This is the Face We Make to Let a Colleague Know We Miss Her, But It's Sad That I'm Not Quite the Colleague She Is as I Replace Her This Semester

This fall, I get to be two people in addition to myself, and next semester I get to be another two people as I replace them. This is what we do for one another - filling in gaps where they are needed, all to help the every day routines to move forward and continue.

Yesterday, I got to be on Academic Council, even if I'm not as smart as my colleague is and I ask stupid questions that are because I'm tired and I didn't hear others correctly. Additional Merit, Crandall. Additional Merit was not what was being proposed. Just standard merit. My bad. 

Today begins my 2-day, 14-hour days where I do CWP, faculty roles, and teach late into the night. Those are rejuvenating days because I get to work with my students and, this semester, they are simply amazing.

On another front, another promising grant came my way, and I'm hoping this time it actually arrives. I'm still waiting on the one given over a year ago. 

Finally, I laid on the couch last night after returning Jake to Walnut Beach, simply to read a book we assigned last week but I didn't get a chance to read. Julie covered for me and for that I'm fortunate. This week, I need to be a better collaborator and I was on it. 

And with that, I need to crank out the day ahead. 

Not Sure What the Turkey Season Will Look Like on Mt. Pleasant, But I Know I am Thankful to All Who Come and Sit at Our Table

Arranging holidays gets trickier as we age, now doesn't it. I put away the Halloween shenanigans (which are minimal), and got out the turkey ones, which are even more slight. Still, tablecloths have been rearranged and the 'thankful' pumpkin is now on the Welcome sign Cynderballz made for me. I told Chitunga yesterday it could be the two of us, it could be the traditional fusion of families, it could be a new tradition, or we may be invited elsewhere.

Regardless, I purchased my brining kit (a Crandall tradition from the internet) and I plan on at least cooking the turkey. Dave, Rich, and I will be driving back from Columbus, Ohio that week and planning for our own festivities is tricky. It will happen. I'm not sure what it will be, however.

I did another mowing of the lawn, mostly to destroy fallen leaves and I spent a large chunk of Sunday getting projects done that need to be done for this week and next. Of course, I also have to finish summer projects and that was my top priority. It's November, and the summer work has not been completed yet - that is a prime example of the level of work I try to get done.

Now, my body is getting used to the earlier darkness and by 7:15 pm I was ready to head to bed. It's dark, cold, and I'm simply tired.

Today is my last full day with Jake, too, as I will bring him back to Pam's tomorrow, if her travel plans go accordingly. I'm sure he'll be thrilled, but for now I will get the 3 a.m. impersonation of a canine Rooster who will then settle back to sleep (until 11 a.m.) at around 5 a.m. It comes with the territory and it's a good thing he's a stud-muffin, because I'm likely to go insane with more nights losing all the sleep. Love him, but his habits are a little amok.

Still, I'm thankful.

It is Something to Think Back to December, 2012, and to Realize We Continue to Be Where We Are Today. Live. Laugh. Love.

We all have memories of December, 2012, when the Sandy Hook tragedy occurred, especially in Connecticut. It seems to be a mark on U.S. history where too many of us in this nation gave up on humanity, chose hopelessness, and watered the garden of hatred, lies, misinformation, guns, and conspiracy. Yes, There were tragic shootings before, too.

 

I wish it wasn't true, but in 2023, it's easy to see that the devil arriving in Newtown, has only been given steroids on social media. Large portions of this nation chose, and continue to choose, guns over the poor children and teachers who died that day. Even when the lies are proven wrong, the liars have followers who believe them. They opt to be sick and remain ill with no morals and questionable beliefs.

One only needs to open a newspaper, turn on the television, listen to the radio, or talk to a neighbor to see the devil everywhere.

But hope remains. It has remained for over ten years and I'm reminded of this when so many lace up their kicks and run in memory of Vicki Soto, all to raise money for scholarships to be given to young people to get an education, enter a career, and make the world a better place. I ran, well ran/walk, in memory of Maureen Polacci.

Live. Laugh. Love.

Pink flamingos. Getting outdoors for a great cause. Have remembrance and looking to the sky for joy and promise. 

I can't help to think, however, about that day, these races that have followed, the fact that Vicki Soto Lane is less than a mile from my house, and it took lawsuits to bring forth justice, even as the injustice of the liars (a cult of fanatics who live by hate and spite, rather than human togethernes). Ugly feeds their souls and there are many of them, in multiple capacities, in our nation and around the world.

It's hard not to get overly cynical and want to hide from it all.

But the runners. The Soto family. Educators from all over. And young people, many not even born at that time, gather to run in memory of the tragedy, a true story the heartless will never know or feel.

Live. Laugh. Love. Flamingos. 

Don't Want to Lose the Brilliance of the Friday Morning Coffee-Release as the Music Made Sense and I'll Never Be Able to Unsee It

I owe props to Scott McCloud for teaching me the power of anthropomorphism and the human tendency to see humanity in all we encounter. It's why electrical outlets look like frightened faces saying OMG. I'll never forget the time I saw the image of the Western version of Jesus Christ in the bathroom of a colleague's home, so much so that we gathered the children to study it and, whoa and behold, it could never be seen. The Western, Christian version of a messiah grace their wall tile. It was holy.

Yesterday, it happened again, but without human accord. It was more musical by nature, as I studied the tentacles on a very cheap octopus painting in my downstairs bathroom. The morning coffee kicked in and I had to go. I was looking at the suckers on one arm and wondered, "Wait. Doesn't that spell something?" I started sounding out the letters and, lo and behold, I saw lyrics of an ohrwürm, ear worm, that I began singing all day long. 

I got hooked on a feeling. Yes, Yes, I'm sure the spelling is off, but I'll never be able to unsee the lyrics and I will aways sing the Ally McBeal song (that's a cultural reference for ya) every time I look at that painting in my downstairs bathroom. 

Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga
Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga

I'm hooked on a feeling
I'm high on believing

That you're in love with me 

And with that, I'm off to the races...a 5K for Vicki Soto that I'll likely walk because of old bones, but I leave you with a song for you to sing alongside me (but you don't need to be peeing in my toilet to do so)

Give Me the Hot Dog Kids Every Time. Reflecting On Those That Swim Upstream and in Defiance of What is Predicated For Them. Absolute Joy.

I have been against teaching Honors classes at Fairfield University since I arrived. I went to Binghamton. Shouldn't every kid who comes to college be treated as an honors class kid? I've been reprimanded, however, because a pull to attend college institutions depends on having opportunities for high-achieving students to be in company with others as they complete an undergraduate degree.

Rewind. Fast-forward. Last spring, I was approached about teaching a freshman Honors course and with much finesse, I figured out a way to bring my expertise to the course, but also to fight my demons - again, isn't college because all students have worked towards honorable status?

This semester has been a wonderful experience. For the first time since leaving the K-12, urban classroom in 2007, I'm experiencing students who remind me of the intellectual integrity that I knew as normal and I was lucky enough to teach. The 20 young men and women I have are a throwback to the public school excellence that habitually came my way in Louisville, Kentucky. It's been an absolute joy. 

Last summer, while working with CWP-Fairfield summer programs in the Dolan School of Business (the campus is void of professorial life during the summer, besides a few from Engineering and first-generation programs), I met a family touring the school and walking through DSB. I talked to them (small talk) and went on to work with the K-12 youth and teachers that take part of my program.

It took me a while, but I realize the young man I met in the summer was actually a kid in my Honors program. In his first writing assignment, I thought, "Wow! I feel like I'm back teaching the brilliant kids I was fortunate to teach in Louisville!" It fell like a rebirth. If Honors programs mean I get to finally experience the quality of minds I had at the the Brown School, then I am sold. 

Yesterday, after a day of research talks and curriculum proposals, I ran into the same young man from the summer tour who is in my Honors class and he was dressed as a hot dog. I was two days after Halloween and I wondered, "Why are you dressed in such a way?" and he simply responded, "Because I felt like it was a good day to travel across campus as a hot dog." 

It brought me a sense of rejuvenation of what is possible, especially since wearing a hot dog uniform to learn was the the greatness of my public school teaching experience. That is FAR from what I experience on the regular where I am now.

So, today, I am sold on Honors programs. Bring me the great minds of kids willing to be who they are: brilliant, creative, out-of-the-box, and exceptional. It's been over a decade since I've found such minds and I love that this random encounter was upon me. 

In a world of mediocre...be a hotdog. That's my motto.

Give Me The World Of Dogs for Hope, Meaning, Purpose, and Unconditional Love. So Honored to Have Jake-Sitting Responsibilities for a Week

Okay, Thursday. Sue always said, "No two days in a row." When they come, she would respond, "Never three days in a row," and when they come, she'd say, "but surely not four days in a row." I'm hopeful that Thursday will offer recluse from the insanity and frustration arriving daily via email, visits to my office, and from colleagues who are simply on edge that all of it is simply too much. 

We love what we do and we do it well. Our passion extends the local the national. We work to provide services, teaching, and scholarship to enhance the profession. That is what we're paid to do. Yet, when that is still not enough and more and more obstacles come our way, it is simply maddening. I'm channeling Gholdy, I'm channeling Gholdy, I'm channeling Gholdy. There's a time to be capitalist greedy and a time to be humane.

Being human has always been The National Writing Project and the Brown School way. I am thankful to have them as my foundation. I'm also thankful to the integrity, grace, and expertise modeled for me at Syracuse University. But more importantly, I'm simply appreciate of the dogs that bring everything into focus. Jake makes a beautiful mouse and I'm glad that my response to his barking worked, and he quickly became quiet as a mouse because of the ears. They didn't last long, but while they did, he was adorable. 

It is seriously problematic when we can't accomplish what we're supposed to do, simply because the top piles more on the bottom to accomplish their agenda. I can't even keep up with grading, my own obligations, and my leadership, especially this year while I'm me, plus covering the roles of four of my colleagues. We are way below what we need to accomplish the work and our requests fall on deaf ears. Instead of listening and helping us to accomplish together, they set new agendas, adopt to digital platforms that require more work, rather than less, and their narrative is $, $, and $. It's simply incompressible. 

I'd rather walk the dogs and answer the emails of students. I prefer choosing what is right for the better of the world, rather than the goals of the greedy. I was born a jerk, and I'll die a jerk, simply for being honest, strong, and steadfast. 

At some point, something has to change. Period.

You Know It's November 1st When You Wake Up and Realize There Isn't a Second Off Until Christmas Day & You Need to Get Your #$@ in Gear

On my way into work this morning (yes, I forgot to post first thing which rarely happens), I was listening to a radio show about Halloween rituals where they were discussing neighborhood apps where people reported 1 or 2 kiddos at their doorsteps, where a street over they get 400 kids. They also named a phenomenon I've experienced on Mt. Pleasant. Around 6 pm, it's a traffic jam. I guess I live on what they were calling a drop off spot (maybe because I'm by a middle school?). I've said for years that it feels like tractor trailers unload kids on my street so they can get candy.

I do give candy (one per kid because I've learned my lesson). I also give out books to kids who are okay with receiving one. I learned giving every kid a book is hurtful, because the next day I find them several streets over because it's the first they unload to get more candy. This year, if they wanted, they could pick one. I had one mom (who I thought was a dad because of the costume) who took 6 books because, as she said, "our home is a home for literacy." 

Well, hello. 

The photo above was round one. They were bone by 6:30. I replenished the stock twice and shut the lights off by 8 pm. I could hear people at my door and climbing the driveway but I kept my house dark. I was tapped out and Karal was stressed out. All those people that she isn't allowed proximity to drives her batty.

Anyway, great Halloween, but I was in my office by 8 a.m. because I teach until 9 p.m. and haven't even read the books I'm teaching. Inhale. Exhale. Ah, but I did make a 5-minute video for my YA Lit class last night to cover the 2nd hour when I was off ZOOM doing the candy/book thing. I share that here because these are the things I want to be remembered for should I inevitably perish and there was an actual ceremony to celebrate the life of an absolute douchebag. Cheers.