Close...But No Cigar. This is the Wrong Way to Spell Bryan, Although I Appreciate the Great Wishes on March 7th. Our Official Day is April 23

I am not sure who is spreading the celebrations of Brians around the world (moron in Danish slang), but I'm here to say that yesterday was not National Bryan Day...that is April 23rd. I appreciate the great wishes and thoughts in March, but I never knew there was an official day to celebrate integrity and nobility, although honorably, that is what Brian/Bryan has always meant. 

We Y/why guys are not until April, which I would not have known if I didn't look it up wondering why so many were reaching out to celebrate my name on March 7th. I'll take the acknowledgement, but I'm good until next month.

Brine! What Kentucky kids called. No, I'm not brackish water, either. 

I like my Y-happy parents, Karyn, Cynde, and Bryan with the response of Y? Well, because they loved us. I like my Y and will fight for it until I die. Bree-an. Brigh-on, Brine! 

Paul and his partner, neighbors, were in town working on Krystyna's house, my neighbor who passed, and they insisted on taking me out to dinner last night for taking care of the beautiful woman. I accepted because it was National Brian Day, but told them we can celebrate Bryan a few weeks early. 

We discussed politics of Poland, the worries of Putin in Europe, Ukraine, and lived experiences from their childhood. The door is opening once again, because humans are humans. 

I got a nice night off at the end of the work week and now I'm heading to a day of grading so I can take a break in CNY with a clear mind. 

Bryan means giving, and I'm giving my day to catch up, get ahead, and put things to the side so I can take advantage of a Spring Break

I Know There Must Be Other Things I Should Be Doing, But I'm Still Catching Up on Things That Should Already Be Done

I never realized the parallels of K-12 and higher education would be the same. If you work in the classroom, take responsibility for teaching the next generation, the individuals who don't teach, but administrate and manage, sit around creating more work for those who do teach and have other things to do. I still find absolute joy in teaching and, in fact, I noted to myself that a day lost in graduate student work actually was healing, because it was a meeting and I was actually helping others out.

It is Groundhog's Day, but it's also spinning in circles in a pool, somewhat paralyzed.

Karal had vet vaccinations to be caught up on (they're still vetted for pets and legal). After, I promised myself a day in front of the laptop to catch up on materials needing commentary. I finished last night around 9, but know I have to go back to the other class to rethink submissions that were revised and resubmitted). I allow for multiple drafts because I know the learning comes from responding to feedback and moving ahead so it's not an issue next time.

It's also restaurant week in Stratford, so Leo, Bev, Pam, Oona, and I went to Vazzy's and I had prime rib. It's been a minute but I needed the food break. I came back to more grading.

I'm hoping I can finish by noon, so I can then return to grant work needing to be done, as I've put it off to catch up on the grading (and to attend all the meetings).

But there are no meetings today and for that I am thankful. No appointments either. It's time to focus.

Spent Last Night Listening to the Poetry and Wisdom of Joy Harjo. I Didn't Realize How Much Her Musicality Was Needed. So Glad April is Coming

I learned young that poetry was a way of knowing. I also learned that if I wanted to earn any money ("I guess we were at the back of the line when they handed out jobs," Joy Harjo said in presentation), I would also need to teach. Poems get published, but they don't pay the bills and, truth be told, the world distracts and pulls is in directions to keep the lights on and the dog fed. This is why I love April. It's #VerseLove and EthicalELA pulls together great minds and teachers to simply write poetry for the month. It's nice to restore the oxygen when it comes back my way.

In a world long before this one,  there was enough foreveryone, Until somebody got out of line. We heard it was Rabbit, fooling around with clay and the  wind. Everybody was tired of his tricks and no one would play with him;He was lonely in this world. (not Harjo's spacing, but how it falls to the page on this Blog)

On my shelves are several of Harjo's publications and I forgot how great a presenter she is....of the Gods...of the mystics...of a celestial realm. When she speaks, you feel like all rivers and histories and sermons and folktales are flying through her. I'm trying to recall when I first met her...Sante Fe? Breakloaf? University of Louisville? I just remember having the same feeling in her presence...of being both miraculously small, yet larger than life itself. It's the same way I felt around Ruth Stone when I studied with her and Aletha Fields when we were in our younger years, first teaching, and sharing our poems with one another (she, taking it to stage and wowing whoever heard her read).

I woke up this morning, looked at the calendar, and realized the only appointment I have is for Karal to visit the Prelis. I can grade and for those who are in academia and are sucked into meetings all the time, it is joyous to spend a day with student work.

And I'll be singing Happy Birthday to Papi Butch who I hope to see early next week. 6th of March. Every year. 2 weeks and 4 days after my Aquarian celebration. He's the water sign known for compassion, empathy, and intuition (which was definitely not him while growing up, at least for the immediately family, but something he grew into in his later years....knowing when the lawn needs to be mowed (every day) or someone's garbage can needs to returned to the front of their house). That's intuition, and all love now that a blooming flower, a marching band, a video about my mother's 80 years on life can make him cry with love and joy. Again, that was not him growing up. It's who he is now, when he was able to let himself feel, chill out from work, and not tempted by Chubby's and the Clam Bar so much. 

Yes, there's poetry to life and I'm glad I learned that early on. Son of a Butch & Sue. Remarkable. 

Note to Self: When Meetings Take Over the Entire Day, It Becomes Impossible to Teach, Write, Respond, Reply, and Think.

I've never been a fan of meetings, but have paid attention to productive ones and what makes them work: (1) person calling meeting is aware of everyone's time, (2) agenda is clear, precise, and well-thought out, (3) meaningless materials are alluded to but not discussed for hours, and (4) person calling meeting is aware of everyone's time.

I've been saying for a while now that teaching my courses get in the way of my job, and that's because administration has made the job so much more than teaching. Research is always a pleasure to do, and reading and thinking are central to how I like to live my life, but attending meetings are typically a distraction, especially when you realize that they take up the majority of time from 8 a.m. - 5 p.m. (when college administrators work). Those who teach grad classes from 5 to 9 then have to figure out how to carry out a plan (or grade) when all the time during the day is taken up with meetings. 

I tend to be in schools during the day and, at times, I'll ZOOM in and listen if I can. I'm at a place, now, that has me thinking I should simply use my phone to clock 40 hours a week and then say, "Nope. I'm done for the week." If I count weekend hours, a Monday and Tuesday of meetings, and then classes. I'm usually clock in before Tuesday morning even begins.

But it's Wednesday and I have meetings until 9 p.m. tonight...not just with the University, but with schools, and national projects. I'm not teaching today, but I really need to grade; instead, I'll be in meetings discussing work that needs (should) be getting done. 

I'm having flashbacks of our Danish friends who would visit us in Kentucky and hearing their teachers saying after two days in our schools, "I need to take a day off. This is exhausting." True. Working in higher education and K-12 schools makes it even more exhausting.

I need to figure out (have backbone) to say, "Nope. Not attending because it's a distraction from the work needing to be done." 

I'm trying to figure out the whole boundary conversation, as the work-week needs to let up some, yet continues to creep in more and more invasive ways. 

Absolute Love for @IwasakidSteam @ignotofsky & Ann E. Burg for Their Contributions to Visual Literacy Conversations of Non-Fiction Texts

My work with the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University has introduced me to a lot of great writers and thinkers, especially those who always have K-12 instruction on their minds, as they know that teachers are always looking for great books and resources to use with their kids. Because Karen Romano Young is local to Connecticut, I've used her @IwasakidSTEAM website in many sessions of professional development and I've been witness with how doodling and visual literacy assist students reading more complicated texts. Last night, however, I was able to pair this with Rachel Ignotofsky's TedX talk on women in science and visual literacy...

...which brings me to Ann E. Burg's Force of Nature which we discussed further in last night's pre-service elementary literacy course. I handed each of them a non-fiction text and asked them to pair the new knowledge with a poem written by Burg from the text. We didn't have a lot of time (15 minutes), but I wanted to have them experience of reading this, then reflecting on the shared class novel, and then offering a visual poster of how they were making the connection, so they can help others in the class to infer, and discuss, the meaning by a Burg poem. We went with WWI recruitment, gypsy moths, bumble bees, and ticks (all paired with poems). My bigger question was, "Did the pair non-fiction reading help you to infer more meaning to the poem in the text?"

It did, for all of them. 

I worked with one group who said, "We can't draw," and showed them that digital tools can help in tight spaces (like the 15 minutes I gave them to visually represent what I wanted them to share with others. 

In fifteen minutes, the students read non-fiction texts, made connections to a poem in Burg's Force of Nature, and mapped out, doodled, their collective thinking. The bumble bee group even made an origami bee to sting their classmates. 

My argument all along is that both fiction and non-fiction purport meaning, and if we are following Beers & Probst recommendations, we need to design good questions, open inquiry, personal connections, and assistive teaching so that students are learning more content, becoming better readers and writers, and enjoying their learning along the way.

Of course, this also meant that all the other plans I had didn't make it to the floor, because the students were having fun putting together their posters to teach others, which impressed me because the time was tight, materials were lacking, and as they said, "Crandall, our minds are on Spring Break." 

Remember those days?  Even an idea of a break? Ha!

I did not plan on the trifecta of Rachel Ignotofsky, Karen Romano Young, and Ann E. Burg's poetic fiction about Rachel Carson to speak to one another so well in a two-hour class. But it was one of those moments where the students really got it (even if they were thinking about their toes on sand seven days from now). 

And with that. time to plot out tonight's class with all the meeting-obstacles in the way...so many meetings...so, so many of them.

A Photo Sent from My Neighbor's Son, Paul, of a Time That Once Was. Remembering How Quickly All Lives Pass Through This Earth

Glamis the wonder dog, was a wonderful dog, although she was all Ms. Butterlips, and always found ways to get the butter dish on the counter. She was a thief and she loved her snacks, whether she was entitled to them or not. Krystina, my 90-year old neighbor who lost her life in Poland at the turn of the new year, used to feed Glamis sausages, salami, turkey, and ham, often having prepared sandwiches for her when she jumped the fence and ventured to her front porch for a snack.

Glamis had pancreatitis, and at just 42 year olds old, six in dog years, she stopped eating and lost all control of her body functions. This happened during Covid and her passing was not expected, because we were with her each day and didn't quite see how emaciated she was getting until looking at photos of her last year. 

Life is not easy. It's complicated. In most cases it's even tragic. A natural loss, however, is what it is...caused by age, illness, and the sadness of survival. Meaningless loss and suffering are preventable, but it takes human empathy, systemic support, and a willingness of the medical profession to prolong life as much as possible, especially when they have support to follow the research, to work strategically to end suffering, and following what our knowledge base and expertise share with us. 

I'm saddened that so much of a our knowledge base is being eroded in this time in history: international connection, a willingness to do good for the world, and a dedication to look out for others who don't have it as easy as others. I'm feeling for any and all who are affected by the removal of medical support, funding for medical research, and support for generations of research to made life better than nature allows it to be. Taking away such knowledge simply seems inhumane and cruel. It's definitely not the way I was raised or what I've gained from the privileges of my education. 

I'm sending a prayer this Monday, hoping that the unnecessary suffering that lies ahead will not be as horrific as I imagine it could be because of the greed and egos of the few. Knowledge should be about providing care to the masses, to the individuals who fought to make the United States the most miraculous country in the world. I'm afraid, however, that the lack of empathy and inner cruelty will destroy what so many generations have selflessly build for others. 

Cry the Beloved Country. Things Fall Apart. We know the uglier side of human history and it's never pretty when it returns. I'm afraid we're here once again. 

I am thinking of the happiness of my neighbor who fed Glamis and loved when she'd run away to her house. Both are gone now...two that brought smiles my way. 

May others know such smiles. May the joy of smiles carry on. God help us all.

Well, Maude. I Channeled You Yesterday as I Accidentally Attended the Wrong Funeral Service Before Finding Myself at the Right One. Poor Carolyn.

I was running behind, but knew I'd enter the chapel in time for the service. 12 pm, with a gathering afterwards. I heard the music as I approached and I guessed, "Oh, must be they started, so I snuck in through a side entrance...perfect time for the choir's singing of Amazing Grace, in front of a casket, with all eyes on me coming in the wrong door. I ducked to the side and, after the singing, I found a seat in the back to keep myself hidden. I began to look around for friends and family and I didn't see anyone I knew, except for the University President in the front row. 

The eulogy was great and I kept wondering who this Carolyn was, as I was there to support Jay and his loss of a wife, Joli. It didn't take me long to realize I was in the wrong service. I looked at my phone and realize I was an hour early. Wrong celebration of life, but I stayed, trying not to crack up as I've been known to do. I was a good boy.

When I left, Father Syvard came up to me and said, "Phew. Good to see you, but we need to rush these people out. I have another one at 1 and it's going to be so much more lively and fun."

That would be Jay and Joli. I told him my accidental arrival and he said, "Don't worry, Crandall. It happens all the time. But this is always fun to share with the other Jesuits." I went to my office to call Chitunga to say, "Guess what your dad did?" I returned to the ceremony I was originally supposed to be attend.  And it was a beautiful meditation on a soul who lost her vibrant joy way too young. Cancer. Age 36. Jay was an incredible speaker and his words were a true demonstration of their relationship. In some ways it was cosmic and out of this world.

Afterward, I met with a colleague from Long Island, Darshna, and met her husband and daughter, who were traveling through Connecticut visiting colleges. I missed them at Fairfield because of the services, but we caught up at the Trumbull Marriott between Sacred Heart and Quinnipiac. Loved making our National Writing Project reunion near my home and to meet the family of a woman I love and respect. Have always been a fan of hers. 

I was going to go to a basketball game, but it was too cold and the wins picked up so I started my Sunday crockpot last night so I'll have food for the week. When someone said we were experiencing fake Spring they were right, because the temperatures have returned to bitter again. Brrr. Just makes me want to sleep.

Now I need to great. I totally bypassed Saturday from getting anything done, besides two funerals and a reunion, which I'm glad I did. Let's hope the students nailed this assignment, as it will make my life that much easier.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I Want You to Lay Eyes on the Most Stunning Flamingo Ever to Be Seen By the Human Eye

Pink. Lucious. Feathered. Balanced. 

There is little more one can say about this incredible bird in front of us. The grace. Its flight. The way it stands on one leg waiting for its next meal is simply incredible. Phoenicoterida at its finest. The flamboyance of radiant grapefruit hue. 

Such long legs. An incredible beak. Those plumes and vibrant fringes. A neck that protrudes with majesty.

Behold the Flamingo. Not an ibis or a spoonbill, but stunning water foul, nonetheless. How the old mountains drip with sunset, Dear Emily. Inspiration to John Waters and, perhaps to Bjork's fashion statements (swans...storks...flamingos...they're all glorious).

Yes, definitely a flamingo. It should be obvious to any ornithologist, bird watcher, or painter.

Pink. Lucious. Feathered. Balanced. 

Can't you see. Just open your eyes.