I Forgot the Alfredo Sauce My Mother Requested, but Managed to Made a Cheddar/Parmesan Sauce for the Linguini that was Even Better

Looking at the forecast, it's probably best to travel in sun and not snow. I'll be departing Syracuse today, after attending a ceremony for Peter Caroli at St. Rose of Lima in North Syracuse. It is a beautiful church and respectful ceremony for a jokester, and the family man, with tremendous faith.

Once again, an event without an incident for Dad...just a smooth opportunity to show respect.

Returned dad, made them lunch, then headed to Price Chopper to cash in lottery tickets and get groceries they needed. I also picked up chicken thighs, mushrooms, a lemon, and the rest of ingredients were in the fridge and cabinets. Long story short, we had garlic lemon chicken with Alfredo sauce I made with heavy cream and cheeses. It was a delicious meal. I went for flavor over appearance, and I was satisfied.

Karal got cousin Max and Lucy time (with Duck, of course) and returned home to sleep alongside dad on the couch. Then, an evening of Bobbie Flay with my mom. 

Back to CT I must go once again (and I'm returning to Rob Cameron's book Daydreamer.

 

Two Looks for Central New York: (1) the Look Karal Gives While Staring at Me for 4.5 Hours and (2) the Look of the Outdoor Scene Upon Arrival

It cracks me up how Karal goes into the same position every time she realizes we are heading to Syracuse. She props her head on the door handle and stares at me, occasionally nodding off, only to wake up and give the same look It cracks me up. And she remains this way until we get off at Caughdenoy Road, in which she begins crying in desperate anticipation of seeing the grandparents. She runs upstairs, gives them love, and then settles into a safe, and calm routine, hopping to be with which ever parent will pet her, feed her, or keep her warm.

Last night, leaving Pete's funeral, I received notification that Sally Harper, from my Brown School days, passed. What a personality...I'll have to write more when I get to Connecticut and can go through my albums of the Brown School and working with the Lille Skole near Roskilde, Danmark. Those were hilarious times and trips. She brought funk, humor, and a reason to need a harness. She was absolutely wild and hilarious. 

The snow is trickling lightly now, but it came down pretty hard last night, as the day began snow blowing what the plows missed (and doing the neighbors' driveways because that is what dad does, even through Mom buys his plowing services.

Although the circumstances weren't a happy occasion, it was wonderful to see Peter Boy and Jimmy again. Also great to see Mrs. Caroli, Stephanie, the grandkids and ol' neighbors. Strange how there aren't other occasions to bring people together over more joyful celebrations.

Dad and I will head to St. Rose of Lima to attend the church ceremony before Peter is laid to rest in the cemetery. So many emotions and just as many memories from Cherry Heights yesteryear. And both parental units made it to the wake and back without any incidences. Hoorah for the littlest achievements.

Today should be a grocery run, perhaps a good dinner, and some restocking of the old stomping grounds. Classes begin next week and I need to get on top of the tsunami of a return. 2025 has had a wonky start, but I'm counting the blessings while I have them. 

Obviously I Am Thinking Of the Carolis, Cherry Heights, Bamm Hollow, Childhood, My Parents, and My Childhood Friend, Peter

Central New York's sexiest Uber driver…I’m Heading to Denver and Mr. Caroli came to the rescue (like he used to when I needed a ride to little league practice). Appreciate this man so much....a 2nd father…it took many, many hands to raise the kids of Cherry Heights. ~ May, 2022 

My mother called me last week and shared the news that Pete Caroli had a heart attack and passed. Like her, I was shocked, simply because it was unexpected. I think I've prepared myself to hear many variations of possible stories that can come from her calls, but I wasn't expecting this. I texted Peter Boy, then began making arrangements so I could be in Syracuse for services today and the funeral tomorrow. I always celebrate my visits back to Syracuse and Cherry Height, and they always include walks by the Carolis home, hopes they're outside, or visits when they're walking by my parents. There are so many decades spent together on these neighborhood streets.

I can't pass Duncowing without imagining football and baseball games with Peter, Jim, Bobbie, and Mike. The wiffle ball tournaments on the side of the house were also amazing, and the gang of us used to ride our ten-speeds all over the place for pick-up games in other fields, mall visits, & A&W Two-for Tuesday (we took our bikes where we weren't allowed to be). 

It was three years ago when I had a retreat in Denver, Colorado, and I needed a dog-sitter, so drove to Syracuse to get my flight from there. The problem was, we took my father's car keys away years ago and mom stopped driving, so there weren't wheels at their home. Cynde was tied up that day, so mom reached out and Pete saved the day. Super Dad. Super Neighbor. Another precious being from our neighborhood.

All of my childhood memories resonate from Amalfi Drive, Duncowing, and  Bamm Hollow. Somebody's parents were always taking us somewhere from those three locations: games, parks, arenas, food. Big Pete only requested one thing - a good back massage while he was watching t.v..  I think it is even more amazing that my father, Butch, and Pete shared 60+ years of friendship, beginning with Mohawk and Allegheny Airlines in Utica, New York, then transitioning to Syracuse where it would eventually be USAIR. There were afternoons at the Clam Bar, a retirement party there, and kitchen-table conversations (in fact, my memories of their frustration with upper management where they worked - ha, we all know that now, because we're the adults). I forget how much our worlds intertwined, sharing the Utica/Syracuse connection. I ran around with Peter Boy, so never made the mature connection that our parents had a history, too. I know. I know. Mom & Stephanie, Pete's mom, shared their fantasy life in Salem with Alice and Marlena, but I didn't connect the Butch and Pete connection, too. Their stories.

Except Friday breakfast at a diner in North Syracuse. It was a tradition, and even as my father has grown into a habit of a later wake-time, on breakfast days he was up to meet Pete. All the years I lived in Louisville, I knew while in Syracuse, I'd go with Dad to see Pete. Of course, I also saw Pete in the neighborhood (they were just down the street).

And the first thing I thought of as mom shared the news was Pete's childhood teasing, where he always told Cynde, Casey, and I that dad hid all his money in milk cans he buried in the backyard. I still think about this, years later, curios if my dad did bury all his money in cans out back. We always wondered where it went. 

Years go by, foundations are set, Peter Boy, Elaine, Casey, and I all ended up in schools one way or another, a teacher like Stephanie (a St. Rose of Lima shining star). Stephanie posted a picture of a younger Pete coaching a girl's basketball team at St. Rose and I began to see the comments from classmates I graduated with who played for him. That was Pete. A coach. I was amazed how long Peter continued to play softball way after retirement. At times, Dad and I would go to see him play. 

My mother saw this picture, too, and wrote,

What a beautiful memory captured in this picture……..one of so many! In processing this sad news I have realized that the Crandall family could write a book about our lives with the Caroli family. Butch worked side by side with Peter through all 40 years with Mohawk, Allegheny and USAirways from the Oneida County Airport to commuting to Syracuse, then settling in Cherry Heights in Clay, retiring, then meeting for breakfast once a week to keep up on current events. We have shared graduation parties, weddings, showers, and many Airline parties that always started out with cocktails at the Caroli residence. Our kids grew up together. Whenever I heard a really good joke, I would pass it on to Pete as he had a way about him that made him known as a storyteller. Pete was a wonderful friend and will truly be missed! Our thoughts and prayers are with you. May your wonderful memories sustain and comfort you! 

I also have a memory from when Mr. Caroli had hernia surgery. Peter Boy and I had to help him around the house and I remember his feisty remarks when we had to help him to the bathroom. I don't remember how young I was, just that I couldn't imagine having any kind of groin surgery, let alone imagine the pain that would cause. Well, I channeled Pete both times I've had hernia surgery in my 40s (with a surgeon warning me I'll like have several more because I have the groin of a 98 year-old man, she says). I remember also thinking, "Phew. that was fast. How am I now the age Pete and Butch were when we were just kids?"

Last night, Syracuse played Louisville, and I thought about the time Peter Boy and I went to Louisville to see a game. We both had free flights because of our fathers working for the airlines, but this meant we often didn't get to accomplish trips we set out to do because we flew stand-by. For that trip, we were successful (and I think this was our feathered-hair phase before entering high school).

I am back in Syracuse to pay my respects. I knew Cynde would need help getting them there, and I knew being there for the Carolis is what I needed to do. No brainer. As I said last night to my parents, "We're all family. And family is there for one another when it counts."

Here's to a great man...a 2nd father...and an on-demand Uber driver when one is needed. My heart goes out to the family, especially Stephanie. I'm hoping the gift of memories finds their hearts sooner than later.

This time it was one of the good ones. Phew.

Hoping to Finish the Last Three Hours of Percival Everett's JAMES on My Return to Syracuse Today - Definitely One of the Better Books I've Read in My Adult Life

Dave Wooley rarely moves in the wrong direction. When he suggested James by Percival Everett, I put it in my to be read list, which ended up becoming my holiday book upon my return to Syracuse (as I listened to James Bird's No Place Like Home first (which was also an incredible middle-grade book that I can't recommend enough). 

Percival Everett's writing is brilliant, clever, well-thought out, and poignant. I was hooked from the first chapter and it's really all I can think about...a retelling of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but with more intelligence, wonderings, and historicizing than the original. With every pages comes additional thinking, especially given the knee-jerk, anti-truth telling of the U.S. society today. I would hope this would become a paired text across American Studies classrooms where teachers offer the classic today. I thought about this a lot, too, while in New Orleans and traveling the jazz steam boat and all the history such boats have in the south along rivers. In some ways, it reminded me of Buffalo Dance: The Journey of Clark which offers a poetic narration of the Lewis and Clark exhibition. As a reader I want to be challenged and educated, which both texts accomplish.

Monday was a good day to deliver cooked food, attend an eye appointment (new glasses ordered), and to visit with the Aliceas and introduced to their history of photos. I'm also thankful for Pam's re-rendition of the pot roast, carrots, and potatoes for night two. I didn't save any food I cooked for me, so Pam saved the day.

I'm heading back to CNY today and with that comes tonights Louisville at Syracuse game Hmmmm. I wonder if I can get tickets. The trip also comes with returned temperatures below 30. Ugh. I'm an above-freezing kind-of guy. 

Yet, off I go, looking forward to the completion of Everett's book, although I hoped to knock it off on the screw-ball road trip in Florida, which turned into a long weekend in New Orleans. Needless to say, the plane seat and knee-jab was too uncomfortable to appreciate a book (the guy ahead of me leaned back and, as a result, I had no lap either to New Orleans or upon the return). 

Sun's supposed to be out today, so here we go....

I Achieved My Goal and Baked a Cake and Cooked a Pan-Fried, Mushroom & Spinach Chicken Dish for the Alicea Family.

Sundays are for football, but also for cooking, and although I didn't cook for myself, I did cook for a friend who lost her father (and left it to Pam to cook for me...and Bev...a pot roast that was delicious). I fried chicken thighs with garlic and onion, adding thyme and parsley, peppers, and then made a cream sauce that can easily be heated up. I also made a Crandall cake and the ganache is resting in the refrigerator to be spread on the cake. 

I worked on a second syllabi, did laundry, walked the dog quite a distance, and reflected on 2025 bringing forward too many losses. Life is about beginnings and endings, but when the endings come so abundantly, it stumps you a little to figure out what it's all supposed to mean. 

I am simply hoping that my time in the kitchen relieves some of the stress of arranging a funeral, contending with family from out of town, and trying to figure out what everyone is supposed to eat. I didn't succeed with dry tomatoes, but did my best with tomatoes I had in the fridge. 

Pam made incredible potatoes and carrots, and a nice load of bread, that was out of this world for a Sunday dinner. Yes, they're calling for another arctic blast (I can hardly wait). If I can get a long walk in everyday, I'm good to go. When I can't mood, I get grumpy. 

I definitely give and feel love through the food I cook (and are cooked for me). If such effort brings even the slighted smile, then I know it is a good deed in the end. 

Congratulations to the Bills for winning once again. Let's hope they keep the energy moving forward. I will decorate the cake, see my optometrist, and then plan a trip to Syracuse for Wednesday and Thursday (a return that means a lot to me...childhood, meets adolescence, meets adulthood). 

Phew. Bring on the 50s they said. Yep, the 50s are something, indeed. 

I Think Karal is Over This Winter Garbage, But I Have to Be Honest With Her, It's Just the Beginning of This Season

I spent the day working on syllabi, in preparation for the first week, and then went out to dinner with the Chair of the English Department at the Whiskey Barrel, then headed to the Irish Club of Milford to meet Bev, Leo, Sharon, and others for Over Easy, the 60s and 70s cover band. If my stomach wasn't so full from dinner, I might have danced.

I received a text from Jessy, however, while out that her father who was put into hospice a couple of weeks ago, had passed this evening. This, too, came after hearing Eileen, my R&T partner in crime, lost her mother. 2025 is not being good to so many I love and know. Too much loss in such a short time. It seems a little overwhelming.

Karal and I got a long walk in, but she spent most of the days under blankets feeling cold.

I also lost the syllabi I was working on do to my failure to save it before I closed out (which was my stupidity). 

I plan to use this Sunday to cook for the Alicea as they prepare for family to come to celebrate the life of Jessy's father. My last memory with him was when we helped Jessy move into her knew Condo and built furniture for her, although he was told, "Slow down. Crandall's got this."

Also caught the Louisville game for a win, and Syracuse did the job, too. Tis the season of NCAA Basketball to help us ride these stay-inside weeks.

Okay, Sunday...day of rest...perhaps that should be a priority. Ah, but I'm thinking of others, the heaviness of it all, and will do what I can. It's the least we can do. Phew. 

Well, One Good Thing About Coming Upon a Parking Lot on I-95 is The Ability to Turn Right Around and Work From Home

When I got to the ramp, I thought, "Nope. Not today, and I turned the Hulk right back around and decided to work on CWP summer work from home. The one thing Covid taught me is that wasting time in traffic is nothing but a waste of time in traffic. More is accomplished from avoiding it all together. 

So, I set procedures ahead for CWP summer programs and now await the registration to open. I don't think we'll have a teacher institute this summer, but instead I will return to teaching EDUC 5411 in the Fall for students who need the writing course. We're set for 2025, the 12th year of Young Adult Literacy Labs, and I also filled out a survey for a story to be released by the Office of Research and Grants later this year (their writer is departing the University, and it's one of the last goals she wanted to accomplish before her departure.

I was thankful the temperatures went above freezing, as it was easier to take Karal on a longer walk without hurting deep in the bones. It was also inviting to get a pizza and run it to Pam's for a Friday night gathering to end the frantic work week. I'm going to try hard not to have 14-hour days every day this spring, although that's hard given the job I have to do. I need more mental time off than I've had in the past. I feel the aging and exhaustion more now than ever. 

Also, thankful to Abu Bility for giving me the iconic frog photo, a gift that keeps on giving. We've also been working on Kids-Day-Out in collaboration with the Women's Basketball program later this month. Our Stag-azine is almost done. 

Here's to sleeping in and having the weekend free. 

Thirteen Years in Stratford, and I'm Still Learning New Things, Including Open Tea House Which I Can Walk to From My Front Door. Who Knew?

Yesterday started with a funeral, after I posted the blog about my neighbor's passing. In the evening, I learned of the passing of one of the neighborhood dads...friend of my father's and father to my childhood best friend. It put me in a bit of a tailspin, so I can only imagine how the family is feeling. The news came right before recording The Write Time with a debut-author. 

Needless to say, my mind went to many heavy places.

I also met a retired geriatric doctor for dinner, as my name was shared with him from a man who was running for something a few years ago. That man and I had a great conversation, and somehow he remember my name and passed it on to this guy. He said, "We can always meet at Open Door Tea House," and I said sure, but had to look it up. It seriously is less than a mile away, seated down from Paradise Pizza. It was this nice, foo-foo-fee, finger out tea-joint, with fancy seating, incredible pastries, and a shop of cool gifts to buy people. I had no idea it was down the street. And it's a cool place to meet people....definitely will be a location I bring anyone who visits.

The retired doctor simply wanted to me to discuss Stratford, the town where I live, and to see where I might be interested in making this a better place. He loves this town and wants its charm to be shared with the world. Obviously, I said schools. We both laughed, though, because resistance from the local schools is sort of notorious around the state. Although kids and society have moved in one direction, like the rest of the country (I guess) others want to move to homogeneity and Whiteness. Hence, a faction of the population votes strongly against the best interest of doing what is right for the population of the schools. 

He also runs a local paper and wondered if I'd be interested in writing for it. Hmmmm. I suppose I could/might/would. Not sure what angle I'd take, but then it made me think of a book, which caused me to contact my writer friend in the same town and to pitch a book idea that I know I don't have time for.

Ah, but if you have a plan, you can make it happen. And so, that is what my Thursday offered, and now I await Friday...today. The good news is we're supposed to move past freezing for a couple of days. After last nights winds, I can only dream of calmer days.

Prayers Up for a Wonderful Neighbor Who Passed Away at the Turn of the New Year While Near Family & Friends in Poland

As my grandparents grew older, I always knew our family was thankful to their neighbors, who acted as eyes on them and helped when necessary. I've always been this sort of neighbor, as it's the best way to pay forward the kindness of those who took care of my relatives when they were on their own and needed extra care. 

Krystyna Kolbuz passed at the turn of the year at age 94. She returned to Poland to be with family for the holidays, where others could look after her. I'm thankful to her son, Paul, who has kept me up to date. It saddens me to see her go, as I loved her pirogies and other dishes, as well as the gentleness she showed to Glamis, and then Karal. In fact, if Glamis went missing, I always knew where she'd be....on Krystyna's porch begin fed bologna and left over turkey slices. Both dogs loved having her next door and always took extra caution when around her.

A few years ago, I bought Krystyna a blueberry bush for her birthday -- partially to share my appreciation for a great neighbor, and also because I know plants cross-pollinate, so blueberry bushes across three yards would likely have a stronger yield (which they do). Krystyna also loved the orchids I'd buy her and I'd sit beside her on the porch while she warmed her legs in the sun. Her husband, Josef, passed in 2019 and while he was still alive, she'd get me to help him when he fell or if she needed my strength to assist him. She also was kind to me during snow storms when I helped to get her driveway and sidewalks clear (Chitunga and Edem were often at the helm to help).

The Kolbuz family is remarkable, and I've enjoyed hearing Polish words (which I don't understand) coming from their backyard or smelling the delicious foods they make while gathering in her home. I remember one time, too, a niece graduated from Fairfield University and I was so surprised to see them at graduation. "What are you doing here," I wondered. "Wait, what are you doing here" they replied. 

Over the years, Krystyna would share the words, "Old. So old. My legs. My God. So so old." Ah, but she was a champion until the end. I often saw her pushing herself to exercise by taking walks around the block, or doing the yard work that she could (Lord knows her home was bombarded with leaves each year from the Sycamores on her street). 

Paul texted on January 2nd that Krystyna Kolbuz moved beyond, and she did so in the comfort of a family that loved her. I was boarding the plane to meet Chitunga in New Orleans and I was sad to read the news, but thankful any suffering was at its end.

I walked by her house yesterday and felt the loss. Krystyna will be missed, as she was often part of my daily walk...if not a wave, then a Penglish conversation in front of her home (that's short for Polish-English).

I know this summer, when the blueberries bloom again, I shall hold several in my hand and hold them to the sky. "These blueberries are for you," I will say. Te jagody sądla Ciebie. I will say in Polish (incorrectly, I'm sure), but I know the love and appreciation will remain sincere. 

I write today to celebrate a great human, neighbor, and mother. It will be odd not having all the joy coming from that home on weekends and during the summer. She will be missed and it saddens me to know she is gone. 

Celebrating Small Changes (Well, Change-Purses) in Life. It's the Little Things That Make the Biggest Difference

While in Syracuse for the holidays, Jessica B. sent me a photo of the plastic change purse my father gave her in 2017. We were there for a Writing Our Lives conference with Marcelle Haddix, and we stopped by my parents for introductions. I sort of remember my father showing them inside my mother's hutch cabinets and discovering his lifetime supply of change-purses (he bought them bulk, but I'm not sure from where). I simply scrapped it up to Butch being Butch. I learned young never to ask.

Fast forward to my visit in 2024 when Jess sent the photo to me to say, "I always think of your dad whenever I put change in my pouch. I used it all the time."

That's funny, because I have change lying in piles in several rooms of my house (and in my car). I tend to leave it until there's enough to roll for the bank.

Yesterday, I was thinking of change, however, because I'm making a change. While walking the dog, I ran into to young men who were vending streaming services. I didn't need to hear much before I was convinced. I have no use for cable television and Optimum's price keeps skyrocketing for channels I never watch. I'm cutting my costs by 70% and will have much faster internet and better streaming services. So, beginning next Wednesday, I will have made a change that I've desired for several years now. No longer will I have a cable box and gone will be the big ol' clunky remote control. Basically, the kids said, "Yeah, we know it's hard to convince old dogs to change their tricks, but cable is outdated, slow, and way too expensive for what you're getting." 

So, we shall see. Instead of cable, all the channels will be streamed through the smart t.v. - I still have my Apple TV, so I'll be able to use that, too.

I'm not good with change and don't believe too many are. Even if it is inevitable, we are creatures of habit and stick with what we know. I'll now be knowing something different as I cut the cables from my t.v. and give the middle finger to the ever-growing cost for flipping through channels where there's nothing ever on (and don't get me started on commercials). 

We shall see if it is a good choice. I'm sure hoping so.

So, I've Ventured Back to My 29th Year of Life to Channel Where I Once Was at the Age of Chitunga, Who Is in His 29th Year, Too

I was still teaching in Kentucky. I had the same students for four straight years and when they graduated, I was nervous of how I was going to react/be. I applied for a Fulbright Memorial Scholarship and was granted a fellowship in Tokyo, Japan, where I traveled overseas for a summer, worked with schools, and visited a family from Japan who hosted me in their home. I simply remember feeling like I was the jolly Green Giant from the canned vegetables commercials because I felt so enormous and large amongst the people, especially on the subway systems. It was, however, the opportunity of a lifetime. 

The young man I held in my arms at that time, recently born to the family, must now be college age, if not already graduated. What I remember about the time is that I had a first-generation laptop (Apple & it was white), but I needed to find a phone jack in order to send and receive emails which I did once a day from the lobby of the Akasaka hotel, where I stayed for part of the time. I remember, too, that kids walked the street typing messages into their phone at the side of their heads (which I though was strange, but later turned out to be what we now know was texting). 

I also had a homestay with the Saikonos family in Nappon, including Naoko, who was a college student at the time. Her father was a carpenter and I especially loved his woodwork in Buddhist temples. They treated me like gold and I was thrilled to host them while still in Kentucky and then meeting Naoko, her parents, and her daughters while they visited NYC and I had moved onto Fairfield University.

I remember it being excessively humid, the food being brilliantly delicious, and that Naoko's father knew little English but spoke to me in shots of his favorite booze. My feet hung over my bed by a foot and a half and their toilet was more complicated than R2D2. There were so many buttons and mechanism; in fact, when I hit one button, I learned what a bidet was. I was drenched. 

I also remember that to fit in the bathtub, I had to basically fold myself in thirds. This memory all came about when I said to Chitunga, "You know, your roadtrip with Alyssa to New Orleans from Syracuse, and then by yourself to New Orleans, will fuel you later in adult life, when you zest and oomph for travel dissipates some."

Here I am, age 29, totally clueless of the trajectory ahead, but full of optimism for teaching, international relations, global literacy, and experience. Naoko's kid (pictured in the plaid pajamas here) are now approaching their teens). You can make any of this up and I'm simply glad for the Class of 2001...causing me to love them so much...that I needed something to do once they graduated. This resulted in the Class of 2002's work with the Crane House in Louisville: paper crane and sushi-making, epic haikus, and a collaboration for Maxine Hong Kingston's Woman Warrior. Phew. It was yesterday, but now it is back to today.

At the time, we didn't have iPhoto, or Facebook. If we took photos, we still relied on printing them at a photo shop. I had to look at my albums to find the photos that I did. This was pre-social media, and a timestamp of their own. 

Lord...it really does go way too fast. 

And Just Like That, I've Returned to Connecticut, Knowing Karal was in Good Hands with Mateo & Alana (Who Stayed at the House)

The hardest part about having a dog is getting away. When I can bring Karal, I do, but obviously New Orleans was not an option. My go-to youth groups have all grown up so I couldn't rely on them to stay at the house, so I had Jessy's twins do it for me. Alana is still off from Fairfield and Mateo is heading to Spain for the semester, so they were in for the adventure. Their week of Karal turned into four days, however, as Avelo canceled the Sunday flights and I could only do the Louisiana part of the trip.

Chitunga and I were at the airport by 8 a.m. and his flight left at 9:30. Mine wasn't until noon, so I just got my steps by walking terminal A, B, & C. Given the fiasco of the week, I was a little nervous that I might not make it back to New Haven, and I didn't know what I'd do if flights were canceled coming back. They only fly twice a week between New Haven and New Orleans, so I was a little nervous. I did a little happy dance when the plane pulled up to the terminal and I'm even happier that the snow storms in the middle of the country didn't mess up all air traffic. We just zipped up the east coast and I was in my house twenty minutes after I landed (which is the perk of the regional airport). 

I was starving, however, and quickly put a tray of fries in the oven because it was the only thing I had in the freezer that was quick and easy. I knew I wanted to eat, unpack (well, do laundry) and catch up on the sleep lost over the last few nights. 

The hardest part of the return, though, is not having Chitunga for the day-to-day adventures, although I luck out with my dinner orders in a way he doesn't seem to find success. I miss our daily conversations and processing of the worlds around us, but tax season is upon us and he will be doing 14 hour days until April. His two week rendezvous from Syracuse to Miami to Daytona to Tallahassee to Pensacola to Mobile to New Orleans has come to an end. He is safely in his apartment in Iowa. This is a trip he'll never forget (as I was triggered that in my 29th year, I did the Fulbright Memorial trip in Tokyo). I'm not sure I have that adventurous side much any more. I will say I loved going to the sporting events that we did (and we know we were extremely lucky).

I'm thankful that Mateo and Alana sent daily pictures to let me know Karal was okay. She's somewhat attached to me, so my departure can make her batty. She did well with them, though, and I'm forever grateful. Ah, but now back to the grind. I need to get my brain working at full capacity soon. Here's to the first work-week back.

Nope, These Aren't Fluffy Hotel Pillows. They are Beignets from New Orleans and I Can Finally Note that I've Tried Them

Chitunga and I are heading to the airport early this morning. His flight leaves an hour before my own, so we might as well depart together. Yesterday, we both did work in the morning (there's something wrong with us) and then we headed to the river for a steam boat lunch...the trouble was, Chitunga had the directions wrong and we missed it by 20 seconds. The Quarters was packed and moving wasn't easy. So, we rebooked for 2 pm, and went into town to get lunch. Tunga seems to be a master at choosing the wrong meal, while I keep winning with everything I order. I got a salad. I needed the greens.

We also walked the market, watched street shows, then traveled for two hours on the boat - of course we got the meal, so we ate our cornbread and I tried the catfish. Both were good. Then we watched the muddy rivers, listened to the history of the river and the boats, and froze. It was cold. We also moved hotels in the morning (this one is so much nicer and the beds aren't titled or squeaky). They were so comfortable that when we got to the hotel at 4:30, we both fell asleep.

Of special note for Mimi Sue: Whose more miserable that my mom and me in the morning? That would be Chitunga Crandall. I thought I was a grump, but he's much worse than my mom and I combined. Good thing he knows it because he walks off to be alone for two hours before he can deal with people. I only need an hour. He says Lys doesn't understand. Oh, I get it.

We had plans to visit Tulane and Loyola, Universities in Western New Orleans and to attend a college basketball game, but the nap interrupted these plans. It's all good. Vacations are also meant for closing the eyes and putting the feet up. It's been two weeks since he's been back to Iowa and he didn't have the couple of days I had on Mt. Pleasant before finally being able to depart.

So, off to the airport we go, hoping all will be well and without incident. I needed a chance to get away and I did it, albeit only for a weekend. There's much waiting for me upon my return, but tomorrow I'm simply listening to a book on the plane and not going to deep into the back-to-work grind until Monday.

Covered 12 Miles on Foot Yesterday Moving to Sites Around New Orleans and Finished with a Pelicans NBA Game Against the Washington Wizards

Tunga worked in the morning so after my coffee, I went for a morning romp around town, before we headed to the New Orleans Modern Museum of Art and Sculpture Gardens. As a tribute to Beth Boquet who helped make recommendations, we also walked to the James Baldwin book store. Tunga wanted to see Louie Armstrong Park, so we did that, too, before heading out for cajun and the game at the Smoothie King Arena. It's been a minute since I put that many miles on a pair of sneakers, but I'm glad I've been moving four or five miles a day on foot since I stopped running.

This morning, we have to check out of one hotel into another (not sure why Chitunga arranged it that way), but was also got tickets for a two-hour jazz boat tour for lunch (which I'm looking forward to, although it won't be as warm as the last few days).

Let's talk about jambalaya...damn it's good. Dave made it a few times while they still lived in Stratford and now I need to make it. It's one of those unforgettable favors you just can't replicate. I need to try for myself.

I abstained from the abundance of bourbon yesterday only because I mixed beer and bourbon the day before. That, and travel, just made me tired, and with all the walking, I decided it best to keep my stomach calm (okay...besides the cajun spices all day). By the way, I had cajun shrimp 'n grits the night before. Delicious. 

The Penguins and the Wizards have the worst records in the NBA, but the game was actually good. It was 90s night, so they had all types of music from that decade, including a surprise performance of Freak Nasty's Da Dip. The tickets were only $24 a piece and we had great seats once again. Tunga is chalking it up to pure luck...that the bowl game was delayed 24 hours and cheap tickets resulted, as well as the Pelicans being so bad they just want people to go to the game (but I must say, they weren't that bad...it just shows the quality of what else is in the NBA). 

Okay, time to find coffee and get out of this room before check-out time and to move ourselves down the street. Oh, and the hotel shower only has cold water. It was an interesting shower yesterday. I may way for the new hotel to shower again.

And Made It To Bourbon Street After an Exciting Sugar Bowl to Hear Jazz at Maison Jazz Club & Return to the Room for Chitunga's Swahili Lessons

Chitunga is doing the Swahili lessons for Lys while she's on her cruise with family. His alarm went off on Bourbon Street and I asked, "What was that? Time to do push-ups?" in which he responded, 'Nope, Time to learn more Swahili for Lys while she's away. I'm keeping up with her daily lessons. 

I'm hoping he will teach her what he's learned so she doesn't miss out.

The flight to New Orleans was uneventful accept for the 1.5 hour wait in the cold to get through security. Apparently the New Haven airport is building its flight pool without matching its property or capacity to deal with the crowds. I still made my flight, and it was a great 3-hour sleep, as I was up on and off the night before in anticipation that another flight would be canceled. The winds in Connecticut were something else. 

On the flight, I met a couple who were going to the Sugar Bowl, who told me that tickets were real cheap because of the terrorist attack. I texted Chitunga, and by the time I landed he had tickets. And they were great seats. And the game was awesome, with the Notre Dame upset over University of Georgia.

We went to Bourbon House, which was decent, although their first attempt with my shrimp, grits, shrooms, and sausage came out cold. It was delicious, so the second bowl, they made fresh and actually heated was brilliant. Chitunga got catfish, so I definitely made the better selection. 

As for the bourbon on Bourbon Street, well, that was rough after drinking beers at the game. It was also hard to walk by the spot where the attack happened on New Year's Night. We didn't meant to get to that location, but it was on the way to the restaurant. The police presence was everywhere, and the flowers, crosses, and candles have already been lit. I suppose the rubber necking and crowds come with such territory.

By the time night came around, I really needed to sleep. The 5 a.m. wake up call, switch to Central time, and stimulation of the day wiped me out.

Here's to day 2: museums, more French quarters, and an NBA basketball game at night.

Caught the Light Just Right & Even If It's a New Year, I'm Starting the Day Just Like I Tried To End the Last One...Flying to See Chitunga

This morning is the last chance I have for meeting Chitunga for the New Year, albeit a shortened trip and full of the insanity of flying these days. I have a booked flight to New Orleans (yes, I know yesterday's headlines) early in the morning and have reserved a parking space at the Airport, too. I'd rather get myself there than to burden someone else. Of course, last night, the temperatures dropped and the heavy winds began (which won't end until tonight at 11 p.m.). This is the Eeyore cloud I travel with, and this time I don't want to put others out to help me get back to the original plan. 

New Year's Day was productive, as I worked on syllabi, cleaned, did some shopping, walked the dog, reorganized for travel, put a few stray Christmas items away, and let myself rest in calm for the new year Of course, we all know the new year is coming in with zest and drama.

On a good note, the morning light hit the bay window and lightened up two photos on my corner table...on Karal and Chitunga...that was probably the highlight of day one of 2025. 

And so, I'm off to the airport once again. I'm either going to make it and enjoy a few days with the kid, or we're going to scrap it up to The Great Whatever as a trip that was never meant to be. I could pitch this post as an emblem for a new year, but it truly is a carry over of last year, which is the culmination of many years, so I'm not putting a time stamp on it...just evidence that life is life.

Roll with it, we must. Here I go, once again. 

Welcome to Cultivated Crandall, 2025 - the 18th Year of Blogging (Well, Digital Journaling National Writing Project Style). Let Another 365 Days Commence.

This morning, we say good-bye to Cluckity-Cluck-Cluck, and the 8,760 hours of life that was graced in 2024. This is year 18 of such mental meandering and I'll forever be grateful to the class of 2007 and the class of 2008 (A'ight!) for recommending I keep a blog so they could keep up with me after I left Kentucky, went to Syracuse to earn a doctorate, and eventually settled into life as a National Writing Project Director in Connecticut. I've been writing daily since 1992 - the year I went to London as a 19-year old. At the time, recording the last year of my teens seemed a promising habit for an English major. The greatest writers, after all, were committed to craft.

This past holiday, too, I watched a Walton Christmas with my mom, and there was something about John-Boy's journaling of Walton Mountain that caught my attention. Although I'm more Geek-Boy than John-Boy, I realized while watching the film that I have a similar genetic make-up. I'm unsure if I am able to break the habit of journaling daily (and I still appreciate the fact that moving to digital spaces opened a doorway to audiences in a way that a notebook-on-shelf does not). I've also thought, too, I need to one day look over the years to add to Ralph Fletcher's brilliance, The Writer's Notebook: Unlocking the Writer Within You, to harvest the gold from 18 year's off blogging. What might I find that could be drafted for another generation of readers to read? Perhaps that will be the goal of the 20th year, as I'll have two decades of material. 

As always, I post on day one of a new year a video-recap of memories, a tradition I'm also unlikely to break. Each year I like to go back and watch the life that once was with the images I captured set to music that helped to tell the year's story. The music is copyrighted, so I set these videos to unlisted (as I never got into the art of reflection to make money...perhaps one day I'll figure it all out...how to capitalize on being alive).

Being alive, and maintaining a strive if the theme for 2025. Knowing my collaboration with the Center of Climate, Ocean, and Marine Studies ahead, as well as the ongoing work of #WriteOut, I wanted to bring forward an earth-tone theme. that I'm getting cynical, mid-life, but I'm coming to terms with the stupidity of humanity and the limitations of individuality. Channeling Maude from Harold & Maude, I'm looking to fight the small battles I can, trying to find grace in the mortal reality that the chaos can't be controlled. In fact, I read a bee-oriented meme on the last day of 2024, and it resonated with me (should that be resin-ated?). 

The bee lives less than 40 days, visits at least 1000 flowers and produces less than a teaspoon of honey. For us it is only a teaspoon of honey, but for the bee it is a life.

It's occurred to me recently how silly individuality is in the grand scheme of things, unless you realize how the individual is best only when carrying forth traditions they hope will benefit the future generation. I, of course, am invested in communication, teaching, and writing - an art form I hope to be carried forward long past the time I have life.

This, too, includes, democracy, diversity, voice, inclusivity, equity, empathy, and joy. I'm realizing every creature is born into a world that's harsh & cruel, but their species continues with productivity, labor, instinct, and nature. Because of our post-ape-like brains, however, we should be able to be more rational. Ah, but the canines in our mouth bring forth more vicious instincts...hence the state of the world right now. I'm supposedly rationale, but I haven't been able to rationalize any of it in the past 12 years. I just know that the world I inherited is not the one I grew up in (which I'm starting to understand to be the case for everyone throughout history). 

My teaspoon of honey will always come through words, education, community, & the possibilities we might cultivate together. 

Hence, the blog for 2025, where I'll continue to strive and do all I can to feel alive within the insanity. I'm not making resolutions or promises, because I feel like I do that for myself on a daily basis. Fighting off love handles and man boobs, and trying to tame a manic brain throughout my entire life, is what has built the basis of my character. This is the labor of a bumble-Bry who is buzzing ahead to his 53rd year to find the nectar of the Gods while he has life. 

Here's to us all...may it bring the rhythms, patterns, traditions, frustrations, worries, celebrations, chaos, and serenity that each and every year brings. Let's enjoy every second of it, making sure that our wings are spread out to accept the warmth of the sun and the flowers that have yet to bloom.

Ribbit Ribbit.