Before a Winter Storm, Why Not Cook Tiki Masalas Samosas with Chutney? I Mean, It Seems Welcoming, Right? Right?!

After putting a long day in at the office, and knowing I was recording another episode of The Write Time, I decided to try my hand at Samosas with Chutney, and the worked perfectly in the soup and cracker bowls my mother purchased for me a few Christmases ago. They were delicious...so much so that I wish I had company over for dinner. 

During the recording, I received a text message from the University that the campus is closed tomorrow because of the storm, which is a good thing, because it frees me to plow, keep the home in shape, and to grade. Besides, I went to Big Y in the a.m. yesterday with all the 90 year olds prepping for armageddon, so I have groceries to last me throughout it all. Yes, it will be 50 degrees by Thursday, but finally we're getting a taste of winter in southern Connecticut.

I love a good dinner, especially when it isn't common fanfare for a Monday meal.

I also am hopping on Ish's soon-to-be invention project of a pencil wrapped in eraser material so you can always rub out mistakes. I told him I want to be wrapped in erasers, too, so that I can rub out the mistakes I make, as well as fellow humankind. 

If only it was that easy. 

I could be Eraser Man and eradicate the universe from human stupidity, especially that which exists pervasively in the United States. I am sure I'd have full-time obligations (and I'd hope that it comes with good insurance benefits and retirement). 

It's always a bonus to get a snow day, and I worried some that ZOOM culture would deny young people and educators from a surprise day off. Yes, I can host an evening class via online technologies, but I don't want to be that person who takes away the joyful tradition of getting a few extra hours of relief. So, whatever it is we were going to accomplish tonight can wait a week. 

I'm okay with that. I hope they'll be, too.

In like a Lion, March. I see you. 

Great to Visit The Taft School Yesterday and to See the Powerhouse Gina Ludlow & to Carry Writing Our Lives Traditions Forward

It's a Monday morning. The sun is bright and skies are blue, but I want to go back to bed under warm blankets. I can't, of course, but pissing and moaning seems accurate for the beginning of a new week. Actually, I need groceries and grading is at the forefront. Grading & Groceries, a memoir.

It's a tradition at Taft to rub Abraham Lincoln's nose as you walk by, hence the bronzing of his nasal passages as all the students take in serious. The swipe is real, and I'm sure he might be found guilty of spreading germs, colds, and stomach bugs, too. 

The school is like Hogwarts...the hallways huge, tall, and mythical. I looked for Moaning Myrtle in the bathroom, but all I found were tampons. They had all gender spaces to pee, which I found interesting. 

Darius Phelps was great. He arrived safely from Brooklyn, and I got to drive north of Waterbury to see another part of Connecticut....a space which seems to have been forgotten. The way to campus was through very depleted towns, forgotten bridges, and homes that are in disrepair. It was almost 3rd-world, and I wonder why the State has neglected such space. It didn't seem real.

It was also more mountainous than I expected, with glacier rock collections in all directions. Beautiful and historical, but not what I expected to see, especially since graffiti was sprayed upon most of the rocks. Odd that a school with such high tuition would be surrounded by such poverty. Then again, look at Yale. Seems to be a Connecticut thing.

Okay, time to get this mind and body working. Thank you, coffee. You make the day after Sunday that much more tolerable. 

One more day of February. Phew. And it looks like the lion will win this year. 

With Thanks to @kwamealexander for His Work, His Inspiration, & All That Is Still to Come. Looking Forward to Today's Writing Our Lives Workshop with @dphelps1113

Before the was even a single written word, there were poems and chants...rhymes and songs...about births and deaths...marriages and battles...Our people would gather around a central fire...and listen to the storyteller. ~ Kwame Alexander, The Door of No Return, (p. 341)

Gina

She texts a message,  

of poetry, an invitation,

this psychologist, 

mother of two,

working to enhance

minds, to help them to grow,

to honor history,

and to offer

the opportunity to 

the young people

 to write. 

Kanye

sends me a text

asking what I'm doing.

He'll be a father soon...

so many years away from

being 15 when he disappeared

from high school

only to show up on Mt. Pleasant

7 years later wanting to talk,

needing to heal....

to learn how to feel.

I tell him I'm rereading 

Kwame's new book

and share the title.

You're always reading 

that guy.

He knows

Cape Coast Castle.

He knew

the stories. 

The shores. 

The door.

Ampain.

Krisan.

Darius

I met him through the book of faces,

this scholar & poet

who heals in self-archeology

of words, who teaches 

the minds of younger souls

about language, storytelling,

and the rhythm and flow

that arrives from 

moving proudly in 

loud silence, & 

I wonder if 

Writing Our Lives

may open another door.

Prudence Crandall

I knew of this teacher, 

this school for young ladies

in Canterbury, Connecticut, 

offering knowledge to a few

before they came at her

with severed cats

to scare her away.

Through her

I met a brother 

who was tried

by the Star Spangled Banner,

before I realized

I was taught 

to sing out of key

since the beginning,

being taught not to ask

questions that 

would lead me

to today.

Kwame

writes these books

that children have always needed

- the joyful crowing from 

Roosters with guitars

and frogs that surf...

... the bond of twins, 

basketball or soccer,

and the way narratives

make sense 

when sung in 

a chorus of wisdom.

I can't help but

think back to teaching 

at the Brown School,

corner of 1st 

& Muhammad Ali,

knowing his becoming

would one day 

iinfluence my own.

Edem

He sees the book

I'm reading for the 

second time & says

I've been there - to 

the door in Ghana. 

It was near the 

refugee camp

where I lived

before I came

here. Met you. 

We knew its history,

going elsewhere

beyond.

He was once 15 

now he's 31, 

making his way

one job at a time

in this land of 

chaos, education,

and hope.

Marcelle

knew that community,

opportunities for young people

to gather as writers,

countered the many 

stories written about youth

that wouldn'tcouldn'tshouldn't

through  weekend

festivals for 

these young poets,

artists, and doers

that began to make the world 

a better place. 

How could I not be

wrapped in purple?

Royalty? The brilliance

of the sisterhood...

...the brotherhood...

that helped lead the way

to such work today.

Mark

a cousin

who began hooping

with hope in 

Zimbabwe,

skills 4 life, 

teaching me

the art of being

an intellectual

Robin Hood

of living

the philosophy of

Ubuntu.

Community

is a poem,

the braiding of words

that play on a.m. 

radio.

I am, because we are,

and listening to The Great Whatever

how could the 

be inspired?

these adolescents

in a new country

learning how

to become the sun.

Today

we write. 

We dive head first

into the magic box

to rhyme, play,

make meaning, 

and carry forward

the story.

This gift of Mpatapo

bound in a 

flight of

language

that many 

have helped

me to sing.

We dive in.

And we fly.

Looking forward to the workshops ahead.

 

Last Night, I Was Reminded Why Working 14-Hour Days Are Most Important. It's So Karal Has Free Rein of a House to Sleep. It's Always on My Lap

Poor Karal had a rough Friday. After we got up, I went to campus to work all day, and returned to walk her, only to go to dinner with Kathy Silver and to leave her alone again. It's no wonder she feels the need to crowd my space when I finally settle down to call it a day. She needs my warmth to counter the winter-cold and to sleep on me, no matter the position. It's precious and also overcrowding for this man who has chosen a rather solitary life. 

It doesn't matter what I do beyond this house, as long as she has my lap to lay upon when I'm in the house. I've never had a dog attach to me so much.

I got my falafel that I've been craving (thanks, Kathy) and we problem-solved the insanity of another work week. Well, we broke a meal together.

I need today, cold and all, to hunker down in grading in planning land, as I'll be losing most of Sunday to CWP-Fairfield word. For this reason, I welcome the puppy love to set forward the weekend.

Turbulence is in the air nationally (as it usually is) and I once again recall Phillip Roth's The Plot Against America. I think it is because last week's genealogy work that I'm hyper sensitive with how hate is fueled to ignite the ignorant. I used to teach the Holocaust with disgust and frustration - how could that ever happen? Yet, I look around at the divisions today and I think, "Well, here, we are seeing exactly how it starts." 

And we can only wait to see. 

Guess Who is the New Meet-Greeter at Animal Companion Hospital? Mr. Ethan! His Customer Service is Stellar & the Drool Charms All Who Enters

Yesterday was Karal's yearly physical with a few shots (and what an extracted anal gland or two?). Not only did we get to see Ken, Stephanie, Patrick, Winter, Maude, and Mae-Mae, Mr. Ethan also was their to check us in and to investigate that their customer service was top notch. 

It was. It always is.

I personally think every animal hospital should have greeters in a Metallica toboggan. 

All is well on the dog front, and afterwards we traveled to Possible Futures to pick up more copies of Kwame Alexander's The Door of No Return for a community poetry event on Sunday with young people at the Tate School. Always great to see Lauren Anderson. 

The morning was spent working on a grant and wrestling with pesky Excel sheets, as well as editing the introduction for an upcoming special issue of Writing & Pedagogy. I also slogged my way through emails, assignments, and to-do lists. 

Truth is, too, that Kathy Silver bought me a pillow lavender spray and I kind of became addicted. I'm out, and I'm worried about my sleep so I went on a quest to go into the girlier sider of local stores until I found a replacement bottle. It's not the same, but it will suffice until I get myself to a Bath & Body Shop for the squirt I've grown accustomed to. In could be in my head, but since I've been splashing my sheets before hitting the pillow, I've slept like a baby...well, like an Ethan after some baby-grub and a bottle. 

The Color of Royalty, Passion, Womanhood, and One Happy-Go-Lucky Undergraduate Student During Yesterday's Somewhat Miraculous Turbo Course

24 hours before my class was to be held, I learned that I was getting two Community-Engaged Learning Associates (CELAs), undergraduates who took the course with me last year. I Zoomed with them Tuesday night - both sophomores - and asked how comfortable they were with taking on leadership roles. They said, "we both want to be teachers, so let us help." 

Amazing. 

You can always find the math/science majors because the first thing they do is coordinate crayons accordingly, to make the coloring efficient. 

The CELAs were so helpful and throughout the 2.5 hours I kept walking over to them to ask, "Do you see how this works? The students are engaged and learning, and we have time to discuss the design and what is and isn't working? If you had all the instruction from a sage on the stage, you couldn't move around, interact, and mentor the conversations at each table." They responded, this is cool. 

The day began with a coloring activity. They are visiting 1st grade classrooms in a few weeks and I wanted them to recall instruction from 1st grade classrooms. Step one: draw something you love, especially if it is at Fairfield University. Step two: write two or three sentences about your drawing. The third step will come when we visit 1st grade classes. At first they were like, "Are you kidding us," but soon they were doing it, laughing, and talking about being in 1st grade. That was a win. 

My CELAs wrote a series of questions on the board based from this week's reading, and after we each read an individual children's book and analyzed them for purpose, audience, inclusivity, and exclusivity, I asked, "Who knows what a fish bowl is?" 

Only two students did. Now, I haven't lead a fish bowl in years, but recent graduate students informed me that it was on a Praxis test for teaching and they didn't know what it was. Easy fix. We fish bowled questions from the reading and for 45-minutes the students worked through higher order-thinking skills together. The CELAs wrote their major points on the board. 

This allowed me to jump in with slides I made summarizing the readings for the week (with quotes and page numbers) to say, "Well, your conversation parallels the chapters we read this week. Let's talk about the difference of me lecturing you, or you coming to similar conclusions through guided dialogue). I didn't know how it would go, but it we marvelously. 

We also worked through teacher-interviews assigned to them (with models) and brainstormed possible inquiry questions for the 2nd half of the semester. 2.5 hours of engagement with no breaks. Pretty amazing. 

Next week, we visit a children's literature exhibit at the Pequot Library, and return for more readings/inquiry work the following. Then off to the K-8 classrooms the following two weeks to put some of the reading/coloring into action.

I predict many schools will be delayed because of ice this morning, but my personal region looks to be only cold rain. I'm sure kids and teachers across the state are doing snow-dances trying to bring the storm to their towns so they can get an extra day off. 

For me? I'm looking forward tackling a billion and one items on a much-growing to-do list. If we happen to be stuck at home, this works out great for me. 

Kendall College and Career want their students to think about life in the future: Pizza and friends should be a selling point...I'm sure.

Wondering if Bed Head is Appropriate for 8 A.M. ZOOM Meetings - Actually, This is an Older Picture But It Represents Where My Head is Right Now

Another marathon Wednesday, where I will do what I can do and have to totally okay with that...I spent most of yesterday preparing for the crazy of this hump day, and I believe all the ducklings are aligned appropriately, and I'm anxious to get into grading and writing mode tomorrow and Friday. I didn't expect my 3rd day of a long weekend to be slurped into genealogy land, but it was a thrill to research bloodlines and make connections. This is what happens when a creative mind is given an extra day. 

If I was a bird, I'd have the gift of flight. I'm a human, so I have the gift of bed-head.

Working on campus with undergraduates today after two weeks at Central High School and I'm looking forward to gathering their thinking, their wonders, and their understandings of readings. Next week, we move to Pequot Library for their exhibition on the history of children's books and I'm also prepping them for their community engagement with Kendall College and Career Academy in Norwalk. Working with schools is the joy of the work I do. 

This is 51. There's more to be done.

And I'm watching national movements against democracy, against teaching, and I'm wondering if we're in the cultural shifts that come with pandemics, technology, natural disasters, and ignorance. It's not a comfortable feeling, especially when one's life is dedicated to the future through the investment of teachers and young people. I've been feeling too Chicken Little of late and need to get out of my 'sky is falling' mindset.

I simply want to put scholarship into action and put forward investments coming my way.