enrolled and I get to co-teach it with he extraordinary Julie Mughal (I look forward to reflecting on what it's like to co-habit a classroom together).

The kayak and paddle boards remained in the garage. I'd like to get back out on them, but I didn't want to look like a Zombie with skin falling off my face because the flesh-eating virus invaded my bloodstream. I have enough issues without contending with that.

More and more of us are returning to school in the near future so for those who already have and those still counting down to the beginning, I wish you luck. Sun, fresh air, and a beautiful view will aways be a cure. For that I am thankful.

It Seems Appropriate as I Work Late on a Saturday Night a Man Smashed Into a Parked Car Outside My Home (at least it wasn't mine)

Yes, I am more of a work-a-holic and perfectionist than I like to admit, and when the work is on a platform I'm unaccustomed to, I get a little more stressed than usual. But I'm making headway, feeling decent about what I've done so far, and just overwhelmed by having to upload every single item only to be labeled, organized, and relevant to people who have to see my accomplishments. It used to be binders and big plastic bins, but now we've moved to electronic filing (which is a 'be careful what you ask for' scenario). There's no easy way to fill out a lifelong application, so I simply have to pace the process.

Oh, but my blood pressure. I measure it every day and it's been way too high and this makes me nervous. It's stress...temporary stress...and I'm ready to be on the other side of it.

Karal and I got a 1.5 hour hike in on a beautiful day. I didn't mow the lawn, but that's okay. It will get done...just as the laundry did. Also made time to talk to mom, Cynde, and Chitunga. I wanted to find a way to chill at night, but nothing presented itself...

...until the crash. My guess is the guy was texting and then SMASH. At lease he was honest and called the police. He went door to door wondering whose car he hit. Karal barked. Too much commotion from 9 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. as they sorted things out. The family returned (and it was an out-of-town guest, Jersey plates, that he hit). 

It's never fun to be in an accident and it is always awful to hear the crash. It startles you. Of course, it also triggers memories of every accident you've ever known.

So, I will climb up this rope some more today, but want to take advantage of a beautiful beach day. It doesn't look like there will be too many more this summer, as the temperatures drop drastically this week - not the 105 temperatures predicted for Chitunga in Des Moines.

But I do hope for sun, chill time, and more importantly some relaxed breathing. My old self would go for long, long runs to calm my nerves, but my middle-aged body resists that. The walks suffice.

This too shall pass. 

And Then We're Served the Tiniest Ice-Cream Cones on a Friday Night, Just Because the Host is Counting Her Calories. Whomp Whomp Whomp. Where's the Rest?

It's all good. I don't need more than a nub anyway, but when you get the last bite of a cone (and chocolate is at its bottom) you really feel cheated that it really was only a couple of bites.

I finally quit working at 6 pm (no word about the day, as it was awful...as Shelbie Witte of Oklahoma wrote, "Today, I'm just about done with today-ing." I couldn't have agreed more.

Of course, then I was served an ice-cream cone for Oompa Loompa's to kick off my weekend.are 

And I think I need to channel the line from American Splendor "Another predictable disappointment," simply because my expectations are too high and I'm constantly saddened by the reality of others....not the ice-cream...I really enjoyed that. But the way our species operates in general. If I start expecting less and disappointment, perhaps I'll occasionally be surprised (like Willie Wonka was when Charlie returned the Gobstopper).

I need to wake up every morning thinking, "Humans are #$%$# $%#$% $#@! @@#," so when they aren't #$%$# $%#$% $#@! @@#, I can be, "Well look at that. Who would have expected such goodness from the species?"

It's worth a shot.

And here's to Friday night dance parties on Walnut Beach just to blow off the steam of the week. We all can use a few more dance parties....for real, for real. 

It Was a Short-Lived Visit, But So Wonderful to be Reunited with My LRA-Wife, Dr. Elizabeth Stevenson & Her Real Husband (w/ Family)

If you come to southern Connecticut, one can't help but look into a day trip to the Pez Candy dispensary. We solved the 7 dwarves mystery after eating lunch at Lil' Pub in Stratford, and even if we wanted to do a beach day, the bizarre August weather wouldn't allow it. So, adjustments were made and the out-of-town guests chose to return to Rochester a day early. I was looking forward to a day on the water, but it was gray, windy, and cold, so throat candy it was. 

Colorful, bitter, breath-saving throat candy.

The kids put it into my mind that PEZ should have an amusement park, too, and I thought it would be cool to slide through a pool where you sprung from a neck before creating a splash or to ride a PEZ candy cart on a roller coaster as you watched the Oompa Loompa making the sugar pills. Alas, it was only a candy-store bonanza with friends, which was fine by me, because it was fun. The store is definitely a good time and worth the admissions cost, especially when Elizabeth's real husband is literally a kid in the candy store. 

Alas, it's back to work this morning on a rainy, blustery day, but I need to be horns down to charge ahead. We got this Crandall. It's a lot, but so is life. 

One day at a time. 

Great storms last night. Booms. Lightening. Rain to fill rivers and canals (glad we didn't wash away). 

Please, though. I need a couple more beach days. This is not the way August was supposed to be.

And This Is Definitely Worthy of a Good Sleep. Over Two Years of Reviewing, Rewriting, Revisiting, and Realigning, We Have an International Journal

I'm hosting out of town guess, but I don't want to lose sight of the fact that a special project with Dr. Jessie Early of Arizona University finally came to fruition yesterday when Writing & Pedagogy released a special, two-issue volume of it its journal. We had the pleasure of working with incredible National Writing Project writers from across the nation and to sent their reworked manuscripts to reviewers. It was a win, win celebration of the best of NWP. And I learned so much from the process. 

This was a collection due out a year ago, but because of Covid delays, it took 365 more days. The participants were amazing, the high bar for excellence sustained, and the dedication was a no-brainer. 

Had anyone told me I would be a special guest editor for an international journal, I would have said, "That's absurd."

But here we are...13 articles to outline exactly how we survived the pandemic as National Writing Project teacher-leaders. We found one another, we huddled, we did great work, and we wrote....then edited...then edited...then wrote some more...then revised...then edited...the went back to the drawing board...then rewrote some more. 

I'm definitely proud of the accomplishment and even prouder of those who took part in the endeavor. 

For those of young in higher education, let me just say that the writing processes are a lot. No. I really mean a lot. A lot, and then some. It is a tough, non-stop, excrutiating effort, but in the end we find success...like we did here.

But sleep is also good. We need sleep, too.

And It's Official. CWP-Fairfield Will No Longer Be Hosted in Donnarumma Ding Dong. All Is Packed and Ready for the New Location (Still to Come)

Linda Miller took me on a tour yesterday. I got there early in the morning to pack all the boxes of books into my Subaru (the one's left over from yesteryear which were used by teacher-leaders across the State. When I arrived, CWP had a large office, a full-time assistant, and a part-time assistant. Retirements and death caused this to shrink rather quickly and although I was able to host part-time assistance for a few more years, eventually the work followed with the trend others have seen and the support simply disappeared. I had a graduate student for two years, but even that faded. And they took that office and shoved us in a closet. Now that had to be given back, too.

It is what it is. And all the materials are going to another facility, still to be determined. Actually, it was determined even before I agreed to give up the space, but no one knows where the key is. That is the email circle of the day. 

But speaking of Linda Miller, I cannot sing her enough praises. She is the administrative assistant in the English Department, but now she serves others schools in the College. She's committed, persistent, and extremely helpful. Since day one she's been a champion of CWP and she always comes to the rescue, which she did on this move and she also did finding me publications of young people I paid for. I owe her something special.

So this office above is 1/2 of the office it once was, because the other 1/2 is in my garage (from when they took the original space away). Now, we move again.

Onward. 

NWP work is abundant. We have materials, supplies, history, books, and resources that our partner schools need. Yes, when I visit sites across the nation I am jealous by the support and spaces they're provided. Ah, not so much where I am, but I can argue that I may only be one man with a passion, but that passion is rich and I'm doing great things. This is who I was before coming and who I am right now. It will be who I'll be no matter where I end up.

Definitely Hearing the Insect Music of Back to School (Even If It is a Few Weeks Away). The Cicadas are Going Bonkers

I always know summer is on its way with the peepers, but the cicadas close it out with their clicking wings. There's actually an uptick in crickets, too, and the noises are simply a reminder that the sunny season is on its way out. This is not as alarming to me as it is most educators, simply because my summer months are the busiest time of years, running well over 90 hours of programming and keeping the CWP business afloat. I don't breathe. I just applaud the awesome work of teachers and young people.

With that noted, I'm not ready for the work ahead, because there's too much work to be accomplished in the immediate.

Yesterday I heard from teachers and principals who are shifting their locations and new goals, and there was even activity in Canisius Hall again...new faculty moving in who haven't received the memo that the vast majority of faculty apparently work from home.

Ah, but I'm loving this August music: the quiet fluttering of butterfly wings during the day and the steady chirps of evening bug-life. They are happy. They are doing their thing. So shall the rest of us, perhaps with a little more stress. We should be thankful that we don't have to fear too many windshields, birds, porch lights, or fly swatters in our day to day...just our politicians.

That Was a Fast First Year....Ethan Kelly is Already One Year Old, and Yesterday Was his Marina Party

We dipped back into 100% humidity again yesterday with high 80 temperatures. Without much shade in a backyard, it was brutal. Of course, I found a spot and didn't move. The lucky ones were the little ones because they had several water parks set up for them to play in: slides, whales, spray hoses, bridges. They had a ball, while the adults looked on with envy.

Ethan lucked out, too. He'll be opening presents for months, with enough gifts for two families at Christmas. He was rather exhausted by the time they got to the cake, although he did smirk a good portion of it all over his cheeks.

Patrick's man-cave is looking good, too, as he's converted his garage into a bar with photos from all over the years on all the walls. It looks great and would definitely be a hangout spot if there wasn't a birthday to celebrate. 

I liked the swag bag given to everyone at the end, and I've already squirted Karal with the shark gun, love my seahorse key chain, and hope the chocolate is good on his candy bars.

But now it is Monday. Time to make the donuts.

Becoming a BRAT, at Least for a Few Days: Bananas, Rice, Apple Sauce, & Toast. Cleaning Out the Intestines of Middle Age

I have blamed the spicy Bang Bang shrimp at a Monroe Indian restaurant for my stomach issues, acid reflux, and intestinal problems. Of course, that is my excuse, because most of the nonsense simply comes with middle age. There's a reason chicken wings slap the heck out the man's face on commercials. As everything is different mid-life, so our the digestive issues. No longer do I have a stomach of steal. It's more like a stomach of flames. 

So, after a few days with severe cramping and evenings with toilet insanity, I asked Dr. Planas, my nurse friend, what I should do and she recommended the BRAT. It doesn't have to last forever, but go a few days with bananas, rice, apple sauce, and toast and everything should calm down. Um, okay. But online reading says the BRAT isn't healthy and recommended eggs, so I chose eggs to go with my rice and it was filling. The probiotic tea of ginger and honey is also good. 

Aging is a blast. 

I wish I could say Saturday was a joy, but I didn't trust my stomach, especially having to flee Friday's Salsa party and Thursday's jambalaya. All tasted great, but within minutes I was in pain...this after a successful physical on Tuesday. Thrilled to have to monitor even more in my fifties. 

I can attest, however, that two hours after dinner, things solidified quite a bit. That made me happy. I love a good meal and I'm a fan of many flavors, but I need to go into neutral land for a while, which is non-joyous, annoying, and disturbing. But I do what it takes (or at least I hope it'll work). I don't want to be a TUMS-popping maniac as I head to my retirement years, which are an exhausting 15 years away.

Ugh.

But we'll see how this goes. Right now, it's just boring and dull. But maybe time will tell. 

Every Once In a While My Colleagues Can Get Me Out for Some Salsa Dancing (But I Was Really After the Dinner Because I Hadn't Eaten All Day)

Love me some Dr. Farrell and Dr. Planas time. Normally we gather on Mt. Pleasant, but they talked me into Joey C's for dinner and dancing, which was really all of Jessica's family, cousins, and neighbors who gather for good dancing two or three times a week. My stomach was not up for too much movement, as everything I eat lately triggers something new: mostly acid reflux which is a midlife curse.

I got a lot of writing in on Friday and then did a complete wash down and do-over of the little bedroom upstairs now that Edem has moved in with his girlfriend and is expecting twins this November. With Syracuse friends driving through this week, I wanted to make space so everyone has a location to sleep. 

It seemed weird, too, not to have Karal all up in the lady's laps demanding lady love, although Michelle channeled Karal's energy on the dance floor. New goal: don't eat before dancing, because that is like going to an amusement park on a full stomach. Never good. But that was my fault because I was really, really hungry and hand't eaten all day. Ah, but the air was cool, there was a breeze, and the atmosphere was superb. I lasted until 10 p.m. and, EEKS, I stiffed them for the bill. I definitely will Venmo in the morning. It didn't occur to me until I got home and I had all those mules. Bad, Bryan. Bad bad bad.

Well, here's to Saturday. 

Snuck a Picture Before I Left. Celebrating Val's Last Days in CT Before New Orleans with the Wooley, Johnson, & Sealy Crew. Jambalaya. Dang. That Was One Great Meal.

I'm trying to wrap my head around the multiple changes about to occur at my friend Kris & Dave's house. The oldest is in a doctoral program, and two more head off to college next week, so that leaves just the two of them and Ish which seems like an incredible shift in home-living. I've loved their house because it is chaotic and I thrive in chaos. Actually, I love it because it is alive, intellectual, spiritual, agentive, and unique. My kind of people. 

Anyway, Dave is a phenomenal cook and last night he made shrimp jambalaya which was out of this world. I made the salad and brought smoked focaccia, but that rice dish....please. So good, and I hated I couldn't eat all they put in my bowl. This is definitely something I want to make, as I told Abu..."you left a few days too early."

The CWP Fairfield Office is officially packed up to be move to who knows where, and I met to plan classes with a colleague I'll be teaching with this Fall. I didn't make headway on my projects, but that is what the weekend is for....I write until I'm invited not to write. 

Poor Karal missed out on her daily walk because of the rain, but I'll double it up for her tomorrow. The sky couldn't decide what it wanted to be...but wet.

And here's hoping for a good night of sleep soon. 

Wondering If They'll Hatch and I'll Have a Grinchling Running Around Mt. Pleasant (or Maybe to Make Green Eggs & Ham)

I am thankful to Joanna McKenzie for providing me fresh eggs, and delivering them in a basket. After all the shenanigans of this past weekend I cleaned out the refrigerator and found a lime with the eggs. It cracked me up, only because it would be wonderful to have a green egg delivered to me.

I've been two days to the good, maintaining 12 hours of writing with a 5K walk to break the monotony. I imagine if I can keep this pace I'll actually get caught up with projects, CWP-Fairfield work, the upcoming semester, and reports. It's much easier to do my job when I'm not in front of people six hours every day, with three more hours of preparation soon after.

I have meetings today (which is a joy, because they accomplish nothing but wind) and then I'll be able to head back to work, which also includes boxing the CWP office up, because the University is claiming the space (which is really a closet) for an office. I responded I will box everything, but I'm not moving it until they find another space we can use....we have supplies for schools coming almost weekly and they need to be stored somewhere. They won't fit in my academic office, as it is stuffed to the ceiling already.

And my new blood pressure machine came in the mail, which makes me excited because I'm supposed to be measuring on the daily, but channel my mother's paranoia and would rather not.

Okay, clock. Time to hit traffic and post. Here we go again.

Always Love Receiving Gifts in the Mail, Especially From Ol' Students Who Are Making it BIG in the World. Thanks, Anisa Libuya!

Several years ago, I began mentoring a young man from the Dolan School of Business who was from Zambia. He worked with both Sonya Huber and myself as he began to write a memoir about his life, but also laid out plans for his vision for the future, especially in Zambia. He arrived this summer with his wife (an elementary school teacher) for a vacation and stopped by twice - once to see the literacy labs and second to bring by gifts from his country (which was yesterday, as he flew home last night). 

It's always touching to receive items from another, especially when they represent another nation. My colleague, John Kiweewa from Uganda, immediately began playing with the rattles and making dance in the hallway of Canisius. It's so wonderful, even if extremely rare, to have joy in our corridor...unless we're there to bring it, the hallway remains empty.

Also went for a physical (mid life shit) and was pleased to learn my cholesterol and blood pressure came way down. My EKG also went swimmingly, and I simply need to lose the post-Covid girth. I keep vowing to do it, but then family visits and out-to-dinner meals means French fries and they are so, so good. I need to choose better, but don't because....well...French fries. 

I'm choosing to write from home today, because when I go into the office I am inundated with people looking for anyone who is working to ask a zillion and one questions I don't have answers for. I will get more done if I stay on my front porch. I know this.

Heading into this hump day with optimism. Let's hope I can maintain it!

I'm Not Sure If It is a Good Thing or a Bad Thing That Even Bank Employees Get Put on Hold for 90 Minutes Trying To Resolve Their Errors

It began right after Covid. A man made counterfeit checks that looked like mine and went into banks writing checks to himself and signing my name. Lucky for me, the first time one posted on my account I caught it, went to the bank to close it, and immediately went to the police. They say they rarely catch these morons, but because I was quick, did a Google Search for the guys name, brought the police the address and name of the man, and they went to the banks where he did his hustle, they made a match. He was arrested. That was then. This is now. 

Well, last week I get a call from Chase's Fraud Department telling me I owe all the money he stole and I told the lady (a) I don't trust phone calls from random numbers, (b) I'll go into the bank and deal with it there, and (c) all of this was settled 2.5 years ago. So, because you can't just walk into a bank any more, I set up an appointment for yesterday morning and went in to resolve the issue. I was there 90 minutes watching the employee get frustrated by being put on hold, transferred, and losing the calls. It is sad to think that they, too, have to deal with the same crazy as customers. The service is terrible.

Five people told him, and he told me, that it was resolved and not to worry about it, but then as he kept moving up the chain of command, one person said they weren't sure, so a manager needed to get involved. She looked over my account and said, "It's settled," but even she was unsure because there were strange remarks she didn't understand. 

Long story short, I now must wait 2 weeks for them to look into this more and to get back to me. 

I laughed, because the man at the desk was like, "I got you," but then grew more and more frustrated the more he tried to resolve the issue. He kept apologizing. I simply said, "Don't worry. Like Eeyore, I have a black cloud that follows me wherever I go." Something will get resolved - it usually does, but it is never smooth or normal. Just whacky and frustrating. I just get amazed because they are a well-financed bank and the customer service should not be this bad...even for its own employees.

But here we are. And now it's Tuesday. 

And Just Like That, Mount Pleasant Returns to Quiet, Calm, Serenity, and Stillness (and I Don't Have Any More Weeks of CWP Work). Phew.

I told my sister, there's not issue with them coming this past weekend, because it would simply continue the chaos of the last five weeks, and since I'm used to it, it's a perfect time to visit. All went well: too much food and too expensive and too many out-to-eat locations, but that was our problem. And it was delicious. No regrets.

We spent another day at the beach and that was a smart choice: no humidity, great sun, and calming winds.  

It's been a minute since I went to a diner for breakfast, but that was good, too. Abu made it safely to Syracuse, and it will be weird not having him at Mt. Pleasant, too. It's a total 180....crazy summer without a second to think about what day it is, to the stillness that will be here for quite a while. I need it to regather my thoughts and next moves. 

I know Karal has loved having a cousin dog to romp around with, especially for the long spirts and sprints in the backyard. She's definitely outsized, but she holds her own. Even so, she has calmed her disposition while company was visiting. She's been a good girl. 

Okay, Monday. We're off for another week. I think I will need 24 hours to get my bearings back. And a really GOOD night of sleep. 

I Needed a Day at the Beach, and I Got at Day at the Beach...and a Game Night Around the Dining Room Table Where the Laughter was Plentiful

Happy attempt at a normal weekend. We were grabbing subs by 10 a.m. and at the beach by 11. High tide was at 3 pm and we got much sunlight, water, relaxation. Interestingly, I slept on the couch and everyone got up before me but I didn't hear anyone. I just slept until 7 when I was ready to get up.

Phew...my goatee is getting white. 

We came home and played, "Who Can Do It," which turned into several Cynde impersonations of Bella looking like a horse caught in her collar. I'm not sure what she was doing but it was the running gag of the evening. Karal and Rocco tire one another out running around the backyard and Paradise Pizza and games tire out the human folk.

One of the challenges was to sit on another's lap and ask for five Christmas presents and, well, Abu quickly found Adamo's lap. It was hysterical, as was Cynde's on Mike's lap, and Mike's impersonation of Nikki. 

Too much food, too much fun, too much relaxation. We lucked out with the wether and I hoping it will be the same tomorrow. Abu's heading back to Syracuse and ready to kick off a new school year and soccer season. I hate losing the humor, laughter, games, silliness, jokes, television shows, conversations, and late night bonding, though. There's always a tremendous void when he leaves. The walls crave his silliness and absolute joy....Karal will, too. 

Not sure what will become of today, just that I'm waking up and letting what happens...happen. I have no plans, as I just finished 5 weeks of nonstop planning and action and I was ready/am ready for a break. Here's to another great day.

There Are a Million and One Words Flying Through My Brain About the Last Several Weeks, But I'm Settling with the Word BLESSED. @CWPFairfield Keeps My Joy Alive

I don't think anyone but a National Writing Project Director knows what it is like to run a teacher institute, workshops, and summer programs, especially when much of the work we do is grant-oriented and K-12 school coordinated, and somewhat counter to the ways normals systems function. We get work done and we do it outside the box, breaking boundaries between institutions, and fighting every step of the way (because we have to). 

In the last five weeks, we've hosted K-16 educators with 84 hours of professional development, provided 120 hours of writing space (and a publication) for almost 200 youth, hosted 20 authors to speak about writing, and hosted irreplaceable collaborations between teachers and students. Over 50% of our participants are from high needs districts and this year we welcomed young people from Loyola High School in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. Our teacher leaders provide 18 hours of PD to one another, building their capacity to provide professional development in local schools and districts, as well as at state and national conferences. Their leadership is ready to be spread to others. 

Ubuntu Academy celebrated their final day yesterday sharing oral stories, two-voice poems, and history with a large audience (which is nerve wracking for speakers of other languages). They did it, though, and they also mastered a cup game to play in absolute rhythm, which they were sure they'd never accomplish, but did. 

Our friends from Tanzania, too, wrote a choral, collaborative poem (in 15 minutes) and shared that with the Ubuntu crowd. It was amazing and I am beyond impressed by the students of Loyola High School.

I look at all of this with pride, knowing that in the last five weeks, I can count the number of colleagues I saw on campus with one hand...and didn't see a single colleague from my SEHD hallway, even if I was there from 7 a.m. until 4 p.m. each day. It's simply fascinating. Perhaps, they too need opportunities to see what can be accomplished when minds are put together.

I am simply amazed and remain proud of the work of CWP teachers, our summer team, and the beautiful youth we work with. 

And That's a Wrap. Another Round of the @CWPFairfield Teacher Leadership Institute @FairfieldU ... 15 Exceptional Human Beings Ready to Take on Schools

We have another cohort of Connecticut Writing Project Teacher-Leadership Fellows and I'm super proud of the 15 great minds that joined us this summer: brilliant individuals with a passion for teaching, learning, making change, growing, and investing in the power of the written word. I admit, this group was dynamic from the beginning and we almost didn't leave the classroom on the last day because the engagement continued to be rich. They deserve a break, however, and in the tradition of Crandall being Crandall, I bring forward the 2023 final poem. The visual version can be found here. Now it is time for the last day of Ubuntu Academy. There will be rest. I promise. Just not sure when.

And if you're interested, the entire summer Padlet can be found at the bottom of this post. We came to rejuvenate, we came to find joy, and we unearthed new passions with one another. Here's to one of the most outstanding crews I've had the fortune to work with. 

Viva Voce (Vox Populi) - Summer ’23

~brc

I

V oice, she writes, is a flame in need of protection.

o n a deeper level, we are all the voices of yesteryear,

i am, because we are…Ubuntu…the chaotic

c horus & cacophony of trauma, childhood, &

i ntellect, ready to select the pitch 

n ecessary to secure purposes within the 

g enres we choose. How can we lose?

o h. This is my bad-ass, screw-you, yo’ mama’s

u gly voice … perfect for I-95 morning traffic …you

r aggedy, ratchety, red-neck mother trucker!!!

j ust breathe, Crandall. Inhale. Tap Huber inner-Buddha…

o ccupy her calm within a poetic lotus flower so 

y ou can doodle another summer poem.

II

T here’s an article for everything, a book, a

r eference, an allusion to be posted

e xistentially across padlets of possibilities…

v ygotsky, friere, morrell, ball, & gee…

o h, pee-wee, the genie predicted the

r iver would end….culminate…

A nd here we are with buckets of pens and Chex-Mix,

l ayers of scribbles and doodles, Hershy’s, those

e ternal ink-puddles waiting to become multimodal

o veratures of writing projects ahead.

III

F irst, though, are the kids,

a ll the beautiful fledglings learning to 

t ie shoes, stand on one foot, and dot their

i ’s….cross their t’s, and find the 

m agic within their imaginations…

a s it’s meant to be captivating, like a name. 

T hey are the gifts, and like books

o n our shelves, they deserve to be read,

o pened, understood, & filed

r unning, as they do, without reservations.

IV

N atur nihil frustra facit, for there’s no vanity 

i n the bloom, just pistols & pollen,

c reation, and the stretch of pedals

o verarching the stem in search of a painting, a

l ove song, the doodle needed on the next page

e ntertaining both the ant & the bee.   

M animus date lilia plenas, 

a s a bundle of lilies needs the 

c radle of two arms carrying the

k nowledge from every pond with

l avish joy unearthed from

i mpossibilities…clustered in a

n otebook of tatoo’d wonders

V

E xactly. It’s about a red dry-erase marker in the

l eft hand, swirls and loops, with arrows

l anding in cognitive land minds that 

e xplode in twirls, synthesis, anathema,

r hythm, and alliteration (but no

y odeling in a poetic 3-way. Nope)

C ause it’s in the relational 

a rc of turning nothing into a field of winter blooms

p lague cold souls and frosty poets in need of 

s unshine and hot showers. Go ahead, 

h ave ChatGPT give it a try. Steal from it

a nd write your own poems. Afterwards,

w hen we’re done, more mind-mapping the miraculous.

VI

B ring it. No. sing it. Wait. Fling it,

r ing it, wing it, & spring it,

i n all the ways words trickle

a nd tickle our wonder into existence.

n o, this is not our space for silencing…

n ope, this is our place for becoming…

a rriving to our greatest potential. Oh

M use, we should do nothing but refuse

a pathetic lethargy, lethargic pathetic simplicity

r unning through veins of self-doubt, fear,

t rauma, worry, hate, & insecurity.

o h, friends. This space is for purity…the

n irvana begins right here. Ubuntu. It is clear

e ach of us, together, brings all of us everywhere.

VII

O h, there’s a joke for everything. What do you call the

l ine heading into the theater to see Barbie? BBQs!

i have another. What do you call the heart after she

v iciously breaks up with you? Bro-Ken

i ncidently, she loves Halloween, though, 

a t that time of year, it’s all about Pump-kens.

B ad, Bryan. Bad. No more Barbie jokes…

a s if Mattel can be held responsible to a socio-political,

t echnological approach to literacy when,

e cologically, her lady bits and shoes 

s oak watersheds with polymers & toxins

VIII

L aws. Justice. Power. Rights.

i njustice. Poverty. Fights.

a nother bald eagle, governmental flights.

B urdens. Unions. Democratic laws.

u biquity, hypocrisy, humanistic flaws.

k ingdoms. Autocracies. Dictatorships. Chains.

h ow with every new freedom, a new policy restrains…

o nward. westward. expand expand expand. Capitalist

w ages - the politician grandstands…wastes land

a nd backhands words meant for another sestina.

IX

J ust look around for the hitchhikers, the stickyjacks,

o r the goosegrass kids…the ones who 

a ttach at the ankle or ride home on your backpack

n eed one more ‘Miss” for the day (a hug, a smile, a

n od that everything will be okay). Some are like velcro…

a ll they need is an adult to walk by…but

M ore are attachment evasive, hiding under hoodies,

a rguing the sky is green and you’re just stupid,

c utting skin to see if they’re still alive,

k icking the wounded like bluejays who

e gotistically peck at other wounded birds.

n ah, this isn’t teaching. Being self-aware of how

z any kids look for more attention without wanting any at all.

i nteresting, right, how unnoticeable black lipstick and

e yeliner are when they’re a gothic recluse (any excuse not to feel)

X

A ristotle saw art not as outward appearance, but the

l ayering representation of inward significance…our

e xcellence, circumstance, internal happenstance

x istential hip hop, busting moves, the ways we dance

a s we get hot with personal expression.

G roups become tribal, language is survival, 

a nd all of us need emotional revival within the collective,

l ove resurrected within the creative…the legislative of

e ach and every teacher, through empathy and care, 

o pening saving accounts for the emotionally impoverished.

XI

S ince we’re revising, I have a confession to make,

a lways fixing the flaws that come from a 

r aw curiosity: I wonder if I turned left, or what about

a sking this question, instead of saying what I said, or

h ow might this be used to establish an empire.

H aving ideas is a complicated affair, and 

e very year, as we near the gray wisdom in our hair,

n ewer thoughts make the older dogs bark. Woof. But

e verything evolves at exactly the right time, and when we’re

g one, we only can hope others have fun with what we leave behind.

h ow would it work this way? What if we didn't 

a ttend Mountain School Workshops as a high school student...

n ow we’ll never know, and that is why revision is so important. 

XII

J ust ask it questions: Write me a stanza with Norman in the

a crostic without rhyming, if if the timing goes right,

m aybe sing it as the love child of Alicia Keys, Tyler Perry, &

e lmo. This is the song, la la la la, Jimmy’s 

s ong. 

N ow, hit return to see if it is close to Louise Glück….

o h, don’t give a fook? That’s okay, too, because there’s a

r eally good lesson plan we can drop on rhythm, rhyme, & we

m ad people emptying the ocean with our forks.

a sk more question. More. More. More. Keep going.

n arrow it down until you get exactly what you’re looking for.

XIII

D ad crédito a las obras y no a las palabras,

a s the stillest waters runs deep, no need for

r apids, but the steadiness, stillness, of

l ove, laughter, & living for the moment.

e l que no arriesga un huevo no saca un pollo…

n ests are necessary for fledglings to take flight…ask

e gg-bert, the brother left in the carton.

C arpe diem is latin, not Spanish, 

a nd it’s philosophical, I guess. Why 

l earn, why teach, why wonder, why ask, why

d o birds magically appear, every time you are near -

e ventually we’ll find out, or we won’t, but

r eally none of that matters in the end.

ó h, it’s in the confirming of another’s existence, writes 

n el nodding, that we see the better self for further development.  

XIV

R ancid? Is it the can 

o r the approach to historical hypocrisy

b rought our way by nidorous, moldered, &

M alodorous administrators ready to sell

o ur puppetry to the buffoonery of the testing apparatus.

n o, I will not go to Big Bird for a hug

a nd Snuffalufagus makes me sneeze. Please…the

c ount? one, two, three. ah ah ah. We see the stupidity…the 

o dorous, mephitic sewage you lead with (and ends up in my can).

XV

Y es, for every 60 seconds spent angry, 1 minute of happiness is lost,

v acated, vapid, and gone. There’s always more to say - 

o ur voices, multiple, and always on the way of 

n urging a conversation forward. This genesis was

n ew this year, as mom planted her own seeds…

e ventually, they’ll branch into their own trees.

J uly is for strawberry picking, blueberries,

e arth worms tilling the soil beneath,

t he robins licking their beaks below.

t his is the way summer goes for writers…

e ach has so much more to add, especially when

r ealizing the delight of planting gardens.

XVII

J uly. It’s always July when the cicadas sing,

u sing their tymbal to tug muscle into vibrations,

l ashing wings so it brings court-calls & choruses:

i ‘m in the mood for love, simply because you’re near me.

e very August, it’s hard not to look resentful.

R eturns are meant for recycling & holiday gifts, but

o urs come with angst…administrators & apathy always

n estled like strays in the hallway corners of national neglect.

e xperto crede … trust us, we’re the experts

s ummering, simmering, glistening, slithering

o ver calendars, emails, & calls that first days grow

n ear. Their singing. It happens every year.

& XVIII

R ejuvenating joy is a variation of genius, unearthing

e quitable glass for all to quench their thirst, seeking

j ustice through historical dismantling of their erasure,

u nraveling ancestry for opportunity, complex simplicity,

v erifying simple complexity that some stories need interruption

e arth. birth. seed. book. think. hope. water. wait. growth.

n ature works this way, especially with a responsibility to

a ll around us: love, reflection, unlearning, resisting,

t eaching, reaching, the children, persisting - 

i n the first chapters, the archaeological dig of the self, the

n urturing self-care to get to our core so we’re 

g iants for them before they even enter our door.

P lanting seeds as Fletcher had us do, seeking 

o pportunity with purpose within genre (as the experts do),

s ilencing ourselves to listen, when it’s the right time to hear, 

s peaking up when necessary, to help others overcome fear…

i am, because we are. we achieve this, community.

b eing the eyes with the impossible, allowing the mind to go free,

i magining with little labbers & the youngest novelists,

l aughing with Ubuntu, language always a catalyst,

i improving our practices (writing prompt make another list)…

t his is the way for leaders: a time for opens hands a time for fists.

i wouldn’t have it any other way, the miracle of who we are…

e ach of you so special, …and look, as a team we came so far,

s o another poem must end…but our notebooks….a reservoir.