Wonderful to Run Into a Teacher Collaborator, Donna Delbassi, at Last Night's Women's Stags Win Over Quinnipiac

It was 2013 when I met Donna Delbassi, a literacy interventionist at Hill Central. The school had a turn-around grant, I received a similar one, and Principal Glen Worthy, Donna, and Nicole Pruitt Brown and I set out with a mission. Two years of professional development, beginning with Kwame Alexander's Acoustic Rooster and debuting his new novel, The Crossover, which went on to win a Newbery and then, through being made into a tv series on Disney, an Emmy. Those were great years and, the literacy intervention did, indeed, turn the school around. We wrote about it for Study & Scrutiny, an article the journal is reprinting in celebration of its 10th year in existence. It was great work. 

Donna's daughter, Casey, who will be marrying a year from now to the man she met while doing her undergraduate degree at Fairfield University, works in television in NYC, and still does promotional work during Fairfield University games. She was on the mic running games, getting the crowd and Lucas the Stag going, and bringing her bubbly personality all the way. For years, Donna has wondered why she never runs into me at the games. Last night, it finally happened.

I was also thrilled to have dinner with Dan and Beth in Fairfield before the game and to see so many of the English Department there to cheer for inclusivity, equity, diversity, and the Lady Stags who continue a 2nd season of wins.

I told Donna, "the last time you saw me, I wasn't so gray." Phew. 14 years later, I can see how the job has taken its toll. Academia will do that to us. 

I'm feeling a little end-of-January with my allergies, head, and throat, hoping this can be taken care of with a little more rest. I only planned to stay for 1/2 the game, but it was tied, so I chose to finish it out, especially when running into an ol' friend. We have to find joy where we can, while we can, especially with the insanity falling upon us in full force. Here's hoping that such occurrences will be able to continue in the future. Only time will tell. 

Thankful to the Fairfield University Quick Center for Screening SING SING Last Night as Part of Their 2nd Semester Series. Powerful Film

As I was credentialing myself as a teacher, I did around 10 hours a week in a women's correctional facility. To be honest, I have no idea how that came to be or any of the details of volunteering there, but I remember all the harsh realities of working there: security checks, guarded inmates coming for English lessons, and straight-up curiosity of the women about the outside world and my place in there. I remember one woman asked me, "You love sweets, don't you?" and I asked, "Why do you ask that?" She said, "I can see inside your mouth. I counted all your fillings." Observant. My dentistry and me have a long history. 

I remember also sharing my classroom experiences, my education, my semester abroad in London, my trust in knowledge helping me to make more sense of the world. I also remember watching documentaries and stories about the theater programs in prison that help to restore humanity in several of the participants. This humanity, without a doubt, was the greatest features of the Sing Sing movie. To be released. To roll down a window. To feel the wind blowing your face while driving down country roads. All of that is priceless and we too often take it for granted. 

Yes, Shakespeare. All the world is a stage. Some of us are born to play tragic parts simply by how we are born and where we are raised. I think about this often...the luck of the draw. Who gets the shortest stick? Who rolls the dice with a little more fortune. 

The movie, as a story, worked, and emotionally I connected. Maybe it's because of the numerous communities I've worked with since, but I repeat the line from a 1998 short story, The Blue Devils of Blue River Avenue by Poe Ballantine in my head all the time...some of us are too lucky to be forgiven. 

I suppose I've taken my luck through the choices I've made to get to where I always wanted to be as a responsibility to help others to do the same...to trust knowledge, what it means to be good, to find the ways to bring joy to others. 

I was reading yesterday about empathy and how some have it (perhaps too much of it), while many have none of it, which I'm sure is easy to label with the DSM 5 diagnostics so many of my colleagues are accustomed to using. We had a town hall yesterday to discuss the University's accomplishments, reflections, goals, and achievements, and within the conversation the words humanity, humane, and humanistic appeared often. I am thinking about these words a lot lately...what it means to be human, but more importantly what it means to be a human for others (which is the mission of our campus and something I've always hoped I was, and am, doing). I suppose we're at a place again, in human history, where such mission is put into question.

Phew. Glad I saw the film. Glad I made the time. Better yet, glad it was made.

Working Through Murmurations with Graduate Students as We Think About Nature, Reading Ann E. Burg's FLOODED, and Unravel Content Literacy

I took a different turn with my content literacy course this semester and paired with an art exhibit on "place" that is at the Walsh Gallery on campus, as well as new participation with the Center of Climate, Ocean, and Marine Studies at Fairfield University. We are using Ann E. Burg's Flooded as a touchtone text, and last night we read the children's book, We are Starlings by Robert Furrow, Donna Jo Napoli, and Marc Martin. 

I've had the book on my shelf, and I wanted to model the ways an educator can bring additional texts to a learning environment, asking students an essential question of "Why nature? Why human nature? And what responsibility do we have to both?"

My hypothesis is that the curriculum of reading will enhance reading strategies across content areas in middle and secondary schools. I do this across all my classes, actually.

I learned much earlier in life that starlings were brought to the U.S. by a man who missed his European friends. I became more interested when seeing murmurations across the years, wondering what the natural reason was for such flight. The theory is for being a more massive entity when flying together, to fight off predators, but also for feeding on insects also in flight. They are stronger when en-masse.

The class also watched a brief documentary on Jamestown, Pennsylvania, and the 1889 flood that devastated towns, killing many. The historical question is how humans use technological advances to improve their lifestyle, but the curiosity that comes when they fail. Who is responsible? What are we to do? How can we use our humanity to make the world better for more, rather than for less?

Flooded: Requiem for Johnstown offers a cross-disciplinary read across content areas and gives us a common ground to discuss literacy, history, the responsibility we have to students, and best practices for adolescent instruction. We are Starlings gave me a way to bring forward the behaviors of other creatures in nature as they, too, work to prolong life for future generations. Life, after all, is a constant movement to propagate itself.

As for humans, we've come a long, long, way...but that doesn't mean we'll NOT attempt new ways to make history repeat itself.

Always Thankful When I Have the Foresight to Think Ahead of 12-Hour Days, So I Can Come Home & Sort of Not Have to Cook

I got up at 7 a.m. yesterday to stuff a crockpot full of chicken, garlic, and onion (with Trinidadian spices). I knew when I got home at 8 o'clock, I'd have to make rice, sizzle broccoli, then reheat the chicken. By 8:30 dinner was made. Here's to all the K-12 fronting educators who also do graduate classes in the evening. These days are long. For the interns earning their teaching credentials, it is their every day. There is very little mental space to have down time. It's school...nonstop...for two years.

It brings me back to Louisville, where I first learned the routine. Louisville Nature Center, working in K-12 schools, weekends at a group home in New Albany, and graduate classes at night. When I first landed a single teaching job, I was so excited to simply know I only had one place to report. Alas, what they don't tell you about a teaching profession is that the 2nd job begins when you get home because you have to assess the day that just was and prepare for the day ahead. 

I remember at Syracuse, a Dean and I sat together at a Women's basketball game, where he told me, "Academia is a way of life." He meant that, if you are a K-12 educator, you simply keep the flow going all day and all year. It never ends. The ocean continues to be emptied with the forks they give you.

That is why, when I think ahead and put together chicken in the morning that can stew during the day, I"m extremely thankful when I get home. No need for fast food or cheese/crackers. Nope, not popcorn for dinner. I made the broccoli and rice, heated up the chicken, and ate a good meal. 

Granted, this is only week two of a new semester. We'll see how I can keep such pace as the semester goes on and I'm pulled in a million directions to put out dumpster fires. 

I met the 2nd cohort of my students last night...beautiful human beings heading into elementary education, which is fun, but heavy. The elementary folk need to demonstrate proficiency in a variety of subjects. Helping them to maintain purpose and reason for why they chose teaching gets more complicated (especially when the demands of real teaching comes their way). 

It's a calling, yes. It's a blessing, however, when you actually have a real meal at dinner...Even if it is almost at 9 p.m.

Oh, The Roads to Hell We Walk, Always Paved with Good Intentions (Which Creates Frustrations When You're Also an Absolute Schmuck)

I jumped for hooray too soon, especially after watching the first half of the Buffalo/Kansas game on Walnut Beach before heading home for the 2nd half. I cancelled cable on Friday and couldn't imagine a playoff game wouldn't be on ESPN or on my new streaming service channels. 

I WAS WRONG.

I went to Disney+, ESPN, Xfinity, ESPN+, Apple and so on, but the game was only on the Paramount/Showtime package, which I don't have. I tried to get it, but the website wouldn't complete my transaction. I failed. The first half of the game was so good, I wanted to watch the second half of course. Nope.

I'm a little embarrassed, too. I should be more savvy with the streaming services I want, but I was not going to commit to Paramount/Showtime for a year when I'd only probably watch it for this particular game. I normally don't watch NFL games, but the Bills hype got me in the CNY mode from Connecticut, and I really wanted to see them upset Kansas City (even with game officials as they are). 

It's all good. I'll live. I can watch highlights, but I wasn't expecting the whomp whomp whomp. 

All I managed yesterday was CWP work, a long walk/run with Karal, and grocery shopping. I also had a phenomenal conversation with my dissertation advisor, Kelly, and the other doctoral student she mentored before me, Liz. We've written together for years and, at this point, we just fill one another in on whatever insanity we're facing....family style. 

I ended up watching the game in fragments, as the NFL channel did provide live shots and clips, from time to time, sort of like how Weather Channel gives you updates on the eights. It was frustrating, but all I had. It sufficed.

I will be patient with myself as I maneuver into a streaming world...not a cable one. And yes, I recognize how privileged it is to even (a) have time to watch football and (b) to have the options of streaming, anyways, from a home in the Western world. 

I should be reading books, instead. But I wanted the mindlessness of a game on a Sunday night before a frantic work week. Didn't happen. I should have asked more questions about what came with my new services. I was just looking to cease the ever-increasing cable bill.

Celebrating Krystyna Kolbuz with Her Son Paul and His Partner Arid at BIN in Milford. 94 Years of a Beautiful Life (& a Wonderful Neighbor)

I told Paul that when he returned from Poland, I wanted to take him out to raise a glass to his mother who passed on January 2nd. She was my neighbor who was beyond precious with both Glamis and Karal, and who I looked out for as she lost her husband and then had her own health issues in Connecticut. She passed this holiday in Poland amongst family and loved ones.

I wanted to to go to Founders House, but they were booked solid, so we made reservations at Bin, which I drive by all the time, but only ate at once - during Covid, when they first released space restrictions (which was outdoors). Then it was good. Last night it was delicious. We had tuna tartare (amazing) and I had grilled scallops on black rice. I like to do the foo-foo-fee dinners every now and again, with absolute appreciation for presentation and taste. Arid was a Brazilian chef in NYC, and whenever they visited Krystyna they brought over a plate for me. I knew good food was the only way to celebrate the life of a beautiful woman, mom, Aunt, grandmother, sister, and human being. I will definitely be bringing others to Bin again

I couldn't believe the way the tartare was held together with thinly sliced cucumbers. When you cut into it, it was like a floral explosion of fresh fish. The sauce was equally amazing and it was great to toast Paul's mom with our palettes and their storytelling. I told them for the last couple of years we've celebrated Polish New Year's at Kaitlyn and Dominik's because the ball drops at 6 p.m., so we can be in our own beds. Loss is always heavy, and I was glad to learn that they plan to keep the house and, perhaps, to turn it into a B&B, if possible. 

The cucumber sauce was absolutely amazing, too. 

I spent the morning working on courses and grants, the afternoon walking Karal, and 3 hours building a cabinet for Pam, which I screwed up, but was able to restore after I figured out my mistake. 

Everything is easier when there's blue sky, and with temperatures a little warmer than they've been it was reason to find things to cherish and celebrate in an ever-growing, complicated world. 

Life shouldn't be as difficult as some make it. Rather, it should be neighbors turning to neighbors with respect, raising a glass to family history and the devotion of moms to their kids. It will always be about love. It should never be about hate. Sadly, too many in this world, including those we once might have cherished and enjoyed, prefer the ugliness over the joy. I'll stick with optimism and hope. That is what is should always be about. 

Well, That Was a Break-Up That Went Much Worse than I Expected. Phew. Customer Service. My Lord, Cable Companies Have Lost Their Minds!

I don't watch much television. I've always said that retirement would be for catching up on all the movies and shows people are always talking about. Cable, I guess, was a a part of home ownership and I played along over the years, and even without a home phone, I chose it because it has Internet. That's all I ever needed, but every time I tried to cancel, they would hook me into a deal with another phone, internet, and basic cable package. Then the cost would mysteriously go up and up and up, and it simply got to the point it wasn't worth it any more.

After nine years, I knew I was done. The relationship was over. I needed to move on. When a streaming service came, I read the reviews, and made the jump. I decided to start wonder what was out there. All I had to do was cancel the cable.

But, how can you do this to us? the consultant said, "This is a terrible idea."

Because I'm done. I say.

But after all we've done for you, there must be a way we can...

I'm done. Just stop. 

Why are you treating us this way.

I'm done. It's that easy.

Why are you angry, I'm just trying to tell you we can...

I said, I am done. 

Such dialogue went on for almost three hours yesterday, simply to cancel the subscription. I'd finish with one consultant and then they'd transfer me to another for more abuse.

Who are these other people? They won't do for you what we do for you.

There aren't other people. I'm just done. 

You will regret this. I wouldn't do this. You'll be back.

And so on, and so on, and so on. 

Long story short, a streaming service is up and running. It's wonderful. We also tied it with my cell phone provider, and the monthly fee is drastically better than the old cell phone alone...It's about $175 a month in saving. And I now have more channels to never watch, and the speed is insane. My daily birthday videos that I send to friends and family used to take a short bit to up low and go, but now they just go. And the good news is I can, if I wanted, add Smart TVs in other rooms and they'll jump onto the services, too.

I was exhausted, however, and only found relief when I went online afterwards (I'm sure people study the trauma of such break ups) to read how everyone is experiencing right now. It's totally obnoxious and abusive - the unprofessionalism of the company is simply sick. Even the new AI Google feature of a Google search reported the same - this company is known for making it nearly impossible to end services in civil, precise way. You will need a drink after, finally, they finally give in and let you go.

 It makes me think when land lines were changing and every company was seeking loyalty by offering cash prizes and gifts. They would mail you checks for staying on, and if you played it right, you made money off of them. I guess this is how change occurs in late capitalism. Phew. The break up was intense. There's no mourning about the decision, but the drama of it all will stay with me throughout life. 

No regrets. They proved the toxic relationship was their all along.

The operators must be paid a commission for performing psychological desperation to keep you onboard. I don't know. I just know I made the right decision. It's best for me.

Goodbye, Optimum. Goodbye.

Technological Tools I've Experienced as a Learner Began with Crayons & Performance (Play). Now, 18 Years of Blogging, I'm Questioning the Decades.

 

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Be Happy About '08 Resolutions

08 Resolution
Originally uploaded by bripc

I've been running faithfully and working out since August, and I know January first is the day to commit to new habits. I'd like to say I will eat better and exercise more, but I know that I do as much as I can to fight my genetics. The rest is history. So, this year, I want to celebrate the good things in life AND this includes a love for being fat and on a perpetual diet. Always battling weight has become a part of who I am and now I wish to give it a shout out. If it wasn't for being fat, I wouldn't run as many miles a week as I do, nor push weights. If it wasn't for being fat, I wouldn't have my whacky sense of humor. If it wasn't for being fat, my personal history would have been on a completely different path. So, here's to girth, 2008, and the symbolic, Sisyphus battle of getting rid of it unsuccessfully. In reality, it is not a bad thing. It is the thing that it is and I wish to rate it as my number one celebration for 2008. ~ Bry

Oof. I left K-12 classrooms in the spring of 2007 to earn a doctorate at Syracuse University. Although I experienced pagers, blue & green iMacs, the introduction to YouTube, and ways to connect my own laptop to a TV that was not large enough for all to see (we still used chalk and chalkboards...whiteboards weren't even a thing), I never had to teach high school in the age of cellphones. I remember when I got my first MacBook laptop, too, how students took turns doing their work for State portfolio system on my personal device. I wondered then, "How will schools ever be able to keep up with all the technology financially?" Bring-your-own-devices helped for some schools and computer labs became a thing in others. It is/was inevitable, digital literacy was destined to be a thing.

I actually began a doctorate enthused about digital literacy, because at the time I left everyday, K-12 teaching, I was somewhat ahead of the game. My first publication, in fact, was about the digital projects my students did with senior research and culminating projects. It is probably why when I chose to leave, the class of 2008 suggested I begin blogging. I never heard of such a thing, although I dappled in LiveJournal as a classroom teacher. I've kept notebooks, daily, since I was 19 (that's what writers do, no?) but the introduction of blogging made me think, "Crandall, if you are going to write daily, why not make it available for others to read?" That way students who wanted could keep up with me. They only could, though, when they had the link. Sometimes what I write in the morning gets 1,000s of readers. Most of the time it's smaller...a crew of 12-13 who are regulars.

This is year 18, and I'm thinking that writing every day is simply who I am (it's how I process my world). When I first began, I only did a paragraph or two, but then -- it took me a very long time to convert -- I finally gave in to Twitter. I even found a website that would Tweet my first 140 character every day when I wrote. I enjoyed (still do) to know others are reading my daily thoughts. Playing the Twitter game (although resistant) picked up many connections around the world. Of course, Facebook, too, became a place to share knowledge, thoughts, life, etc...and it's been especially good for running a National Writing Project site. All of it has been extremely productive because, well, the community of writers and teachers of writers was growing. Humans found humans. It was good. There was joy.

Then, it started getting wonky. Political. A war zone of sick and demented ideologies...so bad that scrolling was like, "What the heck is going on?" 

I'm now wondering if social media and digital connection has really been an undoing of cultural norms and values, because arm-chair sabotaging has few to no consequences. Rather than professionals who share resources to build community, the daily scroll turned into doomsday conspiracies, hatred, and pure ugliness. It transitioned to a space of attack and inane opinions...not a productive network of like-minded individuals working towards a better world. It's sort of like any classroom...you can have a room full of young people seeking to move forward in their lives, but then there are those knuckleheads - usually insecure kids who are projecting their insecurities onto others, that sabotage spaces for all. Twitter became a home for that.

I'm now wondering if it is ever good (or safe) for anyone to share anything online, because such tools are not used for healthy and productive means when those at the top would rather they be set for profit and power. I mean, I used to scroll Facebook once a day for joy (awwww, I didn't know they had a cute dog or, wow, there kids are growing so fast). Now it's a location for triggering anxiety, hate, opinions (whether warranted or not)...with the occasional kitty cat. I'm allergic to them, but still love videos of them hopping around like maniacs.

And it brings me back to hubris. The art of research is to always piece together meaning through quantitative and qualitative methodologies that are peer-reviewed, challenged, and discussed in democratic, professional ways to move knowledge forward. That's how I have used digital tools (and shoot, it's why I've even won literacy awards for the work that occurs in digital spaces). Now, I'm wondering why...to prove myself? To build community? To share what is possible?

The truth is, I write for me because that is how I make sense of the world. I know from workshops that shared writing connects individuals in amazing ways and, up until recent years, I've found social media to do the same. I'm not so sure anymore.....like will future species with glowing fingers and large eyes one day send their version of archaeologists to dig through digital memories on the electronic devices left behind from humans that once were. Is that why I write online? To historicize our precious, egotistic brief time upon the stage?

I really don't know. And I am wondering about theyears of making memories via Facebook photos and sharing with others. We used to do that with shoe boxes and albums, and only scrummaged through them on slow days, weekends, and maybe holidays. Fancier people did it with VHS recorders and a VCR. I, myself, have a good six years of mini-DVs....capturing time, making movies, sharing with my students. But then....it all moves on...to something else...and in the process...it trickles down to not mattering at all.

Which is true. And also not true. 

But I do know, I'm likely to continue writing daily in whatever way I can, whether digitally or not digitally. It's just how I've always been. And I began with pencil. Then pen. There was cursive. Then the every-other-line essays to be turned in, then a typewriter, then an electronic typewriter, then a Word Processor (I learned quickly in my freshman year of college, professors did not smile at papers written by me skipping every other line), finally a computer (that first one must have weight 140 pounds), then to a luxurious life with Apple products, then to text, then to FaceTime, then to voice translators such as Otter (and even Siri). It's really an amazing thing to think about how FAST it's changed and how quickly it's also changed communication. Once upon a time, my favorite thing to do was to write letters and wait a couple weeks for one to be returned. Now, in a given day, I might get several of these in emails or messages or texts. There's a lot to take in on the busier days.

Perhaps our abilities to communicate are way too fast for us now to process and actually be rationale. Perhaps the next wave will be all AI, and they'll laugh at how much time we wasted thinking about silly things that technology can do so much faster than us. (I'm thinking about clothing here, and a click of a button to approve a credit card can bring a wardrobe from Amazon. Once upon a time, such garments needed to be made at home).

I still think, however, that reflecting, taking notes, recording, and wondering about the way the world is (if it is) is exactly what it means to be human. Recording our own lil' realities as they happen, and trying to piece it together with histories is how life is lived. For some, it's about expanding good and helping our species to realize the joy of humanity. For others, it's about tearing down, destroying, and making others feel all the ugly they feel inside.  

This is just my morning rambling as I wake up, wondering if I should go back to pen and book, and remove my digital footprint. But then I think about how much faster it is to type and get things done in digital spaces. Perhaps in five years or so, I won't type anything at all because I'll just talk out loud and let AI manipulate it (or none of this exist because societal infrastructures will collapse). After all, people once had to wait for someone on a horse to share what's up or they had to learn from elders from the words passed down mouth to ear.

Perhaps we simply have way too many narratives competing at once and that is the problem. I'm returning to the root of why I chose to be an educator...to teach kids to ask questions, to wonder, to problem solve, to think critically, and find the best means to share what they know with others. That happens classroom space to classroom space and doesn't necessarily need a national landscape where the cacophony has grown to outrageous. 

Oh, snap. Look at the time. I need to warm up my car and get going.

It's Kids Day Out and @CWPFaifield Is Thrilled to Work with @StagsWBball @FairfieldStags & @FairfieldMirror at Today's Women's Basketball Game

I am proud to say that, over the break, and with the mentorship of Alex McKinnon and Sarah Rarchford from Fairfield University athletics, and via a connection made by Coach Carly Thibault-DuDonis, that the Connecticut Writing Project joined with Corrigan Scholar Max Limric (also editor for The Mirror) to help prepare the 2nd Stagazine, a newspaper to assist Kids Day Out...an event where 3,500 (yes, 3,500) young people will flock to campus on yellow buses to attend the Fairfield Stags & Manhattan Jaspers women's basketball game. I reached out to Coach to see if she or any of her team would like to participate in the MLK Youth Leadership Academy as special guests in February, which led to Game Day conversations, and (WOLA!) the connection to Alex and Sarah.

I agreed to revamp Stagazine - a newspaper for teachers to use with their students after the game - and to lend a hand where the talents of CWP reside....which brings me to Max...who ran with this and excelled. It was a nice winter break project and today, 11 a.m., the tip-off begins. Literacy is central to it all.

Each and every year, I participate in sports literacy conversations at English/Writing conferences across the United States. My cousin, Mark, remains executive director of Hoops4Hope, an international non-profit that uses sports as a vehicle to bring humanity and lifeskill to youth. I've published on this, ran workshops with this, and am always proud to collaborate with the University where and when it fits. Literacy is best when put into action.

I love the way the issue came out and was thrilled to learn The Mirror would print copies for teachers to use with their students (each school gets a copies of the 4-page spread). There are articles about the game, a shout out to Hoops4Hope, an interview of the Coach, herself, a poetic challenge, the Women's Stags roster, and more. As a tremendous fan of NCAA sports, and as a K-12 educator (now University Professor), I realize that athetics and literacy go hand in hand. In fact, I publish that the best teachers run their classrooms as if an athletic coach: skills, drills, game, reflect (repeat). I always have finger-snaps and applause for student athletes, too. The skills they learn for life from organizing their time between academics and training are immeasurable. I also know that sports heightens literacy instruction (as do most out-of-school activities for those we teach). 

I put together swag-bags for various contests (that involve kids) and will have a table set up for teachers to  get books and copies of the Stagazine. 

Each and every year, I'm always impressed by the time and effort of any and all that help to bring so many students to campus. It is tremendously admirable...so much so, that there are no tickets left (I couldn't even get one for colleagues who wanted to attend).  To all who made this day happen, applause, applause, applause.

It's about the game, though. The kids. Their teachers. And Fairfield University Athletics who keep this tradition alive. 

And On My First Night of Teaching, My Students Gave to Me....the Best Part of the Academy (and life for that matter) is Working with Younger Generations. I Love It.

It was a humble exercise...part three of first night activities to build community, to model action for the semester, to cover the syllabi, and to begin gaging what students and I might build together. At one point, I modeled Deborah Appleman vocabulary quizzes, but first I needed students to (a) define a word, (b) put that word in a sentence, and (c) draw the word so others might understand it. 

Of course, all vocabulary was thematic to the course, so it was an anticipatory set of words (and interactive). Here's a drawing of 'adolescence' as the course is a content literacy course for teaching reading 6h- 12th grade. This, a nonchalant, spur-of-the-moment drawing from a student who happened to get this word. Granted, I've had this student in another class and I know that she is an artist/poet by nature, but I had to stop and say, "Okay. this is just a doodle." 

I want to write about that...just a doodle. Others drew stick figures, and suns, and caveman drawings, and they moved the literacy forward, but I am thinking about this drawing....why are we not encouraging all young people to similarly sketch their existence?

I know. I taught at the Brown in Louisville, Kentucky, and I became used to the creative, artistic, and outside the box thinkers. I am just wondering, why isn't this the standard for what we want from students in schools and from the teachers who teach them? Visual literacy is literacy (and, yes, I'm a text-heavy kind of guy).

It was a five-minute activity and this is what a student sketched. There's a reason for this. I need to know more. How? What lessons? Why can you do this in a matter of seconds? Why can't everyone in this class do this in a similar amount of time? 

Ah, but, there was a purpose for the activity. I had students take four words from the word list provided, after definitions, sentences, and drawings, to write sentences that provide knowledge of word-meaning, by writing with context for the words. 

Context. Visualization. Creativity. Word-Play. This is the way language is taught. Vocabulary is central. Shared definitions build community. We all should apply any and all students who can do such doodling in a matter of seconds. It's beautiful, and it should be the norm (if our schools promoted and celebrated it).

And we're off. Spring '5 academic calendar has begun.

In Celebration of MLK's Legacy, I Spent the Day Cherishing the Creativity of Two of my Favorite Humans, @JerryCraft & @KwameAlexander

First, Rooster, I'm simply thankful frogs entered the collaboration within this 'ribbeting collaboration. That's most important.

Seriously, yesterday I was taken back to my elementary-school days where I'd chance upon a Scholastic book selection ordered from the thin-paper of their ads or find the luck-of-the-draw book at a local library where a title caught my attention. As a kid, I would lose myself humorous texts and loved the imagination inside my head more than I did living the dull and predictable days of being outside in the real world....

Bryan the Geek-Boy, Frog. I'm a nerd.

This was especially true in 5th grade when I had Mr. Finster, a man with multiple sclerosis who passionately pushed his students to high standards and creativity (requiring a new piece of writing every Friday and making us suffer through his mathematical torture chamber - he'd run his wheelchair into your shin as she spouted out multiplication numbers, only retreating when you got the right answers. I was the first to achieve success at beating him at his own game). Loved that man and his passion for language. He sold us on Roald Dahl and made us write love letters to Patricia O'Neal, who he desperately tried to woo away from her husband. Ah, we remember 2% of what we're taught in schools and 100% of the characters that taught us.

Second, Jerry, your craft continues to impress me (and I'm thankful you sent me an early copy of J vs. K so I can think about how to use it with the Connecticut Writing Project). I won't spill too much of the brilliance here, but simply acknowledge the best part of the collaboration (besides the appearance of frogs) was the breaking of multiple walls to get a story across (including the beautifully brilliant jabs the two superstars throw at one another as part of the storytelling). The Monday reading, all as my way of shouting out to MLK on January 20th, brought me back to all the joyous moments I spent as a kid finding great books that make me laugh and inspire my own creative tendencies. 

Rivaling banter works best in liaison of mutual respect. Loved the story, the teach-ability, and the connection between two writers I cherish (cough cough - Connecticut connection...The Crossover & New Kid both with K-12/CWP collaborations BEFORE Newbery awards, says an aging Frog who was bery bery glad this new book came sooner than later). 

Weird flashback of meeting an Acoustic Rooster in upstate NY and then living a few towns over from a crafty man in CT.

Back to the frogs...I'm hearing my Grannie Annie's storytelling of young frogs in love on Lebanon Reservoir where she'd talk to them as if they were family.

There was no gelato, however. But I did get the ceramic couple after she passed.

Ah, I'm simply excited that Kwame Alexander and Jerry Craft are modeling human togetherness and what is possible when brilliant creators come together. I've always been a visual learner, so am drawn to art, but have also known words as an irreplaceable art form. Showcasing both for young people to read (explore/discover) makes this National Writing Project teaching guy extremely happy. I already have ideas for how to add it to workshops with youth and I'm excited they targeted late-elementary readers to get them hooked on reading/creating in the same way I was as a result of teachers like Mr. Finster.

Time to head back to campus to start classes, but I'm super motivated knowing that how a new semester began will also be how I'll be celebrating it at the end.

Bravo.

Maybe Our Dogs are Better Yardsticks for Measuring the Weather than Newscasters and Channels Dedicated to Hyping Up How Tragic a Day Will Be

Sunday morning was spent being productive in the reporting world, which followed with another great cut by Jerry at The Fade Factory and a four-mile walk before the temperatures were set to drop. Every story has a different outcome from the storm, but watching the Eagles/Rams game gave some indication that snow was on its way. The Buffalo field, too, didn't seem as horrific as forecasters presented.

I had my soup. I am good. Pam made baked rigatoni with sauce and Karal and I made an appearance for the first game. I was recruited to build a cabinet for her as she prepares to give one of her dressers to Kaitlyn for Oliwia. Picture IKEA, but with a purchase at Aldi's. Same assembly required with semi-decent instructions, except for the total collapse when we were 90% done. Eventually, we figured it out and she said, "Oh, I don't expect you to do both tonight."

Wait. There's another. 

The snow that was falling was light and wet, but the temperatures were still above freezing by 6:30 p.m. when I left to come home for the second game. Not many were on the road, and nothing was freezing just yet, but if the temperatures fall, I imagine there will be a layer of ice in the morning. They are only saying two inches at the shoreline, so we'll see. We have the day off for MLK, so I'm free to shovel if necessary. Otherwise, it's back to grant work and budgets.

I returned from Pam's with a couple of meals of the rigatoni, too, so I should be set for eating this week, which is always nice upon a return to campus life.

I am thankful. Not the fan of snow I used to be, but I know how to adapt. This is the northeast after all. Spring will be here soon...

Until then....

And Karal curls up like a fox when the weather turns. She knows. She gets it.

Adding to All the Perspective Exercises I Do in Writing Classrooms (Thought This Would Be a Nice Addition to the Collection)

The one reality of a Syracuse kid living anywhere, is that we're very snow-aware. That is, we always have one eye on the weather and tracking a storm in the northeast has been occurring for over a week. I didn't want to get trapped on the roads, so returned from Syracuse on a day of sunshine. Of course, the roads all spit up dirt, especially the trucks, and my right wiper blade went kaputt. I replace it Saturday morning, and then went into storm-preparation mode. Reports show the line for the snow is 15 miles north of where we live (so if this is true, we'll not be in the path). I don't mind the white stuff...it's just that I like to have preparation. 

That is why I joined the frantic nature of U.S. citizens by helping to raid the local grocery store for a month's worth of food for a 6-hour weather event. Actually, I didn't - I went late and there wasn't much left. I did, however, buy the ingredients to make a chicken, carrot, potato creamy soup. Comfort food in anticipation of a day inside. But if it comes, it's not until the evening. My real catalyst was the series of good football games and the fact that the academic work begins again this week. I need something I could reheat and enjoy quickly. 

I finally caught the SNL skit where Colin Jost and Michael Che exchange jokes. It's a funny tradition, and brilliantly cruel. Always fun to laugh, especially with the a looming apocalypse always on the horizon. It's always about perspectives, and that is why I found this comic funny. Do you see an old lady or a young lady? has been a classic in writing classrooms since I began my career. Funny to see it added to ... a woman walks into a bar and the bartender asks....it cracked me up.

Good basketball games yesterday with the W's added to Louisville and Syracuse's season. Also enjoyed both NFL playoff games, although they should shorten the time to one half. Two halves take a gigantic chunk of time out of the day. Actually, it caused me to text Chitunga to say, "Wish you were home...three days of great games would mean good couch time with wonderful snacks. 

Ah, soup, that is. 

Off to get my hair cut. Big plans for this Sunday before possibly getting a storm. We shall see.  

Phew. The Incredible Sally Harper, Partner in Crime from the Brown School, Outrageous Chaperone on Our Roskilde Trips

Sally Harper passed on January 12, age 82. She came to Brown School during the heydays of Principal Ron Freeman, and her salty bookkeeping made her a personality we all loved. She'd give it to you, then she'd give it to you even more. And when she wanted to chaperone of our summer trips to the Roskilde Lille Skole in Denmark, of course we signed her up, as hilarious and outrageous as she always was. My last time with her there, the Danes were in a Lollipop phase, where the train stations sold these gigantic phallic candies, of which Sally had to have one to take home with her. 

Sally was also the first person I met with an overnight CPAP machine and we had to sprint across the airports carrying this machine, all the while waiting for her cigarette breaks, before we finally made it to out destination, and when she slept in too late one morning, Lars made me go upstairs to check on her. The machine sounded like Darth Vader's heavy breathing - I was so relieved to find her sound asleep and enjoying her Danish rest. I came back downstairs and said, "She's good, Lars. She's just resting."

What I loved about Sally the most, however, is her genuine care and interest in each and every kid we taught. She took all of them under her wing and brought forward a grandmotherly love in which she would use to fight anyone who messed with any of our student's joy. That's what she was all about. She and her husband often had me over for lunch and long conversations about the meaning of life, the reasons we're here, teaching, and parenting (as they raised several sons themselves).  

No one ever knew what Sally would say, and I suppose for those reasons many turned a cold shoulder on her, but I experienced the immensity of passion for working with kids. She always had a joke for them and candy. She was always willing to share her hardships, her lifelong journey, and her happiness of living life to its fullest. 

News of her passing came while I was in CNY celebrating the life of Peter Caroli. Tiana French sent me this photo, because by this time in my history, I stopped taking pictures and was documenting everything with a video camera. Somewhere in my possession is the video of going to Denmark with her and all the laughter we shared. I remember, too, when going to the Louisiana Art Museum, we sat on a train when the door of the bathroom flew open and a man taking a pee came flying out with his "device" in his hand. He fell near Sally - I think on her lap - and she asked, "Sir, do you need help with that," which horrified him, he returned to the bathroom, and it launched a series of stories of equally embarrassing stories, including those told by Jack Cox (no pun intended) and Mathew Fowler's mom, a dentist in University of Louisville's dental school. I'm not sure if any of us ever laughed that hard. 

And that poor guy came out of the bathroom looking around, I suppose wondering if any of us would remember what just happened. Somewhere in Denmark, that man either shares that story or keeps it 100% to himself. For me, though, I thought, "That would only happen because Sally was with us." We all loved her - big personality and all. 

Sending more prayers to the Great Whatever hoping her wings (she always was an angel for our kids) will continue to look upon all of us below. Rest in peace, Dear Friend. 

I Forgot the Alfredo Sauce My Mother Requested, but Managed to Make 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.