Inhaling Possibilities. Exhaling Deadlines. Okay, Thursday, Be Kind To Me. I See You.

I'm ignoring with 100% of my being the 40 projects from two classes needing to be assessed over the weekend. Instead, I'm targeting the writing projects that have a deadline by Friday and I'm setting out this morning with a clear mind and optimism. I can do what I can, the way I can do it.

Yesterday, I received a decisions from a journal in which I'm a reviewer, that gives me hope. The feedback from me and several others  was considered by editors and offered back to writers as constructive feedback. That gave me hope in the process.

As for my personal writing, however, I know I have two major deadlines that I am a little more secure about what my intentions will be. At 7 p.m. tonight I have to be on a panel for an incredible writer who I love and that presentation is a top priority: so are my personal wiring projects and the fact that I have promised my thinking to both of them.

Phew. Breathing.

I am optimistic and hopeful for the scholarship in action work I have on the radar, outlining the ways that I've taken my research and moved it to tangible, "I can see it" fruition in the local communities I serve. Still, I see the deadlines for dates a year from now, and I am trying to get my head around them, too.

So, let me talk about undergraduate students. Yesterday, 26 educational autobiographies arrived (that need to be graded) and I can't wait to read and guide them. They will have to wait until the weekend. Now, at the immediate, I need to think about the personal projects that I need to get out not only to close particular projects, but to open up a whole new level of new ones.

This is the life (and the decision-making) of the work of an academic. I look forward to Saturday and Sunday when the deadlines are over and I can concentrate on my students - the right now.

Welcome Thursday. Welcome the ending of a week. I look forward to Friday when I have to say, "Well, I met the deadline. Time to move on to what is coming next."

The garbage is out. The actual trash, that is. That is an accomplishment (when I remember). 

Evidence That The Temperature Plummeted. I Ran Looking Like I Was Audrey II In Little Shop of Horrors

When it's Tuesday, and you don't teach, you sit at home and write until your brain goes numb and then you enter the outdoor world to go five miles and you dress like an alligator swallowing Bryan Ripley Crandall. Truth is, I was layered like it was a Syracuse run, but it was my in-between space before walking the dog and then heading out to the University and school until 9 p.m..

In other words, long days require strategic planning to get the daily run in.

I am in a good place this morning ready for my 3-hour turbo and I set up the editing work still necessary during a Thursday writing marathon. My eating habits? Let's not talk about that: gummy worms, Oreo cookies, ham and cheese sandwich, and peanut butter on crackers does not nutrition make.

Ah, but we met with potential 5-year students and we had the 2nd meeting for the 2nd Saugatuck StoryFest gathering for next fall. All in all, it was a day of doing as much as I can in the spaces I have them. Me and my laptop. My laptop and me.

But it was cold. I had a great run, but I had to have running tights underneath sweatpants and a runner's hoodie (thanks, Cynderballz) under several layered shirts and a hoodie. I would get to the gym, but that would have added time in the car to and from, which I cut out simply to hit the streets.

Let's not say anything of email or assignments coming in today. I am accepting them, but they put me in total panic mode.

Ah, but I ran. That's my sanity, my salvation, my panacea and my therapy. I was able to break in my mother's new sneakers, too - well, not hers, but the latest pair that are are on ME (my sneaker collection is a little ridiculous - time to bag them up and donate them) are because of her birthday gift.

I'm loving my facial look yesterday, though. Sort of a frog ulcer meets a Gummy hemorrhoid or a bleeding avocado arrives at cherry-pickle juice. It doesn't matter. I was warm, and that counts most.

Off to a turbo and an agenda I'm not sure I will be able to keep (the only redemption is the PD that was scheduled was postponed to a later date - PHEW!)

Hump Day? Chump Day!

When You Get the Blue Jean and Cool Sneakers Memo, the First Day of the Week is THAT Much Better

Dr. Hulse, Counselor Education, and soon-to-be retiree (sad about this), came by my office today in a pair of silver, sparkled converse, blue jeans, and a really cool prism-patterned sweater. Upon seeing her, I said, "Diana! I need a photo! I got new sneakers and socks and I want to capture this for history."

History made.

Typically I dress in a tie on teaching days (with a sport coat), but on weekends like I just had, where I am working from sunrise to sundown on University projects, I have a hard time dressing up to teach. That was my Monday - yesterday. I was too tired to dress professionally and wanted to roll into my class in casual wear. Besides, the winds were blowing, the temperatures plummeting, and I was sort of in hibernation/survival mode to begin my week.

The day went by great and my graduate students really WOWed me with their participation in the activities/conversation/insight/and action that came from the lessons. I was somewhat overwhelmed by the class and left feeling really good about what is possible with their own research.

Still, it was the sneaker-game that stole the day. This time next year, Dr. Diana Hulse will be several months retired (deserved, magical and inspirational). I will definitely miss her spunk, funk, work-ethic and whimsical silliness in our hallway. I can always be sure that a glimpse of my colleague will put a smile on my face. She's mentored me from afar and in the last year really been a supporter of my work in tremendous ways.

It's hard for a dude to have much style, but the sneaker game, socks, and ties are one way to bring out-of-the-box vibes to the profession.

I'm exhausted this morning, but very thankful I captured this moment in time.

Teach Action Research, You Decided, Because It Will Be Something New and You Will Grow From It

I found this image of a group of researchers on a boat about to be overcome with a wave of data. That's about right, except sometimes we're on a kayak of one, with only one researcher, or in my case this semester, I'm leading a team of 16 graduate students as they think about action research methodologies in their own professional training.

Whether solo or with a full-blown crew, research is always a lot more difficult than anyone realizes. Why? Because it is another lens for naming truth - but one that must connect to reviewed literature, name the question being pursued, explore contexts and subjectivities around the research interest, and create a data plan for accessing information to help one to answer the original question. This, of course, arrives after scrutiny of the literature reviewed and the data collected to name findings that can lead a discussion for all researchers to follow.

Perhaps that is a pathetic summation of the research process, but it is what I am thinking about this morning as I tap my K-12 best practices for teaching with the hands-on necessities of conducting an Action Research course. The legwork is up front, before class, so that in-class instruction can occur to give graduate students hands-on experiences to help them with their own inquiry projects.

Funny, this is a variation of the research and culminating projects seniors used to do at the Brown School. Alas, in graduate school the methodologies and literature reviewed need to be scrutinized a lot more (but I'm proud that I led the high school charges for as long as I did).

But yesterday, I was up at 6 a.m. writing on my own research and before I knew it 4 p.m. hit. I was still in pajamas (okay underwear) where I first plopped down with a cup of coffee. Frustrated, I went for a run, then walked the dog, only to begin planning tonight's theme of data collection: observations and interviews. Knowing what I know about teaching, I needed to create interactive lessons, rather than squawk about my own projects for two hours - I wish, sometimes, I had that ability within me. Instead, I carry my student-centered mission from the J. Graham Brown School in Kentucky.

Tonight, I'm tapping a few activities learned from Dr. Elizabeth Payne when she taught Qualitative Research I at Syracuse University. No, our graduate students aren't working on Ph.Ds and won't take part in a string of 3 research courses, but they will have opportunity to create a mini-research project of their own. The major goal for the course is for teachers to have a better understanding of how research is conducted and journal articles/books get written.

I can only reflect on my own work, and for the rest of the semester hope to bring in guest speakers to reflect on theirs with my students.

This morning, however, I woke up feeling the wave is about to drench me.  It's all good, though. It's part of riding the research seas.

It's Because I Cleaned, Isn't It, Glamis? That's Why You Decided to Play Under the Shed with Critters

Had a great run. Also, had a great walk. I was in bed by 9 p.m. on Friday night so I slept solid until 6 a.m. and then was very productive in the morning, so much so that I cleaned the first floor of the house, vacuumed and mopped. Glamis hid in the upstair's bathroom in case any of my cleaning apparatuses would attack her (she came to Mt. Pleasant with these fears, so hides whenever a dust cloth makes itself known).

I moved on with my day, and when I came home from getting groceries, Glamis the Wonder Dog was in her bay window waving her paw at all the traffic driving by. When I came in with the week's groceries, she jumped down leaving a sandpit in her wake.

Dirty Dog.

In the morning, she went extra hard at trying to get after whatever it is that is living under the shed this winter. I didn't see that she basically soaked up all the mud in the process and as she dried in the bay window, she left it for me so I'd question, "Why did I even bother?"

This is the worst time of year to be a pet owner. In the summer, I can simply bathe her and send her out to the backyard to dry off. In the winter, it's a little trickier. Here I was proud of myself for vacuuming up carpets of her dog hairs and putting all of her toys in her toy basket. What did she do to repay me? She sprinkled dirt particles in the very place I just cleaned out all the hair.

It will be this way for the next few months as the yard becomes a mud-field and she decides it is truly pleasurable to roll in it.

Okay, Sunday. Time to think productively for the jam-packed week ahead. I felt good about my semi-spring cleaning and was quickly defeated by the canine-unit. You can't win, but you have to try. It's all we know how to do.

Sharing Love For The Parental Units for Their Yearly Birthday Check - I Always Know How I'll Spend It

1. I'm cheap.

2. I need to run even more than I'm currently running because it's been a heavy winter.

3. Last week, I turned 47 years old. I'm usually not one to think about age, but this one seemed to creep up on me, as I'm gaining access to 50 sooner than I ever thought was possible.

4. I am thankful that my mommy and daddy always send me a check for my birthday, and I knew I needed new sneakers. I've never worn Brook before, but I found a pair on a clearance rack, as well as a pair of Sauconys (which I love) and with my parental love and a coupon, I got both pair for a really good price.

5. Now, all I want to do is run.

Here's the irony. I hurt. It hurts to run in ways that it didn't used to, but when I was thinking about my mid-life crisis, it's not about young blondes or sports cars, it's simply to have sneakers so I can take my Ripley-Crandall arse out to the streets (which has been a sense of joy for me since I was in high school). I simply want to sweat out of the stress of each day in an Aunt Bobbie and Uncle Dick kind of way.

I nabbed the sneakers on my way to work yesterday when I made a stop at a local DSW (which I've been meaning to do for months now). With mom and day's birthday gift, however, I said, "Okay, I have a reason to make the purchase."

I should note, however, that I'm feeling guilty. I have a hard time getting rid of old sneakers as they each have their own tales to tell. I suppose every runner has this fanaticism, where it's difficult to give up one pair when another pair enters the home. It is embarrassing, too, to see the number of sneakers currently in my house (and to reflect on the numbers I've gone through throughout my life).

Oh, but this must be a runner's thing - and I know I'm not fast, or competitive or as focused as I should be, but the shoes on my feet give me the motivation that kicks off my every day.

So,

6. This is all to say, "Thank you, Mom and Dad." I can't wait to make my knees, shins, ankles and hips ache for you, as I perspire ridiculous amounts of sweat while taking a break from my stressful life." That's what running does for me and it is my 45-minutes of joy everyday.

Loving the Privilege to Share @FairfieldPubLib OBOT of @JackieWoodson Books in Fairfield County, Connecticut.

The day we began is the The Day You Begin by Jacqueline Woodson and Rafael Lòpez.

I was thrilled to learn that 50 copies of this book, as well as 150 copies of Harbor Me, were delivered to my Canisius office at Fairfield University for One Book, One Town, so I can deliver them to Bridgeport teachers for use with their incredible students, movers and shakers, thinkers and doers, believers and lovers of stories and words.

Stories.

That's what this work represents - the ability to promote voice and perspective within the heterogeneity of Connecticut Schools. As I unpacked the boxes, I felt like I had magic in my hands...a power to provide fellow educators with brilliance, literacy, and possibility. Jacqueline Woodson's words, coupled with Rafael Lòpez's illustrations are the perfect message to deliver within the youth-advocacy work of the Connecticut Writing Project.

I already shared The Day You Begin with a 100 middle school students and you could hear a pin drop as they thought about the stories they wanted to tell, to share, and to advocate for their lived experiences. We read as writers and we began to write. I look forward to doing more of these workshops.

Today, however, I will be delivering these books, as well as 150 copies of Harbor Me to K-8 teachers. It is a mission to promote storytelling, multiculturalism, pride, and belonging.

"Dr. Crandall, I love this book because it helps me to tell my story."

It is true, and that is why I'm proud to do a Woodson release. My goal is to use the content of The Day You Begin and Harbor Me as a reading experience that will resonate the teachers and kids I love to work with.

We are so fortunate that Jacqueline Woodson was selected for One Book, One Town. March 18th will be a beautiful event for our community. I am so honored to spread these words throughout out region.

They Say, "Never Teach the Books You Love." I Counter This, "Teach Books, and You Will Love Them."

With knowledge that Jacqueline Woodson would come to the Quick Center at Fairfield University on March 18th, I quickly put her book Harbor Me into all my professional development work, workshops, undergraduate courses, and graduate classes. I read the book last semester and reread them this semester in preparation with 100s of students and just as many teachers.

I once heard that if you really want to know the power of a book, you should teach it.

I kept this in mind as I revisited Harbor Me and initiated the first conversations surrounding the text. Rereading Woodson's book this past weekend captivated me. I fully understood the six young people in their ARTT room and fully grew with them as they questioned their world of ICE deportation, imprisonment, ADHD, ELL loss of dogs, and need to record stories in a voice recording machine. This is all to say, "These young people had stories to tell."

It's impossible to capture the power of Jacqueline Woodson's Harbor Me in a blog post such as this, but I can state without reservation that this book is needed, is powerful, and is superbly crafted. I think the power, however, comes from the questions needing to be answered in a democratic community of individuals who have read it. What does it mean to be American? How do our schools divide and create expectations through tracking and labeling? Whose story gets told? What is the true mission of this nation? What do 5th and 6th graders have to say about it? What about that Superpower of forgiveness?

Woodson really did write a perfect book for middle school teachers to read. In my workshop today I brought in Pimple Pete (as a metaphor for early adolescence)(a little nonsense now and then, relished by the wisest men). My students resonated with the story and the narrative exploration that Ms. Laverne's students did within the ARTT room - A Room To Talk. The 6 kids, all with stories of their own, brought a middle school life to readers - demonstrating that they, too have stories to tell and voices to be heard.

The Day You Begin, Woodson has written in other locations, is when you begin to tell your story and realize it is equally important to the fabric of this nation.

Woodson, with this book, creates a bridge during a time of walls. History shows that walls don't work. The American story is the story of all of us, including those shared by the young people we work with. We need more ARTT rooms for all.

Screw! Research! Screw Teach! Screw Service! This Is My Life After a 12 Hour Day!

My intention was to write about the numerous sock toys I've made out of  old socks that are in my dog's, Glamis the Wonder Dog's, toy box. I couldn't find a photo of socks like the ones my dog has, because the random search on the Internet is a display of white socks, when Glamis's sock collection are mostly black socks. Still, her collection is eerily similar to this display.

She loves them. She hordes them. They haunt me.

And it is my life. I spend 4 hours in k-12 schools, I come to campus for meetings and faculty searches, then I teach until 7, staying after until 7:30 with worries and questions of my graduate students. I get home at 8, I prepare a quick dinner (thank goodness for a 3-day weekend so I can prepare food for the week) and I settle down in my 'academic' chair to begin plans for tomorrow.

But I am greeted. It's the dog. She brings me one, then two, then three of her sock-toys.

Now, I should note that I set my alarm to get up extra early today so I could both run and WALK the dog. I knew I had a late night, so I wanted to be sure she was exercised before I went into the office (and let me just tell you, the University selection of Work Day will be the end of me - it is the the new  accounting system they've adopted so they could hire less staff and rely more heavily on digital accounting - early into the process I can say, "It isn't working!". Ah, but who am I in the mechanism of higher education when administrative deals are made at a level that I can't even imagine).

She walked.

When I came home, she could care less that I met with over 50 students today and 26 in-practice teachers. She doesn't care that I had a research course to teach, or that I had 300 copies of POW to get mailed by Thursday. It didn't matter to her that at 8 p.m. I was hungry.

She wanted me to throw her socks. Not just one set, but all the sets. It was pure joy for her.

Insert a phone conversation, too, with a colleague who recently lost a child in her life that didn't even have a chance to experience the world. It was a tragic story and one I'll process for a while.

But Glamis wants her socks. She wants them to be thrown. She has know ability to process the human world of teaching, bureaucracies, schedules and limitations in being one person. She wants me to throw the socks.

So, I throw the socks. Not just once, but for over an hour, trying to assess student papers in-between.

If ever alien beings are to come to this planet and study the ways educators function in their lives, I want the to take in consideration the relationship with dogs. Glamis centers me, loves me unconditionally, and drives me nuts. She gives me meaning, and although I know I'll be lucky to get 11 years out of her, she makes my 35+ years I'm expected to teach that much tolerable. I love that she doesn't give a @#$@ about what I do everyday. She simply wants her socks tossed, her walks given, and water/food in her bowls.

This perpetuates live and for that I am thankful.

Wait! How Is It Tuesday Morning Already? And Why Did I Stay Up So Late Getting Work Done?

I have one reason to be thankful for the dentist - she provide me an interruption within a work-obsessed kind of day.

Yesterday, I was full-steam ahead planning for the week when the Dentist called saying they had a cancellation and room to have my new crown installed (it's a well- known fact that my mouth is worth much more than I am). I was up at 7 a.m. working, so the 11:45 time seemed like a nice break in the day.

It actually was, despite the novocaine and intrusive probing on one of my two remaining wisdom teeth (he's an idiot they kept saying...an idiot).

I returned to walk the dog, and then jump back into planning and weeklong goals. Actually, I'm not sure what got into me (stress, anxiety, deadlines, pressure, fear), but I made the house extremely quiet and finished a very sloppy, perhaps awful, but hopefully not too bad first draft to an article I was asked to write. For weeks I've had the framework in my head, but I wasn't quite sure I'd be able to pinch my ideas into the genre that was asked of me. Well, I did.

I actually got into the flow (thank you Csikszentmihalyi for that secret of happiness and for always needing to consult the internet for a spelling of your name).

I simply lost time, and when I finally decided to retire last night I was like $@#$@! YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE IN BED BY 9!

Drat, and I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for those pesky kids.

Actually, it is how I work. I know what needs to get done and I often procrastinate by working on other projects that need to be done, so the fact that I am a little ahead on this one project was a way to procrastinate on another. I just hope that when I get back to it on Thursday (full-throttle teaching and meetings ahead until then) I wrote something that makes a semblance of sense.

Okay, Tuesday. Monday allowed me to be Presidential with my time yesterday (well, not a golf course, but accomplishing what needs to be done). For that, I'm thankful.

And I'm off.

My Bro-in-Law Visits My Parental Units Every Sunday & Yesterday He Was Full of Questions

Yesterday, while sipping my coffee, the brother-in-law, Mike, called. "Question for you," he stated. "Are you filling out your writing prompts I gave you for Christmas."

"Actually," I replied to him, "I'm using them for my blog on mornings when I'm not sure what I really want to write about. They're great prompts."

"Good."

A couple hours later, when my father called, Mike was over there asking both my mom and dad some of the questions from the same book (he got it for my mom, too).

"Have you ever been cheated on?" I heard him ask during the phone call and both replied, "Nope."

Good thing I was on the phone because I said, "That's not true. Butch cheated on mom with Karl for almost 20 years."

It got the laughs intended (as Karl was my dad's best friend and drinking buddy - they did everything together and he easily was family).

So, this morning, I randomly selected a page and got, "What do you think your purpose in life is?"

Well, there you have it. The biggest question one can ask randomly selected on February 18th. I'm not sure I can answer that, but I can say that for a very long time I've felt there's a hook in my ribcage pulling me toward what that purpose is supposed to be. Every step of my way, from childhood, to college, to teaching, to the work I do now with CWP-Fairfield seems to have a higher purpose to it. Because I'm not religious, I simply name this The Great Whatever, and as I stop and reflect on the story of my life, I realize that every maker seems to have been a catalyst for the next step.

Funny, too, because at the taco lunch Saturday, Leo asked, "So what's your next big thing? What are you working on now?"

I didn't have a ready answer, because this is the year of the Chrysalis and I'm trying to figure out what comes next. I did reply, however, that I'm heading to Atlanta in a month and I'd really love to meet Luma Mufleh, the founder of Fugees Academy. I wrote their foundation and received a reply that they don't have visitors at the school. I then said, "Well, it would be a dream of mine to design a school of my own, where I could offer educational hope to the world - a location for all youth, all backgrounds, all abilities with high standards for all --- can you say Brown School?"

It just needs to exist in the northeastern United States. If I was to repurpose this further, I'd want it to be a national model for all communities and all schools.

I recognize, however, that 'money makes the world go around,' so I have to figure out that part. I would not want it to be a private school. Rather, I'd want it to be a public school that upholds the American belief system of democracy; I wouldn't want it to be a pay-to-play kind of education. Still, I'd want it to be able to resist much of the public school administration (e.g. testing fanaticism) that is currently killing the way teachers teach and students learn.

My purpose, I suppose, has always been to challenge the way we do schooling and to find/model/ demonstrate ways where young people excel despite the deficit constructions expected and placed upon them. I'd like to resist mandated curriculum to free up educators to explore what works and helps young people to exceed and find their own purpose in life.

That's a heavy prompt from the 400. Without purpose, there's no point.

Last night, while reading a middle school YA novel, the author prompted a character to think about her superhero power. I started to think of mine, and the one I came up with was Empathy. I really wish I could have a storm cloud come out of my fingers that dazzled those who hold hatred, envy, spite, jealousy, bitterness, anger, fear and despair so closely to their hearts. I wish that once touched by my superpower they'd find a way to be compassionate, loving, understanding, forgiving and full of hope. I suppose if I had that superpower, we wouldn't be where we are right now in the 21st century. Perhaps "Love," which seems to be the solution of every story, is darkened by the Voldemort shadow of Sauron in today's climate. I'd like to chase it away.

And that is a purpose I feel I can commit to - to do whatever I can to counter the ugly.

Lucky. Happy. Fulfilled. Loved. And Thankful. Birthday, Happy, 2019 a Success.

I'm weird when it comes to birthdays. Part of it is because I have a February birthday that always fell during the winter break (so no cupcakes in school) and two days after Valentine's Day (so everyone was hyped for that). Over the years, I simply got used to low key celebrations, and with several years away in Kentucky from Syracuse family and friends, I simply let it roll as it did. Celebrations came from afar and via the mail.

Pam, Leo, Bev, and Kaitlin would now allow that this year. After I finished my birthday run I reported I needed coffee so would drive to OSJL. Afterwards, Kaitlyn left, and then we decided that we were hungry so we ate. Bev and Leo, however, purchased me Pimple Pete, an acne/pus game that squirts at you if you make the wrong mood. Long story short, we played that much of the afternoon - finding pleasure and discuss with pulling pimples out of poor Pete's face, only to get squirted from time to time by our moves (aka BEST GAME EVER). Pam gave me a basket of materials to start a fire - which is incredible, because for the last several months she's been stashing her lint, paper, and extras into paper towel, Christmas wrapping paper, and toilet paper tubes all while thinking of me. Why? Well, I love my fire pit (Father's Day gift from Tunga a few year's ago) and I need my starters!

When I came home from the afternoon gathering, I delved into the boxes and bags sent to me from afar (and, well, locally, from Kaitlyn). I have a Niffler Bank, Crandall University gear, more barbecue sauce and seasonings, equipment for my grill, and a new piece of Garden Art with God grant me the ability to accept the things I can, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. They were wonderful gifts that will make Mt. Pleasant a warmer, more special place.

I am very appreciative of the emails, phone calls, Facebook posts and face-to-face demands to make me celebrate my birthday.  It was a wonderful day and I'm a lucky, fulfilled and loved mad. I am also very thankful.

Officially 47 Years Old Today. Phew! Doesn't Seem Possible. And Here's How I Plan to Celebrate!

Yesterday, when I got home from a day of productivity, there were several boxes on my front porch (I'm guessing with gifts for my birthday). To be honest, I have nothing planned...with last week's Alabama trip (wonderful in so many ways) and the pile-up of work as a result (it never ends), I simply want a day to be in my house to play catch-up. I would be perfectly fine with a quiet, no-nonsense, no-interruption day. Likely, unlikely, but I can wish, can't I?

It's funny, because I knew the birthday was coming, so I went into work extra early yesterday to sort of get ahead in case something spontaneous sparks itself today. I needed to be sure I felt somewhat accomplished in case anyone wanted to do anything and would try to convince me to take a break. When I got home, I walked Glamis (it was a gorgeous afternoon) and then decided to procrastinate a writing project by tackling some grading. I graded from 5:30 p.m. - 10 p.m. before I realized my brain was no longer functioning.

You know you're an academic when, on a Friday night, you decide to unwind by assessing student papers you've put off since last weekend.

Joy.

On another note, my graduate assistant, her daughter, Akbaru, Dr. Laura Nash (who got sucked in) and I unloaded 300 orders of POW! Power of Words (5th ed.) and began to package them for mailing to our 2018 summer writers. Every year I hope to get the publication edited in September, but the other responsibilities of my work keep me away from the greatest joy of my job. I chisel at it and, wola!, it will go out next week when the University mailroom opens back up.

That's a great birthday present! I'm happy to know that the 200+ writers will see their hard work in book form. I'm extremely proud, too, of the team of teachers and youth leaders that I hire to carry out the work. This is the love and work of many - a spectacular celebration to acknowledge on this day.

My grays and under-the-eyes-bags are well-earned.

In the meantime, I'm looking forward to opening my birthday packages and simply soaking up what has become the ubiquitous joy of Facebook birthdays.

And Glamis, of course, will drive me nuts...wanting biscuits, walks, and for me to throw her socks.

Thanks, Butch, for the sperm, and Sue, for the egg! As a result, you created me! I am a fusion of Ripley and Crandall genes and I'm truly grateful for it with 100% of my being.

This Goes Out To the Brown School. It's Also a @FairfieldU Story. So Proud of My Colleagues, Dr. Shannon Kelley and Jill Bodach

A few weeks ago, Fairfield University's Shakespearean scholar, Dr. Shannon Kelley, reached out to me to see if I would be willing to do a script-writing workshop with middle school students from Geraldine Claytor School in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Um, duh. Of course I would.

This past summer, I was honored to work with Dr. Kelley with her vision for a potential Folgers collaboration for teaching Shakespeare - that didn't occur, but we did hold a Young Adult Literacy Lab: To Write or Not To Write. It WAS AMAZING. Dr. Kelley saw my script writing workshop and with a vision for service-learning with her undergraduates, she saw another opportunity to do the work in collaboration of one another.

It's amazing how far this workshop has come since 2004, debuting first at a Louisville Writing Project annual conference. 15 years later - well - the work continues.

Added to this was the English-teaching of Jill Bodach, a Fairfield University M.F.A. grad who is teaching a creative writing course at the University and working with students from the same school. She brought her fairy dust and with undergraduates (a couple of graduate students), a Bridgeport School, and a vision for after school programs, we collaborated on a special workshop.

(insert crickets here). Why? Because it was straight-up quiet as the kids got their pens to paper and wrote and wrote and wrote. 100% writing. Then came the sharing!

What I'm most excited about, however, is the memory of this work, as 10-minute play festivals became routine in Louisville, then Syracuse and now in Bridgeport. Kids write the scripts they want to perform and are able to bring their work to the audiences of their choosing.

It's funny, too, because in Alabama last week, I had a heart-to-heart with an intellectual hero of mine and he and I happened to get on the subject of script-writing and improvisation. I told him the story of the work that began at the Brown School and where I am now - it is my favorite workshop, my love, and at the core of my passions. It's also absolutely hilarious. He said, "Maybe we should collaborate on this in Nashville, too."

Yesterday, it was incredible to work with two exceptional colleagues as they carry out their own vision for teaching Shakespeare and being creative with undergraduates/graduates in their courses and the exceptional students of Bridgeport Public Schools.

It was Valentine's Day yesterday and I loved, LoVeD, LOVED the work. Here's to all the possibilities out there!

B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O, and BINGO Was His Name, Yo! Scratching That Off My Bucket List

How does Crandall spend a Wednesday night after teaching a turbo and heading into Bridgeport to do professional development for teachers? Well, he takes the invite to play Bingo in Milford as a way to let his mind go towards a different place for an evening.

Oh, My God. Bingo players are no joke. $12 for the evening's cards, and of course I was one of the 3 cheap-o's that didn't spend the $32 bucks for the deluxe package. Still, I tried to keep up with the numbers with my Syracuse orange stamper and the cards before me. I'm very thankful to the lady behind me who kept coaching me on the ever-changing rules as the evening went on. I got my $4 dinner - a burger, soda and potato chips (up, not sure what I ate) and I proceeded to enter the Bingo hall where people didn't blink, lined up their lucky charms and had bells and honkers when 22 and 66 were called. It confused me. I thought it was a way of saying Bingo that I didn't know about.

There is no talking or laughing during Bingo. I learned this as people ssshhhh'd me, especially when I'd get the giggles trying to keep up. There's also not a loud cheer for BINGO when one gets it; instead, it comes out like a sigh of relief.

Note: I never got to try my version of yelling BINGO. It'd be like being called by Bob Barker for being the next contestant on the Price is Right.

This is serious sport. I think people sit at home practicing how to ink up their cards in quick order to assure they get their 'kites, picnic tables, t's, and four corners'. Payouts were typically $50, but the last two games paid out $200 and I was like, "Papa needs a new pair of shoes."

I didn't get even a shoelace. Instead, as I was leaving and the big rollers stayed for the extra rounds, I got, "Sit down. We can't see the numbers."

I'm not sure I'll ever get to Bingo again, but I can say I'm intrigued, especially for investing $12 and possibly coming home with $200. One has to be quick, but the athleticism is mindless. Your eyes simply get wonky trying to look up at what was called and using the fancy market to stamp it.

I'm now $12 poorer, but I'm 100% richer being part of a slice of Americana that I've always wanted to know more about.

Ah, but it's time to head to the University. Loved spending a Wednesday evening trying something new.

Loved the love in the Bingo Hall. Happy Valentine's Day, 2019.

I Obviously Live in the Northeast - Two Angles of a Tuesday That Just Was

The good news is Connecticut shut down for the day, including the University. The 21st century news is that didn't deter meetings because our department had to get items accomplished and two important were meetings were scheduled on campus. ZOOM to the rescue, but much of the day was consumed behind screen getting a lot of work done.

Before it began, however, I graded and got outside for a run - it was right as the snow started to fall and it was beautiful - reminded me of my Cherry Heights sprints when one has to be wary of traction on the ground at the same time he catches snowflakes on the tongue. I loved every second of it.

Post meetings, I shoveled before moving onto a grading marathon and planning for today's classes and a PD session in Bridgeport this afternoon.

After grading and planning, I went out to shovel once again - this time with a much heavier, much thicker slush. It was gross. I was thinking about the kids walking to Wooster Middle School in the morning and I wanted to be sure the sidewalk was clear for them. What a mess to track through.

And yes, I pulled out my Kaitlyn Kelly knitted bearded cap to keep the chill and ice from attacking my head and face. Definitely got my workouts from the shoveling (which I shouldn't complain, because it's the first time this season - maybe the last...wouldn't that be great?)

I'm also thankful that I hit Big Y before the storm so I had chicken to make, potatoes to mash, and green beans to sizzle - it was one of the better meals I've had in a while, as I've been on the road (and am still waiting for my food from the Hilton's LAB in Birmingham to arrive).

Okay, world. Time to get out there and do my thing. Looking forward to a less time-constrained Thursday and Friday.

Graduate School Torture: Reshaping The Brain to Think in Condensed Ways - Putting Phenomena in Tight Spaces (Brochures & One-Pagers)

Full disclosure: I grabbed this idea from Kelly Chandler-Olcott and I love it. It is biting and vindictive, I suppose, but also a phenomenal tool...one I used in my own K-12 teaching, but offer somewhat demonically in graduate schools.

The task? To condense a lot of information in a tight space - a brochure. I actually expanded this and allowed for a one-page (Kelly Gallagher style), if it is front/back.

Kelly's approach? In a Writing for Publication course (one of the most valuable courses I took in my program), we were tasked to review a research journal and to conduct a genre analysis of what they publish - a brochure to guide other graduate students who might like to work with such a publication outlet.

Note: I used the brochure approach in other courses as independent book projects. So much information gets condensed into informative nuggets that are marvelous. The brochure requires this.

For this semester? I have in-service and pre-service teachers taking an action research course and their fear/confidence level with research is on a very wide spectrum. The task was to do what Kelly once asked of me: choose a journal, figure out what it's for, explore its parts, name the styles of what gets published, and then advertise the journal in a "snapshot" for others. It's a wonderful task.

My students? They offered the following words to describe the experience: fun, hell, challenging, frustrating, overwhelming, useful, informative, logical, academic, playful, visual, helpful, and comfortable. (I had 3 absences in class, but these words are helpful to me and my instruction).

I made the case that researchers, including teacher researchers, have to take weeks, months, years of data collection and condense it in a way that is useful for others to read - some journals more practitioner-friendly than others. Those who hated doing this because there was way too much information to condense into such a tight space learned the lesson that this is the quandary of research. How does one report phenomenon in a way that resonates with others as reliable truth?

I then shared the NCTEAR presentation from this weekend, and highlighted the teacher researcher, Allison Fallon, and her findings as a practitioner in her classroom on using #UNLOAD: Guns in the Hands of Artists to push argumentative writing with her students. She has revisited and adapted her curriculum as a result (and even continued this after presenting in Alabama).

Yes, the world is complicated, but informative writing allows us to name truths we should be able to trust. This is what research does for us - it helps us to name effective practices and close proximities to knowledge as best as we can. The brochure (or one-pager/well, two-both sides) is a great metaphor for the larger work of academic research.

No one knows everything. Some like to claim they do. The research lens lends itself to an angle of truth, whether or not is is viewed as reliable by the vast majority of the world who aren't parent of such discourses. It is, however, the best way we have to name educational practices that work.

Scholarship matters. So does communicating it so that others can make sense of it.

The brochure.

That's it. 

Abu, too. Ubuntu. Abu-bama, UBA, Abu. Ability. Abu Bility. @AbuBility 11 Years (That's Over a Decade)

#NCTEAR19 was a tremendous success and I'm so thrilled that I had 3 days to spend with the strength of Drs. Tonya Perry and Shanetia Nelson of the University of Alabama at Birmingham. UAB.

Better yet? I got a long weekend with ABU, who has grown from an advanced ESL student, to a college graduate, to a youth leader for CWP-Fairfield, and into a mentor at Syracuse Academy of Science. He also represented BIG TIME to present UNLOAD: Pens in the Hands of Writers, a Literacy and Art Collaboration as part part of the conference festivities with Allison Fallon and me. Sadly, Dr. Beth Boquet got the crud and couldn't make it.

I have to say, the most alarming part of the trip was Abu's admittance, "I am ready for bed," at 9 p.m. each night - someone is definitely on a K-12 school clock.

Throughout the conference, however, he was on point, spot on, full of inquiry, and budding with what is possible to lead the young people he works with at the school where he sees opportunities for literacy growth. Yesterday morning, I caught him taking notes on his phone from Dr. Marcelle Haddix's keynote and my soul smiled. It's work he wants to share with the kids he works with.

I am also thankful that we know each other enough to fill in (step up) when we need to. In rehearsal, I knew that I would likely get emotional during our presentation when we discussed the writing and presentation of three Lakota youth and their stories they wanted to tell. During the summer, their presentation became very emotional and it was the kids - from all over Connecticut - who came to the side and helped the reading to continue. It was remarkable and as a site Director, I cannot tell the story without losing my voice and tear ducts. Abu, however, stepped up and filled in what I needed to say when I couldn't. It was a moment the two of us have talked about since last summer (one we recognized from our own conversations about relocation, poverty, struggle, education, family and making it in American society).

I tried to get Lossine to hitch a ride in Abu's duffle bag, but he couldn't get off. Instead, I got to experience the family of NCTEAR with the family of Syracuse in a very special weekend in my life - one that made all of us contemplative, quiet, and knowing there's much more to be done.

Mimi Sue said, "Abu looks like he's gotten really skinny." I said, "Nah, he's always been skinny. He's got good Liberian genes."

Here's to this young man, where he is in life, what he stands for, and all that is set before him. I will miss him back in the Connecticut life, but I miss all the life that has frequented my life the last ten years. We're all in this together, and I am thankful.

Leaving #NCTEAR19 & Ready To Return to the Chaos of the Week Ahead. In the Meantime Exhaustion.

Ready to take my flying fish back to Connecticut, but first I have to make sure that Abu gets on his flights to Syracuse and Allison, who is heading to the same destination, gets  on a flight that leaves ten minutes before my own.

Our last night in Birmingham turned into a strange night. We went to the UAB Charlotte basketball game, and left at halftime because it was like watching middle school basketball. We tried to find somewhere to eat, even googled places to eat in Birmingham, and had little luck. We ended up back at the hotel.

Long story short, it's Sunday morning and I'm still waiting for my meal to arrive. Abu's food came, and it was so salty that it was impossible to eat (how can you eat chicken with that much salt). He ate his fries and Allison ate her cornbread and meatless tacos. I ended up not having to pay much for the dinner - basically it was Allisons' glass of wine and bread. The manager admitted that they weren't capable to serve the volume of people (I simply said, "That's because there are no other restaurant choices in downtown Birmingham...just the hotel). We tried to eat on  campus during the game, but the girl said, "We don't have any food left." Serious. They did have chicken tenders but that wasn't enough. We ventured back to the hotel and as I said, they never brought my food out.

I tried Abu's but it was way too salty. We decided we'd just wait to eat at the airport tomorrow.

That's a negative, however, after two days of positive. The NCTEAR experience has been wonderful and we couldn't get better hospitality from the UAB people behind the program. The hotel, however, didn't seem ready to accommodate guests: no Internet, no staff to clear lunches, no technicians to deal with the audio/computer issues. That's not on UAB. That's on the the University's relation with Hilton.

I feel very enlightened and lucky to have attended the conference, but I am leaving with a few scratches to the noggin'. The last 14 hours were surreal.

And the amount of salt in my mouth from attempting to each Abu's chicken. Phew. That was disgusting. I told the manager, "I'm just going to give you the benefit of the doubt. It was a really, really bad night for you and your staff."

There's not enough water in the world to get this salt lick taste out of my mouth.

Blessed. Graced to Participate in #NCTEAR19 and To Be Part of the Dr. Tonya Perry Vision. Few Words. Much Reflection

“And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. and all your inside parts that they'd just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver--love it, love it and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.” --  Nobel laureate author Toni Morrison at the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama.

Yesterday, before the conference officially kicked off, presenters had the opportunity to work with high school students at Sidney Lanier High School in the Black belt of Montgomery, Alabama, while celebrating education, promoting individual excellence and discussing dreams. The young people were focused, attentive, engaged and ready to learn (as they usually are). Following the community work, however, we visited The National Memorial for Peace and Justice and The Legacy Museum, two locations dedicated to the history of slavery, the injustices that followed, and the anti-Black traditions that continue into the 21st century through schooling, policies, and our failures to face the ugliness of slavery head-on. To walk through these spaces, to feel the history, and acknowledge it in documentaries, photo-journalism, news reports, and statistics was a lot to process in one day - especially in relation to the uplifting and hopeful youth work of the morning.

Yet, similar to visits to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum - which changed my teaching early in my career - I walked through in silence, in disgust, in frustration, in fear, in sadness, and with disbelief.

Lest we forget, it was real. History is always real. History is today. It is our children. It is our schools. It is the suffering of so many - the harshness, cruelty, hatred and intention - that should never be forgotten.

Ah, but how soon we forget.

My blog is not a location for me to process everything that went through my mind as I experienced the museums and school visit. If I wrote everyday for the rest of my life, I'm unsure I could capture it all - the lynchings, the intentional political making, the exploitation, and the physical abuse of one race for the benefit, economics, and ease of another.

I can only shake my head.

Today, we present on work we did in Connecticut last summer, and I'm thankful to have opportunity to share the work, but I already know that I will leave this conference holding the impact of the Sidney Lanier youth, the tribute of The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, and the reporting of the The Legacy Museum as the power of this conference (art, documentation, tribute and reminder that every privilege I have today arrived from histories that have fostered and benefited from hatred and exploitation.

I fear the worst of humanity, and I prefer to choose love to guide my path. Yet, I'm afraid, if you don't look hatred directly in the eye and confront it, history will show its uglier side once again.

Love the heart. Love the beauty in others. Just love.

Getting a Little Quality Time with @AbuBility at #NCTEAR19 in Birmingham, Alabama - Doing the Math...11 Years Going

 He's teaching and working at Syracuse Academy of Teaching. I'm pretending to be a teacher (an researcher) at Fairfield University. He's been with m every step of the way the last 11 years and continues to work with CWP-Fairfield during our Young Adult Literacy Labs and summer teacher institutes.

Phew. It flies by.

On Saturday, he'll present with me on some of the work we've accomplished and I couldn't be prouder. Family. Friendship. Mentorship. Guidance. Studies. Life. Journeys. The Great Whatever.

Yesterday, when we arrived early to the conference we walked around Birmingham where Abu finally received his official Beautification Board Honor Roll designation. It's been long in the coming.

This morning, we're heading out to Montgomery, Alabama where we'll be visiting high schools and touring the new civil rights museum there.

Last night, we simply crashed at the hotel after walking the streets of Birmingham looking for something to do. We're wondering if there's a southern version of the Rust Belt - as he said, "this is another variation of Syracuse."

We're looking forward to meeting up with others on the trip today and especially for presenting on Saturday afternoon to the 150 people in attendance (at least a slice of them).

Here's the real kicker, though. The hotel has NO INTERNET service. ATT is trying to get on it, but the whole thing has malfunctioned (including the credit card payments for incidentals). The line is out the door. Well, we love our technology, but when it fails, it fails. Sucks to be us. I'm using a hotspot to get service. It's pretty shady.

I Mustache Myself a Question. How Excited Am I To Travel to #NCTEAR19 in Birmingham, Alabama?

It was philosophical questioning day (The Phaedrus, Allegory of the Cave) and I came prepared with mustaches for everyone. Why? Because one of my subversive goals is to make learning fun, and I learned years ago that mustaches work to encourage creative questioning. They don the mustaches and ask one another questions they have about schooling experiences:

• I mustache you about your teachers,
• I mustache you about periods in the day
• I mustache you about extra-curricular

It works and everyone gets a kick about the inquiry project and finding open-ended ways to think about education. I'm always thankful when I find the mustaches on sale in packs of 12. It works perfectly for the 24 students enrolled in the course.

I also have to give a shout out to Chitunga for leaving his tie-clips behind when he left for LeMoyne as I swiped this particular one that I wear all the time. He criticized me one time for wearing it too low, so I raised the bar - just for him. It's my happy clip, as I can look down in my professional attire and channel him over my heart (and mind).

This morning, I'm traveling with Allison Fallon (Central Middle School, Greenwich), Dr. Beth Boquet (Fairfield University), and Abu Bility (flying in from Syracuse) to report on findings from a spring/summer project in collaboration with the Fairfield University Art Museum's exhibit: #UNLOAD: Guns in the Hands of Artists. The project offered opportunity to 120 middle school youth, as well as 80 adolescents in CWP summer programs and 14 teachers. Some of the writing was published in POW! Power of Words (5th edition) which should be on our campus next week.

We are presenting our work with Pens in the Hands of Writers. It will be a reunion, too, as it's hosted my National Writing Project Director, extraordinaire, Tonya Perry, and my mentor, Dr. Marcelle Haddix, as well as doctoral friends, Keith Newvine and Sarah Fleming. I am looking forward to the joy the conference will present (and the grading that will occur in my uncomfortable airline seat).

Here's to the experience!

Reflecting on the K-12 Experience...Seems So Long Ago, But Undergraduates (It's a Little Closer - They Got This)

There's a lot going on today in ED 329: Philosophical Foundations of Education, including a preview of the next assignment - writing an educational autobiography. Anyone who has ever gone to school can do one, but I'm curious about how one can 'interrogate' the education they've received (to be celebratory and critical, at the same time, by who was allowed to benefit from the education and who was not).

It's funny, once upon a time my sisters and I used to go through my parents' yearbooks asking questions and laughing at how old everyone looked. We learned of my mother's distaste for her gym classes and my father's break-ins to the school as a mischievous learner. The haircuts were hilarious and the love triangles ubiquitous. In some ways, their stories grounded us for our own.

In fact, last night Vickie Weston contacted me (as Syracuse was playing Florida State) and we once again tripped backwards to 1985-1990 when we were NSJH Nighthawks and CNS Northstars. In short, we created our own memories and did school because we were supposed to and, I doubt, we ever questioned the education we received. Instead, we had our 3 floors, sprinted from one end of the school to the other to get to class on time, and were part of a tremendous social order (even though we didn't know it). In summary, our education was great - safe, traditional and good enough to move toward the next phase of life. It is hilarious to think back to those times, though, just like it was/is for my parents.

Anyone who graduates can say, "That was yesterday." Try teaching for a living - it all blurs.

As part of the Philosophy class, I'm having my students write their own bibliography, and asking them to question, wonder and think critically about the education they received (and if it was 100% in school - I know I learned so much from working at Great Northern Mall, a good thing, and my 9th grade snowbank fiasco - a bad thing). I also know that I learned so much from my parents and grandparents that was never measured by anything in school.

My thinking is that before a student can think about their philosophy, they need to interrogate the traditions they took for granted.

I always say that I received a solid education, and with aptitude for math and science, I loved my high school experiences. Still, it was classes like Tools for Change and my senior English class (love me some eccentrics) that led me on the path to where I am today.

It's interesting to think about what was valued, normed, regular and routine (like Gordy, the security guard, who yelled when you tried to leave early). Every school has its hidden knowledge and practices (like, I didn't know who my Principal was. Why would why? And yes, I knew who used the theater's prop room for inappropriate activities). Learning transcends what is measured by tests.

Ah, but I remember Regents tests and I was good at them. I especially remember receiving 100s on them because I studied and gamed the routines, and also hearing from the smartest kids in the class, "There's no way you did that well."

Whatever. I never would want to return to high school, but it would be funny to watch a sitcom based on our generation of high schoolers. I always think in terms of my older sister, mesmerized by her friends and their maturity - and laugh now because even if they seemed ancient and sophisticated, they were big-haired idiots like the rest of us. Now, our ages blend.

So, today, we are talking self-studies of educational experiences. I can hardly wait.

And Zoolander is my icon for modeling previous autobiographies from yesteryear. I'm old. I admit it.

Day #24. The Crud Hasn't Left But Has Reformed Itself Into New Territories Making for an Interesting Monday

Oh, if only pure imagination was at the source of the latest phase of this never-ending virus. I'm thankful to the Great Whatever that I made it through the day, but I should have known that when I left this morning, and wanted to go back to bed, that that crazy monster was still running itself through my body. I trekked on, and went into work, and have to say I was really productive, although my body didn't want me to be out of my house.

I'm so rarely tired, so it kills me when I simply want to sleep. I was told I am too old for mono, so it's not that. It simply is this icky, gross, snot-infested, nauseating, cough-hacking, stomach-churning headache creature that doesn't want to leave.

We'll begin / With a spin / Traveling in / The world of my creation / What we'll see / Will defy / explanation.

This defies explanation. Ah, Tuesday. Perhaps this should be a day of rest, but there's too much to accomplish. I may need to stay home simply to grade, to write, to read, and to plan. I might just need to sacrifice a day to sleep.

I need this bugger out of me.

Guiding Their Interests and Fascinated to Be on the Other Side of Educational Research...Pushing Them Forward

When I finished my bachelor's degree in English Literature, I fashioned myself as a researcher. Then, with an MAT, I saw myself as an action sort of guy, putting knowledge into game-play. The M.S. from the Kentucky Institute of Education and Sustainable Development put me back into research land again.

Then I taught for over a decade and guided high school senior projects and their research. We were all active brains who reviewed literature, created a plan to move forward, and took our knowledge to give back to the world in positive ways. I made them write ten-page papers and they hated me for it; but they got through it.

Then the doctorate happened. Yes, and it happened like a plow pushing CNY snow, except for the fact that it pushed even when it was summer. It taught me to fight back like a ram, though, and keeping my horns down, I kept pushing forward as much as I could. Towards the end when I wanted to throw in the towel I teased Kelly Chandler-Olcott, "All my degrees are art degrees. When I finish a doctorate, it will be a philosopher's degree. Except for the M.S. at Louisville, I've not been trained as a scientist. This research stuff is too much. I'm not a researcher."

Ah, I made it through, though. Now, teaching undergraduates and graduate students I laugh when they complain about research requirements and projects. I have to remember that it is all developmental and for many it is completely scary. Had I not experienced a full-blown research project through my apprenticeships and dissertation in the doctorate program, I would never have known how difficult the work really is. Research needs to be strategic, thorough, well-thought out, and carried forward over several years (as I learned again this weekend reading KCO's soon to be released book of data collected over a period of 4 years). Then there's writing about the work!

At the helm of a class of beginning and in-practice teachers (and a couple of more seasoned-ready-to-go ones), I'm face-to-face with a challenge and then some. A couple have worked with me before and they can move through the heaviness of an action research project readily. Still, there are others who are scared to death and haven't a clue where to begin.

I'm realizing early in the semester that the best way to teach the course is to model, to workshop, to give time and space, and to mentor. In a lot of ways, I see the work as a portfolio workshop, where everyone is working towards an individual project, but my instruction  assists them all.

I stole an idea from Kelly, too, when she had our Writing for Publication class do a journal review by highlighting what it does (and for whom) in brochure form. It was a clever way to take what could be overwhelming and making it practical and accessible. We're going to look into the journals that may be most helpful to the levels and content they will teach. That's the first step to being introduced to all that is out there.

I think if I had a research course in either of my Masters that was geared towards Ph.D level work, I would run. I wasn't ready for it, so I need to think back to my fledgling years and create from there. It's a challenge, but I know I'm going to love the results that come from the course.

Today will be about being strategic with a topic of interest for the semester. That can be the most taxing part for some.

Best Friends Who Have Been Cooped Up Indoors Throughout All This Cold Get A Day to Play

The ritual the last week has been Bryan going to the back door, opening the sliding glass and saying, "Do your business." Glamis the Wonder Dog refuses to go outside, but then runs to her leash as if I'm going to take her for a walk.

It's been too cold.

I've had to find recreation indoors with wrestling, sock tosses, tennis ball games, and chase. There's only so much one can do to entertain a dog when it's too cold outdoors.

I should say, too, that I'm still sneezing and coughing as whatever that virus was is slow in leaving. Yesterday, however, the temperature got almost to 30 so I was able to run (in preparation for today's Run for Refugees 5K and even walked Glamis).

But then Jake called and wanted to play, so we stopped at Walnut Beach to go for another walk, where a pack of golden labradors without collars and leashes found us, pulling me down a hill until I lost control, fell down the hill, and let the dog-play commence. They were great for one another, before an elderly lady arrived saying she had no idea how her dogs go out. She was able to get one to run into her gated back porch, where Glamis followed. One down, and just Jake to go. Eventually, he followed the other three and I got back in control.

All that play resulted in a dog-cushioned fire pit snuggle where they slept for an hour, cuddled as the best friends they are. I was lucky, too, as I got a shaved steak sandwich out of the deal as well as potato soup.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone. After I run, I need to get my focus on as it is a frantic week ahead. I'm just hoping one of these days my nose and chest will finally clear.

70+ Middle School Youth. 100% Writing Success. Absolute Joy. Why? @writingproject traditions and @kwamealexander & @JackieWoodson Mentor Texts

This is the 7th year for leading Fairfield University's MLK Youth Leadership Academy for middle school youth (today, 70+ students). The program ran from 9:30 a.m. - 1 p.m., and as my undergraduate/ graduate students stopped by they kept remarking, "I was never focused this much in middle school. These kids are so great."

Interestingly, teachers approached during and after the workshop asking, "Can you visit our school? This is amazing to see what our kids are doing."

With 25 years of National Writing Project influence, K-12 teaching, research and conducting such workshops I simply have to respond, "You know this isn't me, right? I have nothing to do with how these kids are responding. It's the instruction. It's the choice of text. It's the models I'm offering and the prompts I offer. It's the fact that I know these kids have so much to say. These notebooks allow them to say it."

LEARNING TO PUT WORDS IN ACTION by Linda Lambeck, CT Post

(coverage of the day from another perspective)

Here's the skinny. I know that Kwame Alexander texts resonate with middle and high school students. I also know that the writing of Jacqueline Woodson inspires amazing dialogue and possibility. Yesterday, I simply began with 16 Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes and had them write and talk with each other. We then made lists of 10 things we love and 10 things we hate. From there, we played some improv games with words and I brought a college student, Akbaru Niyonkuru, and his friends to model the Power of Words for the kids.

In an hour, their notebooks were loaded with the possibility of language. Then, I simply said, "Let's read as writers," and we read a series of Woodson and Alexander texts. I think I offered five models (and one classic script from Free to Be You and Me, "Boy Meets Girl"). We played for another hour reading the model texts and trying out what can be done with our hate lists and love lists.

Then, I simply said, "You've been give models. You have idea. Let's take ten minutes and write." When they were still writing after 11 minutes - 100% of them, I gave them five more and made the case, "You wrote beyond my expectations, so I let you continue. You all have something to say and are taking pride in writing your lives."

I then said, "I'm opening the Mic," and closed my eyes. "When I open my eyes, I hope a few of you will be at the Mic willing to read."

Boom. The line was lengthy and what they were able to compose in 15 minutes was astounding: poetry, speeches, reflections on Martin Luther King, advice for administrators, book chapters and several contemplations on a Superhero power they wish they could have. Not that I should have a favorite, but one young man who wrote almost 3 pages in 15 minutes, wrote about the superpower of empathy and how it transcends everything else.

It was a powerful day, with 100% of the kids engaged with each other, the workshop and the shared writing at the end.

Again, I reiterated to teachers, "This is not me. Yes, I am at a University and have a big screen and microphone. It is the design of instruction that has been invested in me through the National Writing Project." Models matter. Choice matters. A belief in all writers matter. Community matters. A sense of humor matters. Voice matter. And listening matters.

With those tools available to young writers, they shine 100% of the the time.

I am so thankful to writers like Woodson and Alexander for writing the texts I wish I had to use when I was a K-12 teacher.

The Yes! Philosophy Has Its Limitations, @kwamealexander. I Live By It...Always Have, But Phew! I Need a SOLID NO Every Once in a While!

It's been a mission of YES since 2011 (who am I trying to kid, I've been a YES to everything in my world since the day I was born). I live by Dewey's mantra: experience + reflection = wisdom. YES, as a mantra, has delivered me to everything I know as a human being.

It's been my aim to be a wise fool, I guess. It's all good, right? Yes? No?

Actually, I am being both happy and sarcastic. I am thankful for everything that comes my way in this world, but I am growing scared of the bags under my eyes.

Abu posted a photo of him teaching Kwame Alexander's book to middle school youth early this week on Twitter and I was amused to see the picture, only because the story of Kwame's excellence has been with me since I've set out to be a mediocre director at a National Writing Project site. The skinny is I knew that Kwame's writing is exactly what adolescent readers needed and I was lucky enough to know of it before it went on the national scene. All of his books have become central to the Connecticut Writing Project work we do with teachers and young people, and I am LUCKY that I've been on the pulse of great YA writing for a few years now. I wouldn't trade that for the world.

In yesteryear, too, I remember Kwame discussed with classrooms the power of saying "Yes," to opportunities that come your way. It's the first time I've ever heard someone actually say it out loud and it resonated with me because, heck, I've been a YES YES YES and YES guy most of my professional career. The doors have opened, the experiences have been phenomenal, and riding the wave has been miraculous, actually, throughout most of my life because I've been a Yes to everything sort of soul.

The Great Whatever. Phew.

Yesterday, though, I drove home after the third 13-hour day saying to myself, "No. No. No. No. No. No. No." I need to learn to say "No," to protect my health, my heart, my mind, and my energy.

Haven't learned how to do it yet, but it's on my radar. Practicing here: No. No. No. No.

This morning, however, I'm heading out to do a workshop for 100 or so middle school kids and their teachers, and I remain flattered that I get asked to do this great work every year (especially in celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr.). I'm sure tomorrow, too, I will post about how much I loved the work. I'm sure it will be as great as the workshops I did last week, and the week before and with my graduate courses, and with my graduate students, and throughout the PD occurring in districts all across the state.

But Crandall has a breaking point and I am tired.

My YES schedule, as I look at my calendar, is full all the way until April, because last semester and and all of last year, I continued to never say NO. As a result, I'm currently rethinking that I may alter the Rooster philosophy some and learn to say,

Yes...Perhaps. Let me check my life schedule and where I am in the Universe before I commit. I tell you what. Maybe I need to consult grant funders, to find a way to do that for you, so that I can get better support for K-12 teachers and youth - this work needs to be financed and it's expensive and time-consuming. Okay, I appreciate the request, but I'm going to have to say NO until you bring a library of books to this classroom I've been volunteering in. Yes, I know. I know. I usually say Yes, but I'm on a campaign to leverage the work I do so that the cause is of greater support for the very people I love to work with. I tell you what, I will trade my YES if you will provide me a TRUST where I can continue to fund the excellence of teachers and kids, even after I'm long gone.

So, if in the near future you may hear NO from me, but I want you to 'know' it's not you. It's all me. I'm working through my relationship with a work ethic that has always been good to me, but it is currently drowning me. My NO is not meant as an insult, but as a YES to me - to save me so I can be here tomorrow for the Yes(es) that matter most.

Well, would you look at that? It's February already. Great month. Weren't we just here?

And I'm writing a blog post where I'm admitting there may be power in NO, too.