I've Always Had Faith in the Dragonfly (Dragonfli) and Now I Have More Reasons Why...First Thoughts After Reading WOLF CLUB by James Bird (for a 2nd time)

Last year, after I was handed a t-shirt by Dr. Don Sawyer and his Fairifleld University team that read: HUMAN KIND, I started thinking about the Jesuit word accompaniment, and the power of human belonging. I was fortunate to have a decade teaching at a beautiful school in Kentucky, the Brown School, where its 1972 foundation of diversity and equity was made central to the way I understood classrooms, youth, books, and life-long learning. We live in a nation of beautiful stories, with youth communities that are rich with culture, traditions, histories, and joy.

Superdiversity and human excellence of every learner were central of our school's mission, its shared values, and its tremendous success with students because we, as a united staff, advocated for them (yes, a public school...yes, K-12, yes, founded the year I was born).

I'm declaring my 2026 mission to be Writing Our Lives and Bravely Belonging, which I coined in anticipation of new work I want to do with the Connecticut Writing Project, especially as we question what it means to 'be' and to 'long' as writers. Being means existence. Longing means hope. Belonging is central to this Frog who sits on his lily pad. I quickly learned this from Dragonfli (D-Fli), a student during my first year of teaching. She was a freshman, self-named, and helped me to establish a pond for mentoring, belonging, and simply being (a metaphor that became my teaching philosophy, as well). That is...students are so much more that the ways our schools categorize them. They dealing with a lot at home, with friends, with relationships, with societal history, both in- and out-of school. Dragonfli was quick to guide me on how to best guide all kids, up and beyond the curriculum I was supposed to teach in school: Turtle, Bunny Boofoo, Duck, Chipmunk, Crow, Bambi, Firefly, etc. etc. etc. Kids s kept coming with new titles and new issues, wanting Frog to help. It was because of my backpack. I had no answers, but I always had questions. I was always curious how we creatures might fight serenity with the chaos that surrounded us.

Years later, I'd meet the Pelican, Dr. Susan James, who came into my life around the same time a Rose bloomed before my eyes (it was when local teachers brought Hope Nation my way). It was Dr. Rose Brock. In 2024, both Susan and Rose had me on a panel regarding the writing of James Bird. I've spent the last year devouring his books, and last night I re-read Wolf Club for the 2nd time in two weeks. I'm mesmerized by it.

I am no Ojibwe, and remain wildly ignorant of indigenous history, even as such history is central to anything and all we do in the United States. Ecological work has kept me close to the land (totally inspired by my Grannie-Annie, who lived with Odè, heart, and taught me the ways of her Ukranian ancestry, which poetically reminds of Jibaay Nagamon, the spirit songs from an Ojibwa way of life). Grannie Annie was the one who gave me Maude, the offspring of God and Mother Nature, which she named the Earth. From here, I learned the Great Whatever...my personal religion for what it's all supposed to mean. I believe in the way the cards fall before me, including the fact that I teach at a Jesuit University, always trying to add that extra 'o' to God, so I might find 'good' in the world.

I read the tea-leaves of my every day, looking for spiritual guidance as I work to belong on this marble with the the short time I have. Of course, Ubuntu, and human togetherness, has been taught to me from all the work I've done with English language learners in my work as a National Writing Project director. 

All of this is to say young people need great books. Better yet, they need phenomenal storytellers. They need those who question the truths that are placed before them, and who work to challenge who it is that are allowed to belong in our schooling spaces. This is why I've gravitated towards the word of young adult literature and a passion to build young people as writers and storytellers of their own lived experiences, so they can become champions of their own communities. In my nerd state - the academic side - I've published over and over again on an importance for building community, knowing out-of-school literacies that come from out-of-school activity systems, when tapped, best support in-school success with most learners.

Wolf Club, by James Bird, hit me from every angle (the humor, the craft, the newness, the brilliance, the education, especially the Ojibwe vocabulary and spirituality, and the care for young people who don't quite fit the molds society wants to place on them). 

In my second reading, I also stumbled upon acknowledgements, and was blown away that both Drs. Rose Brock and Susan James were shouted out for their support of the author's craft (I love to discover such coincidences). I can't t help but think about  the energy that swirls around educational spaces and the importance of knowing good people who believe in great things. 

Storytelling is at the heart of James Bird and his books, and I'm mesmerized by this the most...so much so that I want to sit around a lit fire for hours to hear more about he's come to the craft the story that he has. I'm intrigued on losing of levels, especially his reason for advocating for the underdogs...the often forgotten...the brilliant ones who are often overlooked.

I'm a fan. I knew this from his other books, and this morning before starting my day, I want to shout it out again. 

Guess who will be getting a copy of Wolf Club this holiday season? D-Fli....the young sprite who I taught for 4 straight years and who remains one of my spiritual guides to this day (but from Alaska). Zoondig'ewin, bravery. The dragonfly's tail is always a sacred story and I know I wouldn't be the creature I am today if she wasn't always fluttering by my cattails when I first started my career.

So this is just a post to the bigger pictures of everything...to the amazing writers who commit themselves to doing good for young people who are also on the road to find out. Here's to all of us who guide them (and receive guidance in return)...the teachers and academics, like Rose and Susan, who work tirelessly to make sure such books are in the hands of our readers who need them most...including me. 

Today I'm renewed and refreshed, knowing there is so much more work for all of us to do. I'm heading into the journey open-minded and ready for all the creatures still to come. Yes, I definitely have more to say about Wolf Club, than my daily morning blogpost (& ritual) allows, but it's coming. I owe it to the Aki, the World. 

We must listen to Maude even more! The answers are everywhere when we listen.

It's Official. When One Has a Craving for Indian Food One Must Remember His Stomach and Its Reaction to Indian Food

I was done in years ago with spicy bang, bang shrimp. There were four jumbo shrimp in a spicy sauce and I couldn't stop devouring them. I swear I burned a whole in my stomach that day (over a decade ago). I haven't eaten much Indian food since, but the idea of a samosa sounded about right, and they had a buffet, and I can't stop eating because of the flavors. 

At one point, a waiter came over to me and said, "Sir, you're sweating." Duh...I'm eating Indian food. 30 minutes later my stomach and intestines hated me. Misery of all miseries. I can cook Indian food at home because I control the spices, but going out is the death of me. At first, I was like, "What is this deliciousness?" but towards the end I knew I'd regret it.

I regret it. 

The green God painted on the wall is what I most likely looked like last night why I was digesting. I loved every bit. I hate every burn that wouldn't leave me afterwards.

Heading to the rheumatologist this morning and then to get a campus parking pass for the new vehicle. One class is graded and the next class materials start arriving today. 

I am in "let's lay under a blanket and read until it warms back up" mode.  I have to be smarter about my middle-age stomach. Looks like salads from now on. I think it was the green bean dish that had the spices that were the death of me. It was so good and I devoured it. Then it devoured me.

Plus I have a cold. Happy times. But this too shall pass. 

We Named This One Jack Sparrow. The Aviary Funerals are Simply a Way of Life Now. Poor Fellow.

It's somewhat comical at this point. Well, it's been comical since the beginning, but the ritual of birds somehow taking their last flight onto Pam's patio has become a place of storytelling, singing, congregation, and burial. This one had to wait, however, because I was trapped inside a dealership purchasing Katniss.

Pam started the playlist with Bye Bye Birdie from the musical. Of course, I matched her with Fly Away  from John Denver. The result was cellphone tribute as we took Jack Sparrow to his last flight, with a mourning dove on a telephone wire watching over us.

Playlist: A Top Ten for Bird Funerals

Bye-Bye Birdie - Charles Strouse

Fly Away - John Denver (with Olivia Newton John)

Freebird - Lynard Skinner

Three Little Birds - Jackson Five

Rockin' Robin - Elton John

Fly Like an Eagle - Steve Miller Band

When Doves Cry - Prince

Birdhouse in Your Soul - They Might Be Giants

Sparrow - Simon & Garfunkel

Firebird Suite - Igor Stravinsky - Toronto Symphony Orchestra

And in my day of grading, I lived the suspense of NCAA volleyball. Nothing like the powerful teams coming together for back-to-competion. Always a nail-biter and intense on the heart. After launching Jack Sparrow, however, a day of sports is the way to go (especially seeing the hitters fly like they do).  

Marquette should hold their heads high. Phew. They can play. Cards won it in five games, but dang that team from Wisconsin. They played with heart, muscle, mind, and spirit. Amazing play.

 

Had to Say Bon Voyage to the Hulk (Kermit). Welcome Katniss Nevergreen (Because She's Blue) and the Turning of a New Leaf

It's been an interesting 24 hours in the Crandall household. Went in for an oil change, but learned that necessary repairs (emergencies) would cost more than the car was worth. I could pay the repairs, maybe keep the car (my Hulk, my Kermit) alive for another year or I can do the big boy thing and start anew. These are the battles of car ownership. I've had the Hulk almost as long as I've been in Connecticut. I just didn't see the financial benefits.

So, I went with a 2025 Crosstreck Wilderness mobile to help me navigate another 15 years. Not my favorite thing to do: to commit, to spend money, to be selfish in my decision-making, and to take a chance on another decade of travel. But I did it. 

Katniss Nevergreen has arrived and she's in my driveway. We won't discuss the stress of dealerships or the the frustrations of insurance actually taking our calls, but after two days all I settled, and we move forward with Chase banking, new car payments, and the fear of driving a new car (because she is so pretty). 

I wish I could say I had more hours in the day NOT spent in a dealership, but the last two days have been rather frantic and fast. 

I am proud of my purchase, hopeful for the future, and totally engrossed in NCAA volleyball. It was a later time for the Fairfield Women's Stags as St. Thomas put up a tremendous fight and took it to five. So, I had to stay up late to watch the girls I've loved supporting to face Minnesota (the home team for this arm of the tournament). 

Such is life. Technology in the new cars are something else...and I will learn. I am awakening this Saturday with reflection, wonder, worry, and hope. So, it's a normal Saturday. 

I love the new whip (in the terms of the boys who always refer to my driving machine in such terms). Let's see what adventures we can have. 

I haven't even had a chance to explore these new wheels, but that is what the joy of life is all about. The days are coming. 

And Just Like That, Fifteenth-Year of First Semesters at Fairfield University Comes to a Close: It Doesn't Seem Possible, But Here We Are

I hosted another Explorations Summit yesterday, welcoming another generation of potential teachers to southern Connecticut. We did round-tables, and all the inquiry projects were presented on a cold, yet productive morning. The students were exhausted, and I could feel their days after the holiday break, here comes finals, energy. Phew. They are exhausted (and I suppose I am wiped out, too). 

I came home to watch NCAA volleyball, after stopping at a mall to get Mimi Sue's birthday gift. Malls? What happened to them? I feel like I grew up at Sibley's, a May Company, during a time when Malls were the thing. It was a ghost town, and I was spooked by the lack of stores and the evidence of a time that is no longer. 

Then again, the Great Northern Mall, which basically helped me fund my undergraduate degree at Binghamton University, is a way that is no longer. What once was thriving, booming, and thrilling, is now a relic of the past. Crazy to think such a culture is not even a figment of the new generation's memories. It was good to me and it took all my energy not to treat myself to a Cinnabon.  

Of course, this puts all of us into a consumer culture. I don't thing today's generation consumes in the same way as I made commentary on a student's hoody that read "All Boys Lie," in which I learned it was a brand that I never heard of. All boys and girls do lie.

I'm heading into this Friday ready to grade, making big decisions for a vehicular change on a dying hulk, and simply thinking about the routines of it all. Teaching excellence remains an excellence I believe in and I'm invested unto that. 

What a life. And it's NCAA Volleyball season so I have that distraction. More to come on Saturday. 

Thankful to the Bronx Whitestone for Not Being As Bad As Could Be in the Annual LaGuardia Drop off of Chitunga After Thanksgiving

It's a good thing he travels midweek and arranges flights that are in the afternoon, allowing for an airport trip at better times of the day. It's only 56 miles, but those 56 miles can last hours at certain times of the day. We left around noon and I had him there by 1:15, which was a record. I was also back at the University by 2:30, which I'm thanking the Great Whatever for providing. The multiple lanes, crazed drivers, frustrated New Yorkers, and all-over-the-place signage can make for a wonky time. Last year, as I left the airport, I was direct to Manhattan and had to loop back to I-95. I didn't want that to happen again.

I also am not a lover of being on bridges, high up over water, with wall-to-wall traffic high winds. It's white-knuckle driving and I hate it. 

Dropping Chitunga off, I looped back around in a more sane way and was happy that the GPS on my phone returned to a more normal route and set of operations. Of course, crossing the Whitestone again always makes me feel like I'm driving up a roller coaster. As soon as I'm on the other side I'm like, "Okay...now we can get home with less stress." I feel this way when crossing the bridge into Newport, Rhode Island, and don't even get me started on the bridges driving to DC. All my claustrophobic tendencies kick in and I simply want to chill out.

Which was easy to do once I hit Connecticut, because the roads are paved, there are less NY potholes, and even with crowded lanes, the straight-away is normal to navigate (we do it daily). 

I've been on the Merritt an I-95 when I've wanted to pull my hair out. That was not the case yesterday. There were a couple of hiccups, but it was not the insanity that it most often is. 

But I'm off to work early. Last 8 a.m....and need to leave at 6:30 a.m. to go the 14 miles, because you never know about CT morning traffic. 

The lives we live. And here I go. 

Oh, and I should say that I found a nice photo over the water...it doesn't look this nice from the Bronx and above.

Must Be the Last Week of Classes Because It's Time for Workshops and Cake. One More Class to Go.

This morning is Chitunga's last day at home. I love that he arrived for his birthday, stays a week, and makes a way to see his ol' stomping grounds and friends. I love that Lys comes and visits, too, and they settle into a Karal tradition. There are perks, too, to having my car kidnapped so I am forced to sit home and get work done (says the man who hit submit on two projects this morning). 

Stopped by the Mahoney for the last volleyball practice on campus, before they leave today for Minneapolis. They're excited and I got to hear about the scout reports they are working with. Gave them Christmas gifts and then headed to class.

After class, which reminded me of being in an airplane, redeye, in when everyone is trying to sleep, the students were library-quiet getting their work done. It felt strange. 

Afterwards, I came home to get Chitunga for one more out-to-dinner event. He selected Paradise Pizza, and we had a good white pie with spinach and tomato, and a gorgonzola salad. Good call. 

Now I get to drive him to Laguardia for his afternoon flight and return back to the Homefront to prep for tomorrow morning's class. Pray to the traffic Gods for smooth sailing. At least the rain has subsided. 

As for the cake...it was a small crew, but they devoured it. I need to up my cake-came, as I rely to much on this recipe, but it works. They're happy and I'm happy. 

Happiness is what we all should be seeking these days.