Since 2011, I've participated in Fairfield University's Martin Luther King, Jr. Celebration and witnessed, first hand, the progress, growth, participation and embrace of the vision, even though it is far from being met. Each year, the program gets better, engages more individuals, and grows closer to what I feel is supposed to be the Jesuit Mission - a focus on justice, equity, diversity, and engagement of all humanity.
It is far from being realized, but closer today than it was when I first arrived.
Actions speak louder than words and the wisdom of Dr. Ibram X Kendi, as well as the roll out of MLK Vision Awards and MLK Essay winners, gave me hope that the on-going conversation (never enough) has momentum and the respect of the campus where I work.
Still, we must do better.
This year's Vision Awards were given to Ms. Sydney Williams, Women's Volleyball playerand senior, for her leadership with the Black Student Union, work with immigrant youth, and willingness to keep her professors on their toes. I'm proud to say that she will be running with the Fairfield 30 this Sunday, Super Bowl Sunday, during the Run For Refugees 5K in New Haven.
Maggie Ann Labinski, Ph.D, an Assistant Professor of Philosophy and Director of Peace and Justice, received the 2019 Faculty Award for her classroom work, her leadership with Racial Justice is Social Justice, and her ongoing commitment to conversations, activities and events making our campus stronger.
The staff Vision Award went to the wonderful Sharon Daly from the Office of Student Diversity and Multicultural Affairs, who remains a central do-er, activist, and champion for our entire student body. Her acceptance speech brought us all to tears.
The Lafarge Award, however, was given to this year's Keynote Speaker, Dr. Ibram X. Kendri, who captivated the Quick Center with his wisdom, critical analysis of history, and thought-provoking challenge to racist and anti-racist moments that have paralleled one another since the beginning of American history.
I'm am proud of these individuals, but my heart and mind belong to the youth who were recognized for their writing through the CT Post, CWP-Fairfield, Fairfield University MLK, Jr. Essay Contest - this year's theme: Fighting for Racial Justice- Renewing the Legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr. We had two honorable mentions, Sierra Dufan and Brendy Xochicale from St. Augstustine Academy, third place winner, Samia Kirton, Hallen School, 2nd place winner Mariela Aca, St. Augustine Academy, and 1st place winner Ruhama Choudhury, Multicultural Magnet. These young people are the next generation of the ongoing, necessary work and each year it humbles me to be able to name them, from the 100s of essays, as the winners.
One night and an explosion of excellence. My applause go to Drs. Rachelle Brunn-Bevel, Opheli-Allen, Jocelyn Borycska, as well as Kathleen Byrnes, Suzanne Chamlin-Richer, Dr. Debbie Chappel, Susan Cipollaro, Sara Colabella, Rony Delva, Dr. Elizabeth Hohl, my brother in dreams, Sydney Johnson, Lori Jones, the incredible Gina Ludlow, Kevin Molloy, Eric Mayrhofer, Dr. David McFadden, Dr. Sunil Purushotham, Dr. Kris Sealy (neighbor, friend and colleague), Lisa Thornell, Dr. Ellen Umansky, Luisa Vargas, Kalyn Hicks, and Micah Martin-Parchmant.
They make it all possible and I give them a standing ovation.
Now, however, I need to get ready for the 90 middle schoolers coming for the MLK Youth Leadership Academy on Friday. We got this!
Perks of being a community-oriented scholar is when I'm invited, with my colleague Matt Tullis, to get a sneak preview of renovations at a local library. The premiere is not until June, but yesterday afternoon we were asked to tour the restructuring of this location, with its vision of community outreach, technology, books, and programming.
This will be the new Westport Public Library beginning in the summer of 2019. The vision for the site is remarkable, with recording studio, radio space, computer areas, maker's space, books, community room, writing rooms, meeting rooms, and a central theater for author visits, performances, and other gatherings. To say the space is remarkable is an understatement. The visionaries are staying true to the mission of a library - to pull people together. I was in absolute awe with what I saw and it is far from finished. My out-of-the-box brain immediately began to think of this location as an off-campus resource and classroom for some of the courses I teach - it is an imaginative hub for the curious, creative, innovative, and seeking! Brilliant.
And look at the yellow - the yellow I've used in my own home (well, not this one) to feel alive, welcomed and ready to go! I cannot wait for the completion and am so happy for everyone and all who have helped to envision this remarkable location for the future.
I am sure this will be a go-to place for southern Connecticut about what is possible when minds come together to envision the needs of the people. It's democracy and I offer my standing ovation.
In the meantime, it's another 12-hour day and I have to teach, prepare, present, and attend. Here we go, world!
Jack Powers photographing the audience (so he has proof)
In 2011, my first year at CWP, I was introduced to Joel Barlow High School teacher, Jack Powers, a writing project powerhouse, brilliant poet, and phenomenal human being. That summer, Jack did a demonstration for teachers that was one of the most fantastic workshops I've ever experienced. Since then, I've witnessed him doing variations of the workshop with middle and high school youth, writers, and teachers, and it continues to be successful.
In my professional work, too, I've benefited from his school's annual portfolio assessment where he leads CT teachers with humor, a passion for effective practices for teaching writing, and a wisdom that arrives from years in the classroom, reading, and taking on leadership roles.
This Sunday, Jack Powers debuted Everybody's Vaguely Familiar, a collection of poetry which includes several poems that have been published in venues like 2River View, Southern Poetry Review, Poetry Quarterly, The Southern Review and many more.
It was also an honor to bring Ubuntu Academy graduate and Fairfield University freshman, Akbar Niyonkuru - a poet, himself - to the brilliance of Jack Power's reading. Even before his talk began, I reflected on my admiration of Jack's teaching and writerly wisdom. I've read some of the poetry he's published in national reviews and every time I've said, "How does he do it?" Every poem is a gift - with a touch of the everyday, a deep knowledge of how language works, a whimsical commentary on the human condition, and a craft for making the reader feel vulnerable, genuine, observant, and alive.
Jack Powers and Akabru Niyonkuru
The audience was filled with scholars, teachers, writing buddies, family, friends, community members, and the CWP family (Jack Power's family is much larger that the writing project alone).
For the last 33 years, Jack Powers has been part of a CWP writing group that was created during a summer institute (many years before I arrived to the Fairfield site). He is the best of the National Writing Project work: Teachers who write. Writers who teach. And educators mesmerized by the power of language.
Everybody's Vaguely Familiar is his first book, 63 pages of poems that everyone should experience. It is a testimony to his career. I'm a better NWP-site director because of this man.
I don't have the authority to publish his poems here, but I'd like to highlight a few reasons why Jack Powers is a national treasure. My favorite poem remains "At the Museum of Medical Oddities," in which he reflects on family vacations, Siamese twins, tumors, and the strangeness of our voyeuristic tendencies. Another poem from the collection that caught my attention was "How to Write a College Essay," in which he included lines like, "Make the reader see the veins in her neck, feel the words strike, the door slam. See you in the garage smoking by the turpentine; see the garage ignite" (p. 27).
Jack Powers maintains his humor with "Being a Dick" and "Holy Shitballs," but also harvests a harsh sadness and commentary with poems like "Rob Smuniewski is Dead" and "The God of Stupidity."
My conclusion, which isn't nearly as good as Jack Powers' collection, is that generations of middle and high school youth have benefited from this writing teacher who has shared laughter, wit and linguistic gifts with his students. I'm hoping this is not the last collection of poetry, either. He is too talented not to give us more.
Everybody's Vaguely Familiar is published by Golden Antelope' and is available on their website and on Amazon. There's a reason that this writer, this teacher, this member of the National Writing Project family, is an award-winning writer. He's an inspiration to teacher leaders across the nation.
Photo One: Posted by doctoral student and Westhill High School extraordinaire, Sarah Fleming, on a Facebook post yesterday afternoon. Go #ProjectLit!
We, the School of Education at Syracuse University, especially the Reading Language Arts Center, are a family that is hard to describe in words. We are literacy. We are story. We are believers in the magic of hard work, literature, research, togetherness and design. I learned so much from the land of blue and orange and I have so much to repay.
Rewind. A phenomenal human being that I met while doing my doctoral work at Syracuse is currently working at a school in Syracuse. He was 15 when I began mentoring him and now, as family, he is in education. He's also helped me to design the literacy programs at CWP-Fairfield - been here from the start. He's visited colleague's classrooms at Syracuse University and is a loyal Orange fan through and through.
Photo Two: Mr. Keith Newvine,
West Genny teacher (doctoral student in RLAC of the SOE at Syracuse University) and Mr. Abu Bility, CWP-youth coordinator in the summer and student mentor in Syracuse schools during the year, are seated together at the MLK Celebration featuring Trevor Noah. Mr. Newvine, like Mrs. Fleming, will be presenting at the National Council of Teachers of English Academic Research conference in Birmingham, Alabama, in two weeks. Again, #ProjectLit! Woot Woot!
Guess what: Mr. Abu Bility and I will be at that same conference presenting, and so will Dr. Marcelle Haddix. The family thing.
Rewind: Yesterday, I came home from a phenomenal poetry reading (post to come) to see that Ms. Fleming had an extra ticket to the convocation for Trevor Noah. I reached out immediately, but was too late. A woman, however, who happened to be friends with Keith Newvine, had a ticket. I contacted him, who had me reach out to her, who wasn't sure if she could attend. Text message arrives for Keith...I have a ticket for Abu Bility.
Fast Forward: Abu Bility sits a row in front of Keith to see Trevor Noah. Now, should I live in Syracuse, I would be there too. I no longer do. But Abu does. I know first hand that he and his identical twin, Lossine, worship Trevor Noah. They love all late night comedians. Why do I know this? Because I'm an early bird and I have heard the laughters downstairs in my home during the summer months when they are in Connecticut. I'm trying to sleep.
Back to reality. 21st century reality. This all took place in 35 minutes (55 minutes before the event began). When Abu sent me a photo of the stage and then Keith sent me the photo of the two of them (they did not know each other until this event), I said, "Okay, Great Whatever. This is Ubuntu and what it is all about."
Humbled togetherness. Family.
And now we get to reunite with Dr. Marcelle Haddix (who we also mutually know) in Birmingham, Alabama. It's all good. All of us together.
Let the SU family state connected. Let us never forget how important we are to one another. (And, if powerful SU people are reading this, give me a call, because I'd love to see a way for Abu Bility to do a Masters degree in the School of Education....just sayin).
And, I'm a Cicero-North Syracuse High School grad. All power to Syracuse University for bringing the greater CNY community together (I mean, West Genny....eeks. I think they are sworn enemies to Northstars....)(and I'm sure the Bulldogs of Nottingham hate us both). But, we are on the same page here.
LOVE THAT THIS HAPPENED. Trevor Noah....you did this. Thanks for being you.
I don't think I've ever entered a potluck with as much pomp and circumstance. I spent the day making pulled chicken in my crockpot and then I remembered that my mom bought be a crockpot carrier for social gatherings, so I fancied myself up and packed the poultry in a heat-insulated fancy bag. When I came into the Sealy-Wooley household, they were like, "Are you traveling? Look at you Mr. fancy pants with your gourmet dinner purse."
Yes, and I used the second bag to carry the rolls and bottle of Bullet's for Dave, Sr. Thought it was his birthday, but it turned out hit was Dave, Jr's, so the bourbon didn't quite make it to the intended.
The cough is still here (turns out Alice and Charlie have it in Indiana, too). and the virus is relentless no matter what state it hits.
I did get a run in, however, and was fine until I got home and then the snot factory kicked into gear and I thought I would gag.
Even so, the brain is still working so I was able to work on syllabi and prepare a conference presentation.
But look at that bag. I should be on Home Shopping Network. I'm beyond GQ and metrosexual with my talent now for bringing dinner in a Gucci bag. High-falootin', I tell you.
Okay, Sunday. I have high hopes for you (and left overs still marinating in the Martha Stewart carry-on).
Great gift that will get much use in this Crandall household. Very thankful.
Note: This is not the CWP-Fairfield Office. I wish it was, but it is not. This last summer, because of spatial issues, the CWP-Fairfield office was taken away by the University and all belongings had to be moved to the storage closet that was chosen for us to work.
Sadly, at this time, the administrative assistant moved on to additional work, so I managed to salvage the computer to my home, taking on another job in addition to the three jobs I currently have. It's been hard, but I've managed, and this semester I finally got a graduate assistant, and yesterday, we tackled the closet.
To the chagrin of colleagues in our hallway, we removed the warehouse that became that space (an office put into the K-12 outreach office) into the hallways of Donnarumma. This included files and teacher resources since 1985. My graduate assistant, a self-proclaimed Virgo, said, "Organization is in my genes" and within 6 hours she found a way to get the majority of CWP's history into the space she'll use to keep the work afloat. The rest of it needs to be transported to the garage on Mt. Pleasant. I am forever thankful to the spatial intelligence of this graduate student and the fact that we now will have a central location to implement the $120,000 in grants that we've received so far this year.
CWP-Fairfield operates in collaboration with Connecticut K-12 schools and our materials are the materials of superintendents, administrators, teachers, and students all across the state. Our mission is to be a liaison between a University and the local K-12 districts. The history is phenomenal, the research superb, and the work incredible. I am looking forward to another summer of incredible work now that we have a semi-functioning space to answer the 1,000 emails and letters that have come our way (we'll get that phone...I'm sure we will).
I'm just thankful to have an assistant who will be able to help implement the grants and work that we do. I am counting my blessings to be so lucky. Of course, I've also learned that my OWN office will be closed this summer because of renovation to remove mold that has made several individuals sick. That's good, but I have no idea where I'll land (or the programs for 37 teachers and over 200 youth that have been funded).
Ah, we live. We learn. And we get older. That's all we can say. I definitely am aging with this work I love. I just wish that the vision I have for kids and teachers was shared with the priorities of others.
A celebration of two slices of break, a spread of Peter Pan, and a layer of grape or strawberry jam.
All Hail the PB & J that is my go-to, my Chef-necessity on long days like yesterday and today and for all that are still to come.
You are there for me. You are at my side for writing grants in support of teachers and youth in hopes that there will be funding to celebrate writing excellence and leadership.
You are the for budget reports, Excel sheets, and pie-graphs naming the importance of the work.
You are there for paper proposals, conferences, ZOOM meetings, and drafting journal articles.
You are there for course syllabi, planning, grading and presenting.
You provide comfort at times when local, state and national news create a background noise of inequities, hatred, bullying, anti-education policies and sentiments.
You, the PB & royal J, are the knee-jerk meal, the saver of time, the offerer of sustenance, that allows the work to get done. You, majestical warrior, keep it going.
Here's to the 18 years on Amalfi Drive where a mom and dad taught me the importance of the PB&J for school lunches, sporting events, and simple snacks. You, the 1-minute preparation in a household where Old Mother Hubbards go to the cupboards to see that you have food, and no time to prepare it, become nirvana, utopia...a solution.
All praise for the sandwich that allows me to keep going during 18-hour writing project marathons as I get the work done in hopes for more learning tomorrow.
I am forever in debt, Mr (and Mrs) Peanut Butter and Jelly, as I imagine many of my National Writing Project colleagues are.
I am thankful to you and count my blessings that I don't have an allergy and at home nor am I surrounded by anyone who does - that would be tragic (and is tragic to many households, I know).
Three grants drafts, two proposals written, and a presentation for a national conference begun by 8 a.m. this morning. PB & J, you save me, and that is why you are deserving of a post today.
I said to my colleagues yesterday that I feel, at times, I'm living in the movie Groundhog's Day, with Bill Murray, still trying to get everything right. I've been back-to-back with Philosophy of Education, a service learning course with Columbus K-8, for three years now, and although the students change, and the texts I use differ, it continues to feel like the same thing over and over. I don't feel I vary the points of each class much, but I always feel like, "Didn't I just say this?"
The class is a turbo class, so I like to come with fruit and cookies to keep everyone awake. The Triple Ginger Snaps from Trader Joe's is a hit, and it is the perfect spice for a mid-afternoon class.
I tried my luck with the cookies at Columbus School, too, when I introduced teachers to the writings of Jacqueline Woodson and we had a conversation about immigration, English as a Second Language, belonging, and the importance of all stories in the work that we do. I always know when the workshops are a success when teachers approach me afterwards saying, "I want more. Where can I sign up?" We simply did a dialogue exercise, a write and share, and a sampling of Woodson's writing. They were quickly sold. It wasn't me. It was the brilliant author.
The cookies helped.
I collected surveys from the teacher and am hoping that many signed up for workshops with their students. I've found that PD is best when I can model instruction and allow them to critique what worked and didn't work. I was stoked to be invited by the entire 2nd grade team who were ready to go as soon as possible with possible work.
Win!
I was also happy to see teachers excited about doing the Poetry For Peace contest, so the school can contribute this year (they had a winner in 4th grade two years ago!).
The day, however, wiped me out. In need of sleep and now it is time for a writing weekend. Of course, I have meetings first...lots of them. Here we go!
The initial plan for the 12th Day of this crud, was to teach my introduction to the Philosophy of Education class to 23 undergraduates, and then head out to do schools for a PD session with 7 teachers.
I was contacted, however, on day 11 of the crud to learn, 62 teachers signed up for your session. Well, that changed things a bit. I guess the title, "The Day You Begin: Harboring the Art of Teaching Writing in 2019" was appealing (and they don't even know the tricks up my sleeve, which include highlight the two One Book, One Town reads by Jacqueline Woodson. Hmmm. Getting excitement wherever I can. Actually, I'm really excited about these two texts to teach writing and so tomorrow's PD will be a celebration of what is possible. It's sort of a petri-dish to field-test where K-8 teachers might go with instruction.
Meanwhile, back to Fairfield. It still amazes me that one of my staple courses has become a philosophy course. It is not my training, but each time I'm asked to teach it, I get a little more entrenched in the readings and the thinking that goes deeply into why do we teach what we do, and where do our beliefs intertwine with what we thing should be taught? Really, it's simply a great opportunity to work with 20 students (well, 23, because I always allow the wait list in).
All this is to say that I'm back to my long days (and I guess I'm rested up enough to handle them). I'm actually excited to teach again, as it motivates me to think critically about my research and to do more work in K-12 schools for in-practice teachers.
Still sneezing. Still coughing. But it is nowhere near where it was for the last week.
So now a more important question. Who is inviting me to dinner tonight? I will be hungry at around 6 p.m.
Having read Harbor Me last semester in anticipation of Fairfield Public Library's One Book, One Town celebration of Jacqueline Woodson, I was growing sort of antsy that I didn't have The Day You Begin written by the author and illustrated by Rafael López. Although I went 10 days with the flu, I snuck out of my house one morning (incognito) to purchase the book from the Fairfield University Bookstore. As I read it, I realized that I needed to use it as an opening activity for both my Philosophy of Education and Participatory Research and Advocacy in School and Community Settings courses on my docket this semester.
With the philosophy course, I plan to use it to get students to think about the inclusivity and exclusivity of our K-12 schools, especially in regard to critical autobiographies of their own learning experiences. As these undergraduates are in the early phases of thinking about teaching careers, I think this book, with its stunning illustrations, will get the conversation going. It is a wonderful book for youth.
With the research, course, however, I'm going to model how texts like The Day You Begin can be a catalyst for larger projects, such as those I'm doing with State grants in turnaround schools. In particular, I want to use this book with a team of 48 educators that I've been working with for the last 3 years, and highlight the ways I would use such a text to prompt new writing from elementary and middle school youth.
There will be times when you walk into a room
and no one there is quite like you until the day you begin
to share your stories.
The Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University is all about sharing stories and getting young people to write their lives before some writes it for them.
I am thankful that I have that little irksome voice inside my head that doesn't let me sit still until I feel like I'm on the same page as everyone else. Knowing that Jacqueline Woodson is coming to the Quick Center on March 18, I wanted to have The Day You Begin available for the design of my courses.
Wola! It is done and today, this morning, into next week, a new semester begins! I'm looking forward to learning what is 'fabulously' not like me with all my students (and celebrating their personal growth over the next 15 weeks).
In 1997, when I first inherited a high school classroom, I remember panicking about making a yearlong syllabus to cover what my 9th and 10th graders would learn that year. Why? Well, I was fresh out of graduate school where academics created thorough, date-by-date syllabi where everything was already included (very little room for elements of surprise).
Now, having a decade+plus in high school teaching and a decade+plus in college/university teaching, I can state that creating syllabi in both locations is very different. In higher education, the plan-of-action needs to be delivered on day one so that the undergraduate/graduate students can plan accordingly. The syllabus becomes the blue print for the semester and the objectives for each course, already known, need to be met by the actions of every time an instructor meets with the students.
In high school, that is usually 180 days. In a college setting, that can be 12-15 times a semester, depending on holidays. Each class matters.
I awoke yesterday feeling a wee-bit better and decided it was time to finish one syllabus and tackle another. I'm teaching a new course this semester - Action Research - and I'm really excited for the knowledge it will afford me as a brilliant crew of graduate students work with me on their own pursuits. We are not a doctoral-granting graduate school, so it is not the norm of research that I learned while at Syracuse University. Still, the graduate students are capable of incredible scholarship and I'm anxious to pursue with them their individual interests, as we read Efrat Efron, Ruth Ravid, Django Paris, and Maisha Winn (amongst so many others).
As I'm putting together the syllabus, however, I'm realizing how important the document actually is. There is a tremendous amount of planning backwards and knowing where I want them in May, I need to lay out a plan of action every week from now until then so they can get there.
It's not as rough with the courses I've already taught, but a bit trickier for the new one --- because I don't know what the pace is supposed to feel like.
It's all good, though, because I couldn't be happier by the new course on my agenda. I am hoping I will learn as much as they will.
I made it to the bookstore in the morning and then to my office to begin working on the semester's syllabi. Around 1, however, the cold was back and I only wanted sleep.
I left. I walked Glamis and then I napped. When I awoke, I didn't have any brain power for anything other than college basketball and a few episodes of Blackish.
I'll get back to normal. I have to.
In the meantime, I'm going back to Mike's journal of 400 things to prompt writing.
Describe a room with a perfect view.
My first instinct was the window view on Loch Lebanon, and how nice it would be to see that view through all four seasons if the camp was a permanent home. I then thought about my friend Gita's house in Denmark that looked out at the fjord and the ocean view Preben had in the northern coast of Denmark. My Aunt and Uncle in Key West right now also have a fantastic view of the water from their apartment.
I always enjoyed the view from my parent's house (which my father has picked up, too). I'm just nosey and like to see what's going on outside in the world when I'm settling or settled in doing the domestic thing.
All in all, however, the perfect view always looks out at water....preferably water that can cool, refresh and offer adventures from the land, inviting me to swim, think, play, kayak, boat, or wonder about life on the other side.
Yes, it would have to be water. The dream would be to wake up every day with a cup of coffee looking out to lots and lots of water.
Yesterday, I ventured out of my self-ascribed hospital bed to meet a mentor, academic friend, and role model who came to Fairfield University to do a workshop on academic publishing. Dr. Mary Jane Curry from the University of Rochester brought irreplaceable expertise, advice, guidance, and insight to a full-crowd in the Alumni House.
My biggest fear is Dr. Curry contributed so much and I only contributed my germs, alone. I stayed away from most (or at least I tried). I will feel terrible if I learn anyone got sick with what I have. After a week of this, I'm hoping I am no longer contagious.
I met Dr. Curry several years ago and have known of her work, especially as she edited the Multicultural Matters text, Educating Refugee-Background Students: Critical Issues and Dynamic Backgrounds with Shawna Shapiro and Raichle Farrelly, in which my chapter, "'History Should Come First': Perspectives of Somali-Born, Refugee-Background Male Youth on Writing in and out of School," was published. I like to kid that I've never had anything I've written revised more than this chapter, one begun with the Literacy Research Association Annual Conference and, finally, rethought for this edited collection. As Dr. Curry remarked at the workshop, "The goal wasn't just revision, it was to make the chapter better."
I am forever thankful for her intelligence, guidance, leadership and belief in the work. Indeed, she made the writing better (as did her co-editors who also played a tremendous role in the writing).
Yesterday, however, I took away a theme of Local, Historical and Aspirational (at first, I said National, but Dr. Curry redirected me towards Aspirational which I like much better). At one point, she had the audience write about where they see their work going and to brainstorm the communities who might have an interest in the writing. Looking around the room I quickly saw Drs. Beth Boquet and Betsy Bowen who helped guide my pre-tenure career towards tenure. They are some of my Local peeps - those I go to for professional advice. Much of my thinking, too, belongs to the mentorship of Drs. Kelly Chandler-Olcott and Marcelle Haddix, the research they introduced me to, and the colleagues they've introduced me to across the nation who have written so much before me. They are my Historical peeps. Then I began thinking about the connections I've begun to make through the National Writing Project, NCTE, and LRA communities who have influenced my thinking from afar, and although they are national gurus and individuals I know only from their research, I liked how Dr. Curry helped me to rename it as Aspirational (peeps).
All in all, we are a community and being part of a community means that we often are exploring similar ideas together. For me, it's been teaching writing, professional development in urban schools, young adult literature, the National Writing Project model, Young Adult Literacy Labs, and Writing Activity Genre Research.
I enjoyed every second of the workshop, having what few brain cells I have operating right now, collecting Dr. Mary Jane Curry's wisdom for future work.
What an honor to have her in Stag-Country and to learn so much from her professional kindness. It was a great day.
I returned home to Theraflu, hot tea and a blanket. It's become a norm.
Ignore the face. I'm simply happy I have hair on my head and that those hairs get sculpted by the barbers at Fade Factory in Stratford. I awoke yesterday thinking I could tackle a little more of the day and when Akbaru showed up at 10 a.m. to get a haircut, I thought I might as well join him - which I did, then I went to my office.
Let's just say I have no idea how I've been able to work off a dying computer like I have for the last two years. I was able to accomplish so much more at record speed, simply because I had a machine that operated at a normal level. I got so used to multi-tasking because the Mac was always in rainbow twirl land, that I forgot to even question how wrong and abnormal that was. It feels good to have a functioning computer again.
When I got home, I thought, "I can probably keep my evening appointments," but while grilling cheese and doing soup one more time, I realized, "I'm still not my normal self."
The clog came back, and I called off my responsibilities to do another night under the blanket and with hot tea. I know that it probably is not the greatest idea to over do it at this point....heck, to even moderately do it.
With this weekend's weather forecast what it is, I'm sure I'm going to be stuck at home, able to catch up on planning and work. Although, feeling as I do, I don't see myself shoveling or dealing with ice, I'm hoping that a few more days of rest will get me there.
Ah, but look at that receding hairline. Shoot, I am mid-life, indeed!
When I was a kid, I remember ordering The Sick of Being Sick book from scholastic and reading it on days when I was, to put it bluntly, #@$@#$ tired of being under the weather. It was silly reading to entertain a body that didn't want to sit idol any longer.
I am there again. I'm entering the 6th day of this thing that has overtaking my mind, chest, nostrils, eats, eyes and bowels since Saturday. My relationship with ginger ale has skyrocketed my diaphragm is simply sore from sneezing and coughing.
Yes, I slept. In fact, if I didn't need to meet a deadline I could slept right into this morning.
I have to celebrate, however, that when I awoke craving a grilled cheese and soup, I remembered that my mother bought me special bowls for such an occasion where the duo-meal could be located into one apparatus. It worked perfectly.
It is now Thursday. I rescheduled all my Wednesday meetings for this afternoon, and we shall see how much rest, medication, and fluids will help. I've read online about this cold, this flu-strand, this monster of a distraction and all cases say it hangs on for almost ten days. Does this mean I only have 4 more days left? I certainly hope so, because I'm not on my game. I will admit, though, that I took Glamis for a long, albeit slow, walk. She needed to get outdoors, and although she spends most of her days asleep, she's not used to having me under a blanket and pillows beside her. I think she is growing perturbed by my presence.
I may be moving slow (my brain isn't working at all), but I now have an upgraded, operable MacBook Pro that functions at the speed it is supposed to. I mean...I typed these letters and they actually appeared as I hit each key. In the last few years, to get this much script to the page, I'd have to wait for the system to catch up by going to the bathroom, cleaning the floors or paving the driveway.
It is great to be back amongst the functioning.
Technologically, that is.
My body is still out of commission. I've heard from many that this is a 10-day cold...3 days to come in, 3 days to stay, and 3 days to leave. The last day is for, "What the hell did I just live through?
Yesterday, I did have the pleasure to attend the Lady Stags' School Day Game against St. Peters and it was a fun event. The crowd of over 2,000 middle school students was extremely inspiring. They were engrossed in the game and super fans.
Another great thing I discovered. I can drag a photo to my desktop and not have to wait 25 minutes for it to register. Remarkable. I'm back to the land of a functioning laptop after 2 years of total frustration. Woot Woot.
Back to cold. I cannot wait to breathe again and to run again and to have my brain back to normal speed. I've am a clogged-up monster who aches everywhere and who doesn't have time to keep fighting this. The semester is creeping up on me and I am in real need of my noggin to function (and for my nose not to drip on my chest as I type).
Glamis, too, is tired of it all, as I've only been able to take her for short walks before I have to sit down and drink more hot liquids. The medicine is fighting, but this crud is no joke. It doesn't want to give in and is totally stubborn.
On a final note, I was sad to hear that Carol Channing passed yesterday - she's a fun character to try to impersonate when I'm feeling healthy (I'm kidding...I can only do Kermit the Frog). I was thinking about it and remembered that she had a piece in Free To Be You and Me, the book and album that was a heartbeat to my childhood. So, I leave this post with some of her voice (and head to the bathroom for more toilet tissue to blow my nose).
I've watched Chitunga make Smoothie's a 1000 times, and when it came to getting dinner last night, I opted to try. Lucky for me I had yogurt, fruit, vanilla ice cream and a functioning blender.
Soup for lunch. Smoothie for dinner.
Sneeze. Sneeze. Cough-Cough Sneeze.
I'm loaded up on cure-alls and now want to push this damn thing out. I even had to nap (and anyone knows me knows how rarely I'm able to do that).
On a positive note, the NCTE proposals were finished and submitted, I'm prepped for a radio show today, and I've made contact with the Publishers of POW! Power of Words! Off to the press it will go.
But to be honest, I didn't think I was going to have enough energy this morning to write a post. Somehow I did. I'm hungry, though. Soup and shakes does not sustenance make.
Oh, and CUSE! CUSE! CUSE! I watched every second dreary-eyed and hacking up phlegm, but it was worth it. Love Love Love seeing a powerhouse lose to an underdog.
If I could, I would share this photograph with Nadia Craft, class of 1998, and Christie Dennis, class of 2002, because they would say, "Crandall, your eye is doing that strabismus thing again. Make it stop."
Actually, I was aiming at the glistening philtrum and intranasal depression that resulted from a super hot shower and the application of Vic's Vapor-Rub on my upper lip. I told my mom who called to check up on me, Vic's and manly facial hair do not mix - in fact, it is gross. So, I shaved. Didn't plan on it, and the goatee will be back in 48 hours, but I knew I couldn't have another night like the last one. I need a good 7-hour, uninterrupted sleep.
I'm going to fight this post-holiday yuck and win. I am determined.
I was unable to run, but Glamis and I did a 6-mile hike (I can't stand being cooped up in my house and it's nice to see human beings getting fresh air, albeit frigid). My brain was good for most of the day but at 5 p.m., sunset, the sinuses began to drain. Maybe snot follows moon cycles and is aligned with wave patterns. There doesn't seem to be a problem during daylight, but as soon as it is dark the wheezing begins, the cough comes back, and the fog behind my eyeballs begins to push its way out.
I guess the good news was that, being stuck under a blanket for most of the day, resulted in several completed conference proposals I knew needed to get out this week, as well as materials for the MLK Convocation and essay award winners. This morning, too, I'm tackling recommendations with impeding due dates, reports for two grants, and the impossible tentacles of the University's Work Day, so that people can be paid and reimbursed, and items can be ordered and delivered. Looming are the syllabi for the semester, one for a course I've never taught and the other for one I'm more familiar with.
So, I need to be able to think today. And Nadia, if my eye wanders out to L.A. again, you know where to mail it. I'm still in Connecticut. If it comes to you, Christie, whack it back to me from Kentucky with one of your volleyball serves.
I had an ambitious plan for Saturday with a trip to the office, writing, proposing, and workshopping. I went for a 5 mile run and felt fine, and even hiked with the dog. Then the drippage arrived followed by the brain-drudge. I gave in to a day under blankets, behind my computer screen, and eventually hot toddies (had to look them up online and then improvise with what I had: honey, cranberry juice, bourbon and water).
Meanwhile, I was invited to the Irish Club for music and beers, then to a neighbors for hot chicken wings and company. I wanted to muster up the energy but couldn't. Instead, I stayed in with miserable hot flashes, sweating and coughing (better now then when the semester kicks in - I expected this gook to come at the end of the last semester and with the holidays - somehow I made it through).
So, it was basketball, updating the CWP website (as much as I could) and thinking about what I hope to accomplish today). I've never been a good patient, even to myself, and I hate when I get down for the count. In the end, I gave in to the toddies and Thera-Flu. This too will pass. It always does. I will forever curse the way sinuses drip into the throat and chest. It's such a gross, biological phenomenon, and it should be outlawed.
Teachers. What will I be doing this weekend? Meeting and working with teachers. Why? Because it's NCTE proposal season, and (cough cough) we have numerous writing projects we are working on (some much more pressing than others).
So, I will be in Canisius Hall hosting a CWP open house for conference proposals, syllabi, book chapters and a special journal we've been invited to write for.
Yes, teachers are awesome. Yet, National Writing Project Teacher Leaders are beyond awesome. They are willing to do whatever it takes to make things happen. In them, I see me as I first fell under the mentorship of Jean Hicks. I hear the voice of Sue McV who said from the first second she met me, "When the time comes, you'll need to do the National Writing Project summer institute. It will change your life."
It has. It did. And it is my mission to offer such joy to others (paying it forward every second I can.
In the meantime, it dipped below freezing with wind chills in the teens. I was fine running yesterday morning because I was bundled up, but the afternoon winds picked up and walking to and from my car was a whipping, hurtful experience. It cuts against the skin like a blade. Now I am thinking I will have to finally retreat indoors to the gym (which is good for me). I will stay warmer, sweat more, exercise longer, and work on more than my typical 5K run.
Middle-age girth accruing as I type.
This morning, however, I am thinking of my K-12 teaching friends who've been back since January 3rd, who have many more students in a day than most academics have in a year, and who, if lucky, get five hours of sleep a night.
I packaged all of that with me when I went into higher education and I will continue the hard work - the K-12 teacher work - in everything I do.
And I hope others will stand beside me as champions for all that you accomplish each and every day (with what The Great Whatever knows is not compensated salaries, compliments, or bureaucratic support).
Somehow I knew the day was going to be a bust. I had a 10 a.m. dental appointment to replace a filling in #32, a wisdom tooth, and I knew as soon as the first novocaine shot didn't take (I didn't feel numb at all), that the day was going to be interesting.
It might also have been Dr. Conlon's grunting, groaning, and humming. "You've got a an odd one," he said. "I've been putting this off for some time."
In short, a wisdom tooth that probably should have been taken out had been "destroyed, taken a beating, and in its own survival mode."
I think I got nervous when he began pacing, not sure whether he should rip it out or prepare it for a crown. "I think I need to get inside to make a decision. The tooth is holding strong, but I'm not sure. It's 50/50."
He numbed me up even more.
Drilling and hee-hawing for another 30-minutes, I got nervous when his assistant said, "Oh, My God." Actually, it was during a break when she said, "Wow. You are bleeding really bad," that I began to sweat. I was then told that the worry was not the tooth as much as my Herculean tongue which had a mind of its own. It wanted to protect the tooth while I was numb and she didn't have the strength to fight it. Somehow, I wanted up holding instruments to muscle my tongue into place. At one moment, Dr. Conlon called my tongue the MEG (I guessed that was reference to the 2018 shark movie).
I survived. I couldn't feel my right ear, nostril, lips or brain, but the tooth was saved (hello, Bryan genetics). I was sent on my way.
I got home, and had an email from Subaru that my car was past due for service. I've been getting check engine lights so I knew it was time. I called and they couldn't get me in until February, but then a sudden cancellation came in and she said, "Can you get here in 15 minutes?"
I did. Then I sat for two hours, numb with novocaine, until Kaitlyn kindly picked me up. She took metro her mother's where I showered and cleaned up. My beard was loaded with dental gunk.
The Hulk was serviced ($$$$) and I need new tires ($$$$). I was thinking about my mom and dad's furnace and then a leaking pipe and wondered about their 3rd piece of bad news. Well, that would be me, +1. A tooth and car repairs.
I have chalk it up to January, because the time between Christmas and the first class is really the only space I have to be a normal human being and it costs me.
The good news of the day was when Pam reminded me I won a gift card to The Bridge House during a church function when I went to hear Leo sing. I got my car and we all ate. I needed a good meal, because it was the only one I had since my morning banana.
Needless to say, I retired early. I now feel like the Mucinex monsters are moving in and I need to beat them.
It was a pleasure and an honor to be part of the Fairfield Public Library reveal of this year's One Book, One Town selection that premiered at the Fairfield University Book Store. A few months ago, I was told who was coming, but I was sworn to absolute secrecy.
My response, "Really?"
I did well, though, (phew! it was hard) and was given permission to share the secret with a few in my closest circle so that I could begin planning with my network of teachers, the National Writing Project, grants, and teacher-leaders in CWP-Fairfield. I read the the book a month ago and quickly began thinking about the content of the chosen novel.
It is Jacqueline Woodson's Harbor Me, and I'll keep much of what I want to say for the February 28th evening where I will join writer Sonya Huber to discuss the impact this author has had on our own understanding of the world during a community event at the library.
For now, however (and not to give away too much), here are a few things I'm thinking about.
First, for the last five years CWP-Fairfield has hosted Ubuntu Academy, a two-week young adult literacy lab open to immigrant and refugee youth to read around and write about their world. I see an audience for this text.
Second, this semester, Harbor Me has been added as a touchtone text for two courses, one undergraduate and one graduate, where we will think about the academic promise of Woodson's story, especially in relation to 2019 America.
Third, I've already secured funding so that I can distribute Woodson books to schools that I work with, including a middle school in Bridgeport, Connecticut who has similar demographics as the characters in this book.
Fourth, it's not public knowledge, but I've received an award for this summer (I can say that for now) that will allow me to host a teacher institute for writing that embraces diverse stories and that highlights the ways educators can learn with students who have learning dis/abilities to share their stories and to find their voices through our National Writing Project model. Indeed, Jacqueline Woodson's books will be central.
I had to go through my files to find a photograph from when I first met Jacqueline Woodson during the Louisiana State University Young Adult Literature Conference hosted by Steven Bickmore in 2015. At the time, she was premiering Brown Girl Dreaming which I've used in many Writing Our Lives and Writing in the Limelight events at Fairfield University and the Fairfield University bookstore (I look at this photo of me and have to admit, I look 20 years younger than I do right now - the work has aged me. Maybe I should shave again).
What I can state here is that I am truly excited that Jacqueline Woodson was selected for this year's OBOT in Fairfield and I can't wait to use her inspirational writing, thought-provoking storytelling, and pro-youth narratives to work with K-12 teachers, administrators, and students through CWP-Fairfield and my roles at Fairfield University.
It wasn't wrapped on Christmas Eve night, but it was handed to me by my brother--in-law with a comment, this is for you. I put it in my gift bag of family goods, and pulled it out when I returned to CT with a mental note to use it throughout 2019 to prompt writing when I simply don't want to write about the day I just had, the political world we live in, or the stupidity of the human species (although stupidity seems to be synonymous with being a two legged, upright, and thinking mammal).
Prompt #1: You're on a beach and you decided to write a message in a bottle to anyone and throw it to the ocean. Who would you write and what would it say?
First reaction is I would write, "Dear Aunt Sue, Mark, and Uncle Milford." Why? Well, if I threw it to the Long Island Sound, the bottle would have a better chance reaching my relatives on Long Island than anyone else. I would continue, "I'd love a good fish dinner, a margarita, and some beach time."
Boring response. I know.
If I was writing The Great Whatever, I might scribe,
Okay, you crazy, whacky fate-oriented chaos, you, it's time to bring back normalcy to the United States. This nation has gone bonkers. It's like history has been forgotten, morality a thing of the past, and knowledge, a fictitious entity. We need rationality back in the hemisphere.
Of course, I wouldn't do that because I recognize that in the end, I'm going to die, it doesn't matter, so just call me Bry, I'll go to work, I'll earn my pay, but in the end, it's just a typical day. Doobie doo, ah doobie doo, blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah.
Humans stink. We know what is right, what is immoral, and what is wrong. We know that what was yesterday can no longer be today. We also recognize, via Capitalism if nothing else, that we are a global economy and that this Earth has never been a fair space for all people. The inequities, migration, exploitation, and frustration will continue. It's inevitable, because those who have will fight to maintain. We're used to it and can't go backwards.
Perhaps tomorrow's stories will be the ones told about how 1st world nations responded to those who aren't where we are today.
What's the saying, "A ship is only as strong as its smallest hole."
That's the globe, too. It will never sit still.
So, in a message in a bottle I might write, "God, bless us. We need it."
On the right, a photo of the 100+ MLK essays read, scored and deliberated with a committee of professionals chosen to select the top 3 prizes for 2019. We were good to select the top 14, but then it got trickier to narrow it to the final 3. We ended up with a unanimous vote for the 3, but then had to wrestle a bit about honorable mention - a tradition at Fairfield University since the mid-2000s.
I wish I could say that my ongoing battle with Workday and getting my teachers paid and myself reimbursed was the same.
The trouble is that the employees who used to be hired to process so much of the paper work are no longer with me or the University. The other problem is that the teachers I hire and take with me to national conferences are not University employees. Although I put their charges on my credit card (because I received grants to cover these costs), it goes beyond the parameter and scope of the new University accounting system to have a way to reimburse me for the accrued charges. It's crazy. Although I spent all day Saturday and Sunday (a weekend granted) during our winter break (my colleagues aren't int he office) trying to figure out the system to be reimbursed the charges on my credit card, I still failed. It doesn't work.
So, I visit one office to tell me I need to contact so and so. I can a returned email that so and so is not back on campus until January 14. Then I hear call so and so. I call them and they don't pick up. I do all I can, then I have to put it aside for other work that is equally as important.
Some of these charges are from July 2018. More occurred in November. It shouldn't be this difficult, especially when I have brought in outside funding to pay for these programs (which, I should add, are applauded and celebrated by many at the national level).
I said before the holidays that I am waving a white flag. I'm still waving it, but I'm optimistic that eventually someone will hear me and help me.
I mean, it's taken two and a half years to finally have a new laptop ordered. I've been living on my iPhone trying to get the work done (okay, an loaners and my iPads).
The Gods must be crazy. I've said that once, and I will say it again.
The skies weren't this blue when my day began. I got up and ran five miles and it was warm. I came home, edited for a little while and took Glamis for a walk. Halfway out, the clouds came in, the winds came from the north and it got frigid. It even sleeted on the two of us. By the time I made it to my office the skies went blue and as I worked more, I enjoyed seeing the cumulous clouds (okay, last year's blog) and the shapes that filled my imagination as I worked on their, there, they're.
Actually, we had a record number of MLK entries for middle school students and, I have to say, youth cultures are really riled up at current situations in the United States. They are biting at the bit to become voters and told stories of their lives, their families and their dreams, all through the knowledge they learned about MLK at their schools. Perhaps now, more than ever, young people are seeing a reason why they need to be informed and work hard in school.
I stayed in my office until the skies switched to sunset and I realized I should probably get home before it got too dark. My mind has been on Chitunga who is without a phone until Tuesday and my mini-panic button jumped on because I hadn't heard from him or seen him. Moving to emails as a form of communication just doesn't cut it. I can only imagine how painful it was during the snail-mail days (we at least had the phones attached to walls when we needed them).
We're spoiled.
I'm happy to say that his new number is up and works with his IPad, so we were still able to do our Sunday night ritual of Facetiming.
Meanwhile, My right arm, shoulder, neck and back are throbbing in pain (a pinched nerve, I think). I can stretch and run and move and throw, it's only when I'm writing that the pain shoots down my arm. I think I need a deep massage, as I've been running my shoulders up against corners of the wall.
Today, it's the first meetings of many this week and I'm determined to get my holiday writing/editing goals finished. When the grant officer stopped by my office she said, "I knew you'd be in today."
Why? Because she's there, too. Without the support we once had, we are consistently in our offices on weekends simply trying to stay afloat.
The parents, guardians and relatives who came to CWP summer events can call me an absolute liar. Optimistic and feeling great about the incredible energy of the summer work, especially the Young Adult Literacy Labs, I announced, "This year, I'm not going up for tenure, so I should have time to edit POW! Power of Words much, much sooner. My goal is October 1st."
Then came courses, grants, conferences, and other writing projects so I find myself exactly in line with last year. I'm editing for publication during the in-between spaces of two semesters.
At this point, I simply need to go through one more reading of the work before I send it to the publisher. We have over 200 student-written pieces, as well as 12 excellent teacher contributions. Added this year was the first-ever Shakespeare Literacy Lab, so I've been reading scripts and sonnets (it was a fantastic addition). As I look over the writing however, I have to give a shout out to Izzy, my student, who spent the last few months of last semester giving a provisional reading of the work. I'm with her in declaring, "YOUTHS!" - they have much to say, to create, to dream and to imagine. Our 3rd-12th grade writers really nailed the pieces from the stellar instruction of our teachers. I'm with them...if only we could create a school that allows us to do this year-round.
I should note, however, that editing is very different than composing, and there's something agonizing about the process. I am stressed hoping that I stay true to the student writers, but also consistent with a clarity that is most useful to an audience of our readers. This is the 5th year for our POW! Anthology, and to date we can claim that we've published almost a 1,000 student writers. This is something, but it is the magic of the incredible teachers who work with CWP-Fairfield. I simply get to manage their excellence.
Today, I will be heading to my campus office for a day of final editing and then sending these puppies off to the publishing company. The cover is designed. The Crandall insight has been scribed, but now it is time for one more read-through of the magic created by young people of Connecticut.
(I should note, too, than I'm thankful to the Star Wars marathon on one of the cable news channels that provided background noise as I, too, wanted the force to be with me).
Optimistic and hopeful. Roads to (well, you know) are paved with good intentions.
I write to share not only a little phone history, but to discuss what has always been important to me: customer loyalty. I was told by many that my problem is that I remain loyal and I should 'shop around' and 'play the field' given the way modern companies do business. I've been with Sprint for almost 14 years (ever since I began tapping into the cellular world). I've been happy, but the current model needs to be reconsidered.
Throwback: once upon a time I grew up with a landline with a chord that needed to be shared with my mom, two sisters and my father. We took turns and my parents always reminded me of the expense and usage. This began to make more sense in college when roommates and I needed to share phones and we highlighted our bills to see who called where and who was responsible for which call. I got accustomed to monthly charges and I was good with that.
Sometime in the early 2000s I realized it was silly to have a landline because a cell line worked just as efficiently and effectively. The price per month was the same as a landline and it made sense to switch.
Add a few years, update technology, and a son on a shared plan and I had to adjust my budget. I get that. But, coming home from the holidays I saw a significant rise in per-month cost for my phones so I called Sprint to find out why. Reasonable. It took me a few automated messages before I got a real person, but I learned that my contract with them expired so the prices went up. I wasn't paying attention so I wanted to make updates.
This is where the problem grew bigger. I was advised to go to a Sprint store, which I planned to do next week, but I happened to pass one today to stop in. Three employees were working, and all of them were fresh out of high school, laying back in chairs, talking about the booze they prefer to drink and crazy neighbors. They seemed disturbed to have a customer, but one rose to the occasion to help me. They looked at my services and said, "There's no deals for you. There's nothing we can do. You need to call Sprint to make changes."
Um, okay. I go to my office and that is what I did.
I get a woman named Naan or Mang or Dano or something that wasn't familiar and she explains she was in the Philippines. I explain I want to keep my monthly payment around the same as it was and that my contract expired. She tries to sell me new phones and says she will ship them to me, but I explain I want to talk face to face with a Sprint store in the U.S. She then asks, "What kind of car do you drive?" I tell her it's a Subaru, and she begins to tell me, "They are expensive cars. You must be rich." I was like, "Excuse me," and she says if you can drive to stores you must be rich."
Um, a Subaru? Okay, in American context, I get by but in international business the phone representative was correct. I live a life that is definitely privileged to the world order. I simply say I want to go into a store in the U.S. and want to make a new deal to remain a loyal customer. She understands, but she says I have to buy new phones online and I ask her, "No, I want to talk to someone who can help me." She transfers me to a knew customer service named Clark who speaks impeccably but also says he is in the Philippines. Clark tells me I'm entitled to a customer loyalty discount, but I would have to find a corporate Sprint store in the U.S. to get it.
Granted, this is a couple hours of life. I find a corporate store and meet a wonderful young man and salesman who knows what he is talking about. A few more hours later, the only way to get my monthly cost to a reasonable rate is to close my son's line (retire it) and then add a new line on a newer phone - he has to change his number, however. That's the deal they were offering. I call Chitunga who is an accounting/finance student and he says, "I will retire my phone. This is about economics."
So, I get a new upgrade (nice) and he gets a new upgrade with a new number (nice) and now we are mailing his new phone to him at college so he can continue having the benefits of cellphone coverage. He is okay missing a few days of connectivity (which is good of him).
I lucked out with a face-to-face knowledgeable employee who was patient, understanding and hard-working (read: the old fashioned American employee who valued customer service, kindness, and loyalty to not only me, but the company he works for). I'm perplexed, however, because I don't know how much such service will last in the U.S., as corporate providers such as Sprint send their customer service online and overseas. It doesn't make sense, especially to customers like me who WANT to remain loyal and to feel like a valued asset to how business is done.
Instead, I feel like there's a giant scam to purposefully make customers frustrated, aggravated, and unable to talk to executive people who make these decisions. I had to curb my anger simply to get in touch with someone online that could understand me and articulate to me what they were saying. This is why I think face-to-face customer service in the United States should be a much bigger priority for corporate executives who make business decisions to send the work overseas. I'm all for employing and supporting people all around the world, but I am seeing right through the scheme. Through the exploitation of underpaid phone operators and in-store employees who have to take the frustration of customers like me, those in charge make salaries beyond comprehension, sort of laughing their way into comfort zones, exploitation, and global economics that lessen the service that used to be enjoyable and respectable.
I'm signed on for a couple more years with the company I've been loyal to since I've used cellular phone services, but I'm beginning to think they've started to "jump the shark." They've gone too far, and I'm ready and waiting for the next movement that puts customers back at the forefront of the business they do.
I'm just one person who knows that the use of a cellphone is a total privilege, however trying to stay loyal to a company given their current business practices makes me skeptical, angry and sad. It shouldn't be this way (they know that - the ones that have created this scheme) (but it's probably applauded in circles where it is celebrated to get the most money for the least cost of employing actual human beings).
For the man who was of great help today, I applaud. I don't know how long he'll last in this line of work, as it became obvious to me that the cellular world has gone the way of airlines and he was alone in a store trying to help twenty customers. Perhaps it's the price we pay to have luxuries in the U.S.A. - yet, it's pretty gross. It's exploitation, actually, and wrong.
Truth is, it took almost 45-minutes to get a photo from I-Photo to my desktop to write today's blog. This is the truth of technology when it doesn't work for you, but when you're convinced you can maintain the routine of your life (hoping that the machines you work can try to keep up with the brain that you have that multitasks on digital platforms). When you have a MacBook Pro with a processor dying a slow death, you grow a new realm of patience that you never knew you had, all in the hope that your traditions can continue.
This holiday season, my younger sister bought my mom, my older sister and me a monarch butterfly non-burning candle that slowly disappears leaving a slight sent in its wake. It seems like a perfect metaphor for a Chrysalis blog. I wish I could say I was still in the metamorphosis, but right now I'm simply hopeful that a flight will take place AT ALL in 2019. I can't get technology to cooperate.
But my house smells good. Actually, it smells like my grandmother Vera's downstairs (well, even upstair's) bathroom. It has a soapy-Rose-of-Olay smell that reminds me of a time that once was and of another grandmother who claimed the butterfly as her daemon. It makes me happy.
When I was thinking about this post (this photo) I began thinking about the times in my life when I've needed to hug myself in a cocoon and hope for the best. The first, I believe, is when I messed up as a 9th grader in high school. It was a defining point in my life to change and I like to think that I turned for the better (towards school and academics). Another transition was when I finished my environmental degree and was offered a job for the City of Louisville to work at a nature preserve full-time. A week later, I got offered two teaching jobs and I had to embrace myself in silk to figure out what would be best. I chose to teach.
Ten years later, when I didn't think I wanted to do a Ph.D. but the opportunity came my way, I simply wrapped myself in a golden blanket and let The Great Whatever help me to decide what comes next. This, of course, meant Syracuse University and although it was hard, I was glad I made the decision that I did.
Currently, I'm not on a precipice for change, but I do realize that I need to redirect my focus for the next few years so I can be sane. I'm smelling memories throughout my house, but also feeling the aches and pains of being mid-life. So, I'm throwing the net into the air for signs of what might be next for this Crandall world. I'm 100% happy, but I like to have larger goals to aim for and to help me to find definition in my life.
That is the metamorphosis and what I hope this year will help me to see more clearly.
The staff Vision Award went to the wonderful Sharon Daly from the Office of Student Diversity and Multicultural Affairs, who remains a central do-er, activist, and champion for our entire student body. Her acceptance speech brought us all to tears.
