Sometimes Saturdays are Meant to Begin Anew, and to Simply Do a Few Life Revisions

It was a honor to celebrate the incredible work of counselor scholar, Dr. Diana Hulse, who has taken the big step onto the retirement parade. Yesterday, colleagues gathered in celebration of her life achievements and family members came from all corners of the United States to applaud the sister and mom they love. I don't think it will really hit me that she's no longer in Canisius until the Fall, when we return to our offices and I realize that she and her spirited, hard-working self isn't there to greet Dr. Ryan Colwell and me. Her pep-in-the-step attitude brightened the floor and I am thankful I was able to have her friendship and mentorship.

And on the Homefront, other changes arrived as the furniture people arrived at 6:30 a.m. (a half hour before the earliest delivery. I didn't even make the coffee). They were done by 6:45 and I simply put a sheet over the new mattress and went back to bed, sleeping until 10:30. I told my mom, I think it must feel like sleeping on a cloud does. The t.v. stand, coffee table and end table also arrived (great deal), but I'm more thrilled about my evening purchase. I needed something to pull the dark furniture together with the plants and the blue in a few of the art pieces hanging around. I stopped at a Pier 1, no luck, then a Home Goods, no luck, but then a 2nd Pier 1, ch'ching. I found a $495 carpet marked down to $175, but it was a clearance day, so it was another 50% off. Score. Because I saved so much, I decided to get a couple throw pillows, too, simply to match the carpet. They were buy one, get one 1/2 price. I rarely indulge, so am patting myself on the back.

Can't wait to learn all the additional ways Glamis's shedding and her hairs will piss me off. Speaking of, she's frustrated with me because I made her climb in the bathtub and washed her down with oatmeal shampoo. I'm not sure what she's been rolling in, but it is a lifetime of decaying crap. She's getting better about stepping in the tub, but she hates water on her head (and doesn't like drying off in the sun, either - she'd rather be indoors in air-conditioning). I took two grocery bags of fur off of her and it still is coming off. I love dogs, and Glamis, but I could do without the peskiness of her pin-hairs.

She's getting adjusted to the rearrangement, too. Her bed was moved as well as her toys, but this morning she already brought me a tennis ball I found under the furniture when I moved it and that I placed in her toy box. She'll be okay.

I'm getting excited for the week ahead, however, as the teacher institute kicks off. It's nice to have personal space here and there to take care of things at home. It's rare, but I am thankful for Chitunga and his Father's Day gifts for inspiring the Mt. Pleasant changes. He kicked it all off!

Okay Friday, I Welcome Saturday, But On a Home Delivery Day, I'm All Sorts of Confused. I Will Simply Ride With It.

Friday, yesterday, we completed the first week of literacy labs and it was standing room only for the performance prom where the Little Labbers and Sports Writers shared their week-long work with parents. As always, the teachers reported full notebooks and the decision by kids to share what they wanted to share for an audience who came to see the results - a publishing opportunity. Although I couldn't be in two rooms at once, I tried, and I was, as always, in absolute awe of what the teachers are able to get kids to accomplish in such a short time. The pride, too, is enormous.

The Sports Writers were a little more energetic (they usually are), but when time came to share their weeklong work it was developed, thought-provoking and well-researched. They did their homework and had a blast developing their 3-5 page essays (and I should say, most of these kids have never written more than a paragraph). I was impressed, as I'm sure their parents were, too.

I came home from the week proud, but also exhausted, as I know that another week (teachers) begins anew on Tuesday, and also that new furniture is arriving to Mt. Pleasant, including a t.v. stand. This means everything had to be unhooked and I lost the the internet hook-up as I know it. It took me about two hours last night to jimmy the technology so I could get a blog post this morning. I was given a window from 7 a.m. to 11 a.m., so I knew I needed to get on my game last night. Chitunga decided to leave Mt. Pleasant and to be of little help, although he prepped with me as much as he could.

We started week one with 30 students and teachers, and week two is simply all teachers (20 new educators will be joining us next week). My mind, however, is on the new furniture arrivals: a tv stand, an end table, and coffee table and a new mattress. I know I have to be up this morning early just in case. I pray I'm not the 7 al.m drop-off time, although I am pretty sure that is exactly what I'll be.

I am awaking however pretty proud: (1) that I was able to get the Internet back up last night for this post, even though everything is shifting on Mt. Pleasant today and (2) that the first week of Young Adult Literacy Labs were simply amazing. As I talk to parents and families, I am assured that what we are doing in greatly needed and very impressive. They are sold on the model and want to know more how they can continue to help (their kids love every second of the program).

Happy Saturday. May the rain today subside.

Simply Paying Attention To the Universe and Riding It For Whatever It Intends To Deliver Because, Well...It's Like That Sometimes

Stories. They are written and rewritten, and become variation of the revision, allowing us to see what we thought we knew anew once again.

Yesterday, a father of a young man in our Sports Literacy Labs stopped me and wondered if I could talk. Whenever an adult approaches me like this, my anxiety immediately moves to "Crandall, listen, and hear the complaint. It's good to get feedback." The parent was a lawyer and an accountant and he said, "I wanted to talk to you." He was curious about the design of our literacy labs and how they come to be, especially since his son is enjoying himself so much. He wanted to know more about the way we building writers, self-esteem and the individual integrity of each kid (the Hoops4Hope mission). He was impressed and plans to sign his son up for other labs. He wanted the back story.

I told the story and he tells more of his own - we quickly bonded. He's from NYC, but married a woman in Bridgeport and does his work from her mother's home. He's always looking for a way to give back to the community and to unite professionals in the area that care about holding high standards for all kids.

He wondered about my job and I told him about coming to Connecticut for the Writing Project and the attraction of Bassick High School and Bridgeport Public Schools. He told me he had the same vision and that, for a year or two, he coached football at Bassick. I tell him about the boys, Chitunga, and how he played football. He suddenly lights up, "I knew a Chitunga once, but he was just a middle school kid kid. He was on my team. It couldn't be the same kid, could it?"

It was. It is.

The father and I sat in the parking lot of Donnarumma Hall and talked for 2 hours about this kid...my kid...our kids. He was mentoring Chitunga at the same time I began my high needs school work at Bassick. After he left coaching he always wondered what happened to this little runt that he thought had so much potential. In fact, he laid awake at night wondering what became of Chitunga's story. I was able to fill it in.

I showed a picture of Chitunga taken over the weekend and during a Humans of New York campaign conducted at LeMoyne. He says, "That's the kid. It doesn't surprise me at all, and I'm so glad this big world is becoming so small right now."

Last night, Chitunga and I took a walk around Stratford and hiked past the green, by many colleagues' homes and had dinner at the Whiskey Barrel. I gave him the evening to talk to me and offered the open ended question, "How do you explain your universe? How did you come to be?" and I just listened, except for sharing with him the story of meeting his coach. Chitunga remembered him, but was surprised the coach would remember him, a dread-locked punk who acted out and rebelled all the time. Teachers talked him into trying out for the team.

He did, and he played for four years. He makes an impression wherever he goes and I am simply thankful to have him in my world. "Everyone and EY calls me Crandall, dad." He told me last night. "They don't even know my name is Chitunga."

It was sort of a Great Whatever day. I take them when they come.

Stories beget stories.

Two Attempts At Wisdom Nuggets, But Then I Have To Get to Bed. It's Thursday, and I'm Already Exhausted

Phew. After a day of teaching, I began loading my cart for next week when I welcome 21 special educators for this summer's 2019 Invitational Leader Institute. When I opened a journal from 2002, the page opened up and I had a flashback of teaching from 1999-2001, and then the multiple memories of losing Ronda after she graduated with her four-year college degree. She was a member of the Class of 1999 and one of those superpowers that could not be described in words. When I student taught she was a member of the class I worked with and always remained loyal to my instruction. I loved her, and soon after graduating from college, she was in a car accident that took her life.

For several years, I gave an award in memory of her name and also Vera Crandall - for individuals who dedicated themselves to the success of all and who worked from behind the scenes. That was was Ronda. She was a spectacular human being whose life was taken much too soon (and I look like a Bee-Gee's reject)

I cam home thinking about this journal I found and the post from my colleague, Beth, who wrote about when it is too old to accept McDonald's toys. Um, I still collect cereal toys so had to take a picture. These two Spiderman figures grace my refrigerator.

What is more annoying about today (as a result from last night) is that Big Brother started again and Amazing Race is in full swing. Somehow I got booked to both, even though I don't have time for either one. I am, however, thinking about how cool it would be for Chitunga and I to represent CT in one of the shows. They would wipe me out as a mid-life person, but it could be cool for the story effects.

Big Brother demands too much for me to watch - 3 nights a week. Still, it is a gaming, strategic and clever reality show that hooks me every year with it s foolishness. I wish I understood what its appeal actually was.

And so, I kind of lost my Wednesday night with American allure, so I will regret this morning with everything I need to accomplish. I will, however, have my Raisin Bran which brought me the cartoon figures, so I guess I should be thankful.

And just like that, the summer moths are almost here. Phew. I was just 26 years-old.

Secret to Successful Literacy Labs - Hiring Well! That, and Being Sure Special Guests Are Relevant to Our Writing Purposes.

 It continues to amaze me that two of my graduate students in EN 411: Teaching of Writing in 3rd-12th Grade Classrooms have stuck by my side, gained rewarding employment in Bridgeport Public Schools, and continue to invest so much in the Connecticut Writing Project and our Young Adult Literacy Labs. Jessica was still a graduate student when I first approached her about a summer internship to kick-off Ubuntu Academy (a program she and Will have taken to the moon and back). I love entering Donnarumma Hall every morning to see their two mugs greeting those entering the building (and have National Writing Project photographer, Jason Miczek, to thank for that).

Jessica is working with Mindy Khamvongsa (another graduate from our undergraduate program and a student of yesteryear from my Philosophy of Education course) and Stefania Vendrella (my service learning associate and elementary education extraordinaire) to collaborate instruction.

Will is working with Justin Wooley, a 5-year student in English Education, who also took my philosophy course (he's also the oldest son of dear friends of mine, Dave and Kris - a fusion of all the represent as a philosopher and English educator).

Yesterday, I invited basketball player Aidas Kavaliauskas to be a guest speaker. He is going into his senior year and, recovering from hip surgery, was gracious to come talk with our Sports Writing crew. What I loved about having him speak is a recognition of maturity in his leadership and his willingness to share the importance of journaling about his experiences working with Hoops4Hope in Zimbabwe Africa. He told the boys, "I'm so glad I kept a nightly journal of what I was experiencing because a year from that time, today, I can go back and remember new details about what I left out. The writing triggers my memories," Interesting, too, because today is Taylor Sharp's birthday, a producer of Ubuntu Matters: Hoops Africa, who came to Fairfield last fall for a screening and conversation in which Aidas and Will participated.

Today is my beautiful niece Nikki's birthday as well (seems to be a day for greatness to be born). Crazy to think that she's in her 20s and career and not central to every move my sister and brother-in-law make in their lives. Everyone grows up so quickly, making the investment into young people that much more relevant. Every kid is a product of many who invest into them.

Happy Hump Day, June (the last one for this month of 2019). July is almost here and the humidity is creeping its way into everything we do. I'm heading into the office to continue doing the back-channel work with what it takes to bring 40 teachers to campus each summer and 100s of young people. I look at the work from the first week and have to say, "Sh'Zaam. These people and kids rock,"

That's what it is all about.

And The Labs Are Upon Us. Year 6 of Young Adult Literacy Labs @fairfieldu - #YouGottaWrite #Ubuntu #GameOn #LittleLabs

He starts out slowly, because he remembers in 2014 how he ran the teacher institute and the literacy labs with the same starting date. The moving parts overwhelmed him, so he scaled back and rethought how to keep his sanity in the summer months.

He starts slowly.

The last week of June is Little Lab for Big Imaginations I and Game On! Sports Writing, working with 3rd-8th grade. We'll fold in the teacher institute during the 4th of July week, which is a shortened week.

Slowly, the other labs will follow.

I am thrilled to see incredible educators return, including William King, Jessica Baldizon and Mindy Khomvongsa. I'm also delighted that 5-year students, Stefania Vendrella and Justin Wooley are with us once again, as well as veterans (and high school graduates of Ubuntu Academy).

We are in a different location due to campus construction and yesterday, Monday, we kicked things off with a bang: team-building, writing notebooks, campus tours, humor and, of course, snacks. I'm crazed as an administrator, finding that each and every year I am lodged more in my office administrating rather than teaching.

The smiles in each room, however, pays off and it thrills me to know end to see kids laughing and having fun while writing.

We've been gifted with a. challenge for Day II, because freshman orientation has almost every room on campus booked. Tomorrow, we have new spaces for a day, but we'll make it happen. Things are tight on campus.

I retired my evening, however, with planning for the 2020 Spring Nor'Easterner Conference, a consortium of NWP sites in the region promoting the work that we do. The first event will be held at Lehman College in the Bronx. I've never planned a regional conference but I'm in great company with many other site directors in neighboring states.

Ah, the webs we weaves. It's beautiful, but I'm feeling my age. It's a great thing that nothing makes me happier than working with K-12 teachers and kids! Let's go, Tuesday. Bring it!

In the mean time, here are 50 Mikes for Mike's 50th Birthday. Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike

BIRTHDAY HAPPY, Bro-in-Law

Well, It's Blooming Again on Amalfi Drive, But It's Not What Papi Butch Is Telling You. It's a Clemantis.

My mother loves purple, and my father loves gardening (well, loved gardening), so when I went through my environmental studies masters at the University of Louisville through the Kentucky Institute for Education and Sustainable Development, I learned a lot about plants, perennials, butterfly and hummingbird blooms, and landscaping. Knowing that Cherry Heights has these telephone/electric poles between some of the houses, I told my father I was going to gift them a clematis.

"A clitoris," he asked. "No, a clematis." It was too late. The words crossed in the synopsis of his brain, so it always became Sue's Clitoris that Bryan brought her from Kentucky. My father is a social creature and likes to brag about his lawn, gardens, children and family. Many a person walking down his street heard great things about the Crandall clitoris throughout the years.

I am an imp, and of course I kept the plant as he called it. Why wouldn't I? It's hilarious, and the inner David Sedaris has loved every second.

My older sister sent me a photo of one bloom last week and then this shot over the weekend. "Look," she texted. "Mom and Dad's chlamydia is in full bloom." "It's a clitoris, Cynde," I corrected her. "Actually, it's a clematis, and I can't believe it still flowers."

I shouldn't post this, because it reveals more about me than it does about them (the fact that I'm forever 15, as the twins have noted). It simply cracks me up that generations of walkers, runners, and neighbors have seen both the Crandall's clitoris and chlamydia, and I've always wondered if they've gone home to say, "That Butch is a friendly fellow, but I'm not sure that plant of his is called what he called it."

I say, "Oh. He got it right. I've loved how right he's gotten it."

It sure is pretty, as our the stories we tell ourselves to make one's day.

Celebrating in Southport: An Evening of Dancing, Birthday Celebrations and Enjoying a Beautiful Evening

Last night, we had the pleasure of attending a friend's 60th birthday party at their home in Westport, Connecticut, where a live band forced (well, inspired) many of us, including Chitunga, to put on the dance shoes. I was designated driver so I let things unfold as they did and it was a blast watching so many have a spectacular time (I didn't know the kid had such moves but he definitely burned up the dance floor).

So fortunate to be invited to share such a wonderful event - one highlighted when a retired Broadway star remade several musical classics to honor the birthday man. The talent was out of this world and the Lyrics were hysterical. The talent, mesmerizing.

During the day, I went into efficiency mode, organizing closets, prepping the house for a few purchases and, guess what?, I finally bought an adult mattress which will be here in a week. I have such kinks in my neck and back and at 47, I decided it is time to sleep on a mattress that wasn't a hand-me-down from a KY friend. I remember vividly when Alice and Charlie got a new mattress in their adult life and they said, "If we knew it would make this much of a difference, we would have bought a new one much sooner." I remember thinking at the time, "huh," but now that I'm mid-life, I totally get it. If 50% of our life (or close to it) is lying in bed, then we should invest in a good night's sleep.

The added bonus was my friend Rebecca (red dress, left) was also a guest and so I had fun dancing and chatting with her while Chitunga became the life of the party. Beautiful evening, beautiful home and beautiful celebration. I think we'll all need this Sunday to rest. 

In Case I Ever Lose My Marbles (For Real, For Real), I Know Where To Find Replacements

On Father's Day, Susan and Chitunga arranged a gift of Basil Hayden, which arrived with a lil' note, and on Tuesday, Doo, her professional sidekick (What would Doo do?)(oh, crap) entered the Emerald Coast Writing Project classroom with another gift.

"Mr. Crandall," Doo explained the day before with her southern, well-paced and lyrical voice, "Is it okay to bring you a gift? I'd very much like to bring you something."

Doo proceeded.

When I was a girl, my family didn't have much. I was a reader and excited about the possibility of college and furthering my education but wasn't sure how I'd make it. On the day I left for school, I got to sit in the back of my Uncle's pick-up truck, and I was nervous about the change. We were pulling out of the driveway, when I saw my grand ma-ma, running after the truck. She raised me and wasn't a runner. I told my Uncle to slow the mobile, because grand ma-ma was sprinting after it.

When she reached me in the back of the truck she told me to put out my hand. I did. And you know what she gave me? She put a marble in my palm and said, 'Girl, you know we ain't got much, but I can give you this marble. Do know that wherever you are and wherever you go, this marble holds my love and support. You can keep it in your pocket so I can always be with you.

Ever since then, I've been giving out marbles of my own for special people. I want you to have one. And, if I can, I'd like to bring some for your boys.

For the last few years, instead of presenting to the Florida teachers in person, I've SKYPEd in with Abu, Robel, Akbaru, and Werdi. She also gave me one for Kanyea, Edem, Akech, Lossine, Mustapha, Arcadius, Omar and Abonga.

Tell them the Doo sent these. Tell them the story of my grand ma-ma, and tell them I love them.

I wish Doo could be here in person to tell the story herself (although, my Yankee pace tells it a lot faster).

Happy Summer! Looks like we are going to have 24-hours of gorgeous possibilities.

Still Honoring and Paying My Respects to World Refugee Day The Day After. I Am, Because We Are

 "Refugee children have lost their homes, but we cannot allow them to lose their future."

Yesterday, I celebrated World Refugee Day with the CIRI community in Bridgeport and loved seeing so many of the children and their parents who have worked with CWP and our professional development work in Bridgeport Public Schools. CWP's programs have served over 100 immigrant and refugee young people as they acclimate to the United States through finding them books to read, classes to take, support for their stories, and opportunities to share their experiences with American-born educators and peers. At the event, I got to see Lambert perform once again and, as per usual, have Chadrac run up to me requesting a selfie (he's mastered the Crandall face better than I have).

June 20th was World Refugee Day and I was thrilled to hear from Claudia Connor, a friend, mentor, colleague and director of the Connecticut Institute for Refugees and Immigrants that two families are arriving to southern Connecticut this month, even though the United States has politically demonized refugees and immigrants as a result of (you tell me) and for the first time since WWII, other nations in the Western World have taken in more families fleeing from war, prosecution and famine than we have. As I drive to and from work, talk with friends and relatives, see our grocery stores, malls and houses, reflect on my travel, and the travels of others, I can see why. America is a hurting nation and its people are suffering severely. Although a nation built on liberty and justice for all, its seems quite transparent why we should turn our backs on the disparities of the rest of the world. Life is like a mirror, and what you see in your reflection is subjective - if the reflection you see is one of humanity, empathy and purpose, then applause. We are the ones that must face ourselves everyday.

I remain loyal to what I wrote in 2017: The Tired. The Poor. The Hungry. Resources Important to Me. I'm appreciative, too, for Sarah J. Donovan who wrote, "Give me your tired, your poor," - a review of books by young people on stories relevant to them.

70.8 million individuals have been forced from their homes worldwide because of natural disasters, human disasters, war, and famine. 25.9 million with the title refugee and 3.5 million going through a vetted process for the chance to be given asylum (it's like hitting the lottery and nearly impossible. Perhaps that's why the children we work with are so driven and why statistics are showing they are exceeding American-born students in 4-year colleges. I suppose many of us need to revisit what our ancestors who immigrated to this country faced several generations before us, and gain a better understanding of all they accomplished to bring us to where we are today.

There's only so much I can do in my life and career. I know that I can't change international policies or the vitriol and hatred of others. I can only take what frustrates me most and work to make a better world. What I can do is offer support, help and resources for the families and children who have relocated to regions near me by networking with incredible individuals like Claudia Connor, designing professional development to support teachers who work with the driven, scared, but passionate young people through designs such as Ubuntu Academy that offers opportunities to counter summer literacy loss and to build vocabulary, reading skills, and writing. Abu Bility and I did the math yesterday and we are on year 6 of this work at Fairfield University and we both can attest that educators across the United States want to learn more about what we're doing...they want to help. They report their students want to help, too. Since 2014, over 100 refugee-background kids have interacted with, learned alongside, and benefited 90 educators who have also come to our campus to write their lives, histories, and dreams.

Being a person for others is what attracted me to a career at Fairfield University and it is what I hold onto as a mid-life adult who is graying and feeling chagrined by the spite of others. My life has been made a billion times better through my work with refugee and immigrant communities in Louisville, Syracuse, and Connecticut. I've learned more from working with these children and families than I did through a bachelor's degree, 2.5 Masters degrees (I left Breadloaf to do a doctorate and needed only two more courses) and my doctorate degree. 

We're just blips on the radar and we have a choice each and every day to live as we do. I know that my work is not popular these days and my fellow Americans love to share their dislike through emails and critiques (and I'm always amazed at the wrath). But the work I do is me, and I will go to my grave fighting for human kindness for those most in need. That is Ubuntu. That is love. I have chosen not to succumb to fear. Why? Well, my house, my heart, and my career are evidence enough. 

Ubuntu Matters.

Okay, Connecticut. I've Returned. Not Sure I'm Ready for the Return, But I Am Here and I Have Ideas. Just Need Time to Implement Them

FYI. This is not Fairfield. This is Mystic, but I like the still water and it reminds me of the tranquility I found in Pensacola. l'm channeling it here.

Truth is, I returned home at the same time Chitunga was arriving from the train. Michael returned from Philly and he was watching Netflix upstairs. Glamis was thrilled I was home, and I immediately dumped my week of soiled clothing into the washing machine.

I then had to figure out what happened. Tunga, for Father's Day, did a total Bryan thing. He cleaned and rearranged everything (just like I used to do with my mother's house). I don't know where anything is and the garage is loaded with items ready to be sent to the trash (most necessary, but some by his choice).

The dining room, which was set up as a guest bedroom this summer, was taken down for aesthetic reasons and the t.v. stand, which is wonderful and perfect, is actually a book case that doesn't necessarily fit into the corner its interned for (a Father's Day gift I love, but we both might need to reconsider).

And I returned to a house that smells like Glamis. She needs a bath and I was overwhelmed by the dog smell when I came to Mt. Pleasant. I no longer will have my beach scenes, dolphins and nightly run-through of Grace and Frankie. But I'm home and I'm ready to kick of the Fairfield CWP Institute. I have a lot of ideas, new energy and much enthusiasm for what is possible.

But for today, a Thursday, I am wiped. I need to regroup, rethink, rework and redo. That's my goal for the next few days, but I know I got this.

First things first. Glamis gets a bath.

Good Bye, Heated Florida. Until We Meet Again. It's Time Now to Head North To Run an Institute of My Own.

Who would have thought so many years ago that two summers with Dr. Steven Bickmore at the Louisiana State University Young Adult Literature Conference would result in the Wonder Twin powers of red headed funk-master and a crazy, manic gray-frog machine? We
met, we bonded, and we put heads together for our national project sites.

The Great Whatever has done the rest! I am thankful for the friendship and for the last couple of days that she shared another incredible human being with me, Ms. Doo, and I will forever do and Ms. Doo does. What would Doo do? (Crap, I need to get a Doo for my writing project, too)

What an angel! Doo is a lover of young kids, of words, of storytellers, of the writing project and especially Dr. James (what's not to love). Departing Emerald Coast Writing Project this morning was hard, and this is because the two of them brought so much joy my way as they shared the work on their campus and, at least with Dr. James, in her home. Susan James truly is my Wonder Twin (and I know this after spending 24 hours a day with her since last Thursday....our work ethic is 100% in sync)

We departed early this morning for the airport and I was saddened that I wouldn't have another day to work with their teachers and that I can't pack both Susan and Doo to bring back to the Connecticut Writing Project with me. It's so great to have like-minded brains to collaborate with and it simply would be a dream if we were on the same campus. We both work full-throttle, but balance one another out to say, "Put yourself first. Take care of yourself. The teachers and kids need us to be healthy and ready."

I packed, however, and spent most of my day in airports. I know that Chitunga and Michael are at home, and they conjured some notion of a barbecue when I return, which I'd love to make happen, but something tells me we'll likely go out.

I wish I could rewind time a little and start this little rendezvous in Pensacola all over again.  I needed the space away from Fairfield. Worked just as hard, but it was wonderful to have a change of scenery.

And with that, I'm off. Thanks for everything Emerald Coast Writing Project....you'll be with me in everything I do this summer!

Emerald Coast Writing Project - Week Two for Them, But Day One For Crandall...What a Fabulous Crew

Dr. Susan James was on to something by inviting me to come speak to her 37 teachers in Pensacola. Florida. Why? It's a true honor and special experience to work with educators in another state, especially in a National Writing Project summer institute that has its own flare and flavoring. How wonderful the world would be if all Directors could be exchanged to experience two sites a year! I learned so much yesterday from the Emerald Coast Writing Project, even though I was invited as a guest to present.

What Crandall Learned

• There is tremendous power in filling the room with Children's books as textual models to teach multiple writing strategies. Throughout the day, I believe the site leaders referenced 30+ of these books that were lying around the room,
• The Collective Strategy List - every time a new writing strategy is experienced, the teachers are naming them on a wall of remembrance - Today was day 5 and the whiteboard was already filled,
• Writing the Way In - We often start with a conversation and/or dialogue, following a shared reading to kick off the day. ECWP welcomes the teachers and says, "Go write! You have 30 minutes to sculpt. Get out of this room and compose" (and the teachers do)
• Dr. Susan James is a pro. She excites the teachers, stimulates them, motivates them, and makes them proud to be a part of her institute (I think I might need to dye my hair red so I have such rapport to my own teachers). 
• It's extremely important to have a Doo. By that, I mean, Susan has a retired teacher who loves teaching and never wants to leave as her on-site, in-love supporter of everything to do with the writing project and working with kids. This retiree is named Doo and she is a total gem, giving up her time to make sure everyone is happy, content, learning, and proud to be part of the site's work. Each site deserves such a backbone.

Dr. James brought me to share the CWP story, however, especially with Ubuntu, but I was also able to lead a perspectives exercise (well, eggsersize), as well. As always, Abu was the hit and although he was unable to make it with me to Florida, his FaceTime talk one the hearts and minds of the teachers.

Today will be Day #2, and I'm excited to lead another workshop with these Floridian phenomenons. It's a 5:30 wake-up call to head into the office, but the early rise is worth every second. 

Here we go, palm trees. I'm ready to lead another workshop!

Welcoming a New Work Week With An Entirely New State of Writing Project Teachers. I Can't Wait!

I woke up on Sunday to a a bottle of Basil Hayden, a collaborative gift between my host, Dr Susan James and my kid,. Chitunga, who organized my state in Pensacola and worked to make the day great: omelettes. rib-eye steaks, and bourbon...I just wish he was here with me.

On the FaceTime call, he couldn't keep his surprise, either, that he bought a new t.v. stand and rearranged the downstairs to accommodate the 50 inch screen. I don't even know how to operate the new entertainment system. I love this kid. He simply makes me a better human being.

We are up and out of the house by 5:30 a.m. this morning for two-days of National Writing Project work. I got my down time this weekend (even in the heat) and now it is time to deliver what I came here to do. I'm looking forward to a day of writing perspectives, Jacqueline Woodson's Harbor Me, Ubuntu Academy, and celebrating the success of CWP-Fairfield. I'm not so sure about the wake up time. I'm not sure Susan realizes how miserable I am in the morning. I've been allowed to sleep in until 7:30 all weekend. We shall see how this goes.

As long as I have coffee.

It was a great Father's Day and I'm a new fan and advocate of the Gulf Coast. It's beautiful down here, and although hot, it's definitely a place to visit in the United States.

Of course, it helps to have spectacular hosts, too.

Happy Father's, Papi's, Papa's, Daddy's Day - Hope You'll Find Time to Have a Beer or Two

I am writing from Pensacola sending fatherly love to Clay, New York, as I head into Sunday, and prep for the two-day debut at the Emerald Coast Writing Project. It's Father's Day and I am hoping my package made it his driveway in time and it finds him in good health and spirit.

He's be proud of the seafood we prepped and ate yesterday and the stop at a locally brewery to try a few ales famous to the area (although he'd hate the strong flavors of the beers and wonder where he might pick up a Budweiser).

I am also thinking about my mother's words whenever some traveled to the sunshine state when she'd say, "Be careful of that sun down there. It's a different sun."

I was out for a short time yesterday reading and she was right. That sun cooks a little more than we get in the northeast.

I'm proud to say, too, that I had a chance to finally see Captain Marvel, the last of the movies before I finally get to The Avengers: End Game, which I come to really late because I couldn't find anyone to see it with me. Captain Marvel was really good, and now I am really stoked to see the finale (and finally catch up with Mike on it all)

Here's to all the fathers out there - the Papa Smurfs and the Daddy-O's. Here's hoping you have a day of love, celebration, and appreciation.

And if you run into Butch. Bring him a beer for me, will ya? Love you, Dad.

Shhh. Don't Tell Anyone, But This Summer Institute Collaboration Is Really Taxing

And on the 2nd day, he finished a book. Actually, I got up, we collaborated on plans for next week and the future, then went out for breakfast, which turned out to be lunch. Afterwards, we picked up groceries then headed to the beach for relaxation, in which Susan slept and I read a great book that I've been trying to complete for months.

In other words, shhhh. I relaxed. I got sun, I didn't stress about everything needing to be done, and I escaped the craziness of the Fairfield pace. Tomorrow, we'll have to get to the nitty gritty of what's going to happen Monday and Tuesday, but I'm not rushing that pace just yet; instead, I'm enjoying a new part of the country that I haven't seen before and feeling very fortunate that the humidity is low and the sun is hot. It is the Florida sun, but it isn't the liquid soup that can ruin a vacation. Nope, it's a bit of nirvana. White sand. Blue/green ocean. And  no emails. Well, I'm not checking the email and I should.

In other words, I'm actually learning what others do naturally and I should do more of...unwinding. refocusing. rethinking. enjoying space to relax a little.

I'm hoping too to have another night of 8-hour sleep, because the 4 hour nights have been a little taxing. The goal is to recondition myself for a less taxing lifestyle (it's unlikely to continue but I'm going to try).

In the meantime...vitamin D. That's the answer.

There's Water. There's Pelicans. There's Sand. There's a Writing Project. & There's No Need To Wake Up Early Today

It's always a whirlwind to arrive to a new world, because some of it is taking in the scenery and the other half is catching up.

I landed safely in Pensacola, and am staying in a great location with two wonder pups, Broadie and Cleo, Shitzu dogs.

Had dinner with Susan James and Rose Brock last night on the beach, followed by an evening of conversation.

All of us are exhausted, so this post will be brief (with more to come).

I'm here and once I get rest I will have much more to say.

And, Because They're Oriented, I'm Off to Pensacola, to the Coastal Florida Writing Project

Last night, at the Fairfield University Alumni House, we welcome 17 of the 21 teachers who will be participating in the Invititational Leadership Institute via the Connecticut Writing Project for 5 weeks of personal, creative and informative writing, all while building teacher demonstrations and stepping up our leadership game! We ate, we planted seeds in our writer's notebooks, we began networking, and we gifted (Luke, 2008), the summer teachers with several books.

Our theme this summer is The Superpower of Hope and we are reading Dr. Rose Brock's edited collection, Hope Nation, Matt de la Peña's Superman: Dawnbreaker, as well as several other fantastic mentor texts to help us with our own work and superpowers!

I am also thrilled to be heading to Pensacola this morning to work with their summer writing project who is carrying forward the same theme and mission. What is your teaching superpower? Where do you and your students find hope? How can our writing pedagogy grow stronger to meet the needs of ALL kids? It's a monumental task, but our capes, pens, masks and notebooks are ready.

We are very fortunate to have the investment of the Noble Trust fund who saw purpose, vision and possibility in our National Writing Project work, especially how it relates to students with learning disabilities and high needs schools. Because of their investment, we're able to increase our urban school participation by 67%, a percentage we are very pleased to celebrated.

I am thinking the now beautiful weather of Connecticut to sweat my $@# off in Florida heat, but am delighted to see a new part of the country and to work with incredible educators in another state. Fridge was cleaned, dishes are done, food is stocked for the kid and laundry is folded. Now, if I can only stay awake enough to catch my flight. 

It Takes Two To Make Things Go Right. It Takes Two To Make It Out of Sight. (Well, One, But Two Attempts)

The grilling season will only continue, and this usually means that I operate between the stove and the grill on the back patio (last night Chitunga and I did have cheeseburgers, grilled mushrooms, potatoes, and peppers). This also means the back sliding-glass door is open. While Tunga took Glamis for a walk, I noticed that a moth flew in. I got a glass and coaxed him to land on it, but he was resistant when I tried to take him outside. He flew off again and back in the house.

Moron.

I waited until after we ate, after I went to the store, and after I got stuck in traffic because of Bunnell High School's graduation (phew), before I found him again, more placated on the ceiling in the living room. This time, he simply jumped down in the glass and I was able to deliver him back outside, where he landed on the grasses along the fence before fluttering off in fresh-air euphoria.

It's simply my nature to let things go to where they are most free (It's the Maude in me, Harold. The Maude). I save spiders, try to coach flies back outside and only kill the mosquitos (although Mustafa could snap a mean towel at a fly when we needed it).

I won't have Ali here this summer, so I anticipate a lot less flies in the house. We shall see.

All this was a distraction from tonight's orientation and tomorrow's departure. Save a moth and all will be well. Actually, upon close investigation, the antlers were butterfly-fly like more than moth-like. It was out and about during the day, too, so who knows?

Here's hoping we have another phenomenal June day. I simply love sitting by an open window with the cool air blowing in; meanwhile, if I head outside it is warm sun. We're getting spoiled.

How Does One Top Off a 12-Hour Work Day? Well, With an Interim Grant Report. It's All Good. I'm Excited about @ronniesidneyii

I have to adjust to the early mornings again, to be up in time to get Chitunga to his train to Stamford. I don't mind getting up, but it requires leaving before I've sipped my coffee and that is never good,

What is good is that I leave my house much earlier than usual, so arriving to campus to see that a box with my name was left in the English office made me very happy. It was Nelson Beats the Odds, a graphic novel about Nelson, a young man labeled with dis/abilities throughout his life, only to pursue beyond his school's labels to find himself as a high school, and then college graduate. Nelson is the little engine that could and the author, Ronnie Sidney, is a pro-kid, youth-advocate who also serves as an award-winning author, therapist, entrepreneur, social worker and professional speaker. Kwame Alexander turned me on to his work a few years ago and his books have been sitting on my desk waiting for the perfect opportunity to be used.

This year, CWP-Fairfield received funding to expand our traditional Invitational Leadership Institute to pursue more special education teachers and mainstream educators who have students with learning dis/abilities in their room. I knew of the academic texts I wanted to use, and then reached out to the author to see if he could send me a class set of his books (I paid, of course - good thinking, writing, and craftsmanship deserves to be paid). My graduate student who is working for me this semester is taking a special education course and I shared the book with her. She read it and asked, "Can I take a copy of this for my son?" I obliged, but kidded, "Can you give it back when he's done? These are for teachers!"

I'm really excited to see how our 5-week summer institute goes this year with its special edition of focusing on teaching writing to all students. We have phenomenal presenters lined up, incredible workshops on the horizon and a number of fantastic books to share with teachers, including Nelson Beats the Odds.

As I put together the teacher bags for orientation this week, I couldn't help but think about how excited I'd be if I was selected for this opportunity. I came home in the evening, too, and did an initial report to our funder where I stated: it's hard for kids to beat the odds, even if sometimes they can do it on their own. Kids like Nelson need to learn their superpowers and to have hope invested unto them through their teachers. THE SUPERPOWER OF HOPE is our theme this year and I can't wait to see where teachers take their writing, inquiry projects and conversations.

We have 21 superheroes enrolled in the institute with 100s of youth following behind. I'm thrilled, however, to add the writing and leadership of Ronnie Sidney to the conversation and hoping, too (fingers crossed), he'll be joining us for the Saugatuck StoryFest this September.

Teachers are only as strong as the writers who craft the stories we're able to share. Here's to Nelson and to all of us hoping to make the journey and pathway a lot more successful for kids trying to overcome their labels. Here's to fighting against a system that leaves many kids behind.

Okay, Work Week, Bring It On. Very Thankful To You For Glorious Weather This Weekend

If only there was a video camera to capture the crazy dog walking at Walnut Beach on Sunday night: Glamis, Jake, Mae-Mae, Kovi, Winter and Maude, all on leashes, most who got along with each other and the Winter, who was unsure about the pack-mentality. Little Maude was the alpha (pictured with Chitunga here), as she put off Jake's obsession with her and wanted to be the lead of the pack.

It was a frantic, if not beautiful end to a gorgeous weekend. Chitunga and I got a lot accomplished academically and then decided to take it easy at night, for the dog walk, before he opted to go out for a friend's birthday.

Today begins the 7 a.m. departure routine, so he can get to the train station in time to make it to Stamford for his internship. This means earlier nights and groggier mornings.

Still, we have to shout-out to the San Diego weather of 80 degree sun and 60 degree winds. It's wonderful to have heat without humidity. It's also perfect for grilling out.

I will be inhaling for the next couple of days as I get everything read for the Young Adult Literacy Labs and Invitational Leadership Institute in July. I spent the first half of my weekend days getting everything ready, as it's about to take off in full force.

Oh, if only we could have this weather for the rest of this summer instead of the rain today and the warming temperatures of the weeks to come.

Here we go....the National Writing Project traditions are off. I'm almost ready. I'm getting there slowly, but it's definitely on the way.

Oh, Those Rare, Beautiful Days of June with No Humidity and Cool Nights. They are Perfection

Tunga announced he was library-bound, so I got household bound. First, I had to clean the cars off because they were doused in bird poop, then I decided to tackle the garage because it is a warehouse of everything we don't want but for some reason have begun storing there. Then I attempted to clean the siding where the carpenter bees spit out their wood mud, but my house is super-a## tall, so when I climbed that high, I simply freaked out, especially with no one to hold the ladder.

I went for a run, instead. Then, I did groceries, shopped around for cleaning stuff, and then got a text from Marsha Alibrandi, who retired from Fairfield University as a history educator, but was never replaced (that's the trend in high education....they go and poof, that position is no longer needed, despite the fact that the position is still needed).

She was at the retirement for Ginny Kelly, which I was going to go, but then declined because of the "fire" that was supposed to happen at Mt. Pleasant (which eventually did happen, but it was just the kid and me, which I enjoyed thoroughly). There is something about warm flames on a cold night that keeps me mesmerized for hours. We also burned a lot of winter debris that has been collecting around the house.

Ginny's party was wonderful, and I'm glad I went (it was actually down the road and easy to get to). They brought in Taco Loco to cater, so when you were hungry, all you needed to do was go to the truck. It was delicious, and perfect since Tunga went out to dinner with friends and I didn't want to BBQ if it was just going to be me. It was wonderful to celebrate her retirement (and to get this photo with her and her granddaughter), but I really wish she'd hang on for another decade to be with me. She's wonderful, kind, supportive, friendly, non-competitive, wise, compassionate, intelligent and stable. Her presence will definitely be missed.

I came home and kicked up the fire, where Chitunga soon joined me. We sat out back for 3 hours simply looking at the flames and occasionally saying something to one another.

I love this kid. I still think he's a figment of my imagination, but he really is a remarkable, humble, focused, genuine human being. I simply cherish the days he's home, which are fewer and fewer these days.

Now it's Sunday. The day is supposed to be just as nice, but I need to focus on the week ahead and can't spend so much time on house chores. I need to get back to the laptop and return to my usual nerdy self. I do, however, love the days of physical labor outdoors.

Official Photographer for the Wooster Middle School 8th Grade Formal (Well, Not Really)

Yesterday morning I was recruited to take photos for the Sealy and Wooleys, which worked out perfectly, because I was paid in steak and potato salad. The original plan was to meet them on the Stratford Green, but they renovated their plans by having me eat dinner with them before the 8th grade boys dappered-up for their dance. I obliged.

That 8th-grade frantic nervousness of dressing up for the first time, meeting up with friends, and going to a chaperoned gymnasium brought back a zillion and one memories of my own at NSJH. Can't remember the girl's name, but I remember I drove my mother bonkers knowing she was going to wear a peach dress, and I needed to find a tie, jacket and slacks to match. We did well in the end, and for some reason I remembered most of us ended up in the cafeteria drinking sodas and eating brownies instead of dancing in the gym.

Funny, too, because I don't think my generation was as innocent in 8th grade as the kids seem to be today. Perhaps it's technology, more involvement for young people in a plethora of programs, or changing morality that makes it seem that the kids are more kid-like than we were. It seems my generation was trying to do adult things a lot younger (escaping to other neighborhoods on our bikes, staying out late, and viewing ourselves as parent-less - they were the rule makers and our job was as rule-breakers).

Either way, the 8th grade formal ritual is a wonderful tradition...a step in the right direction towards days after the wonder years. The photographs came out great and there were few infractions as everyone got ready and I did the dishes to stay out of the way.

Then, I was able to get great photos of all before the parents were kicked to the side, and I went home to walk the dog and read.

Privileged to Be a Special Guest at a K-5 Publication Party Hosted by One Heck-of-a-School Administrator

In my first years at Fairfield University, I had a graduate student named Arlette Johnson who inhaled every lesson, every article, every book I assigned, and who also declared, "I'm going to be a bilingual elementary school teacher. I'm not sure about this secondary class."

She rocked the semester. While in there, she explored Digital-storytelling and the importance of visual literacy in early-writing development.

Forward a little. She was hired at Multicultural Magnet in Bridgeport and for several years she promoted her students to write Superhero stories and to put them into digital forms. She'd always invited me to their sharing party, where when I was lucky, I'd have Abu and Lossine with me to applaud her first graders. The writing was developed, original and amazing.

Forward some more. this year she worked as a vice principal in a new district and one of her goals was to raise money and to be sure that every student had an opportunity to publish their work. She invited me to be on a panel of experts and to offer feedback at the end of the ceremony.

This is how it went down. Every kid in the building arrived to the gymnasium with their published books. I read many of them and each kid was super proud. Mrs. Johnson then had a student panel represented from every grade who shared pieces of their stories: everything from fiction, to non-fiction, to celebrations of personal role models (including one older brother who attended so he could hear/read the story with his elementary-aged sibling - a college-bound baseball player who fought back the tears).

In the gymnasium/slashed auditorium were the teachers with their students. The celebration lasted 60 minutes and I couldn't help but be surprised when I was asked to take the Mic. I was honored to have the kids shout out (woot woot) their families, classmates and teachers. What struck me, however, is that hundreds of kids were still in a celebration of their writing. Without a doubt, Ms. Johnson and her incredible staff created a writing culture. They were a community of writers who were proud of their work.

After the hour ended, I was thrilled to have so many kids approach me because they wanted me to read (experience) their book. They were proud. I was also taken by a mother who came up to say she took off the day from work. Why? Well, she lost her husband two years ago and it's been hard. Ms. Johnson's promotion of writing processes, however, changed her daughter. In fact, she spent the entire year writing a biography of her dad and a love letter of appreciation. The mother cried and simply said, "I'm so thankful that my daughter is at this school. We worried about her when her father died, but then I read her book. My girlfriends and I cried together. This was her way towards healing."

Arlette, too, cried with the mother.

The teachers approached me, too, saying that they absolutely loved the writing community created by their school leader and that this assembly, her assembly, was unlike anything they've ever experienced as teachers.

That's the power of writing. That is the National Writing Project way. This is the evidence I rarely see, but recognize, when a teacher who gets it becomes a school leader.

So impressed and proud of everyone at their school.

With an Aim to Become an Official Un-Sucker, with a Superpower to Battle All That Sucks the Life Out of Everyone/thing Else

A few moons ago, around the time of the Matrix, I remember wishing I had the superpower to swirl all the negative energy that came my way and curling it into a ball that I could push away onto another location. I still do it. Whenever the Debbie and Donald downers sling negativity towards me, I swirl it up and throw it out to the Milky Way.

Yesterday, however, I woke up thinking that I had an official Superpower to Un-Suck...that is, to see all the sucky, dumb-ass, imbecilic, cruel and horrific behavior of others and simply slurp it up into my Un-Sucky Machine. The art form? Easy. To rid the universe from all that simply suck: the attitudes we hate, colleagues who drive us batty, policies by administrators and government that are simply ridiculous, and harsh, bucolic behaviors of those in power that carry so much prejudice and cruelty in their hearts.

Crandall, the Frog-Boy, could simply turn on his Un-Sucky Machine and inhale all the ugly from the world (sort of like the Ghostbusters once did with apparitions).

This is how I dream at night.

Then I awake, turn on the news, see the abundance of sucky and follow it up with too many hours in the office, where I wish, "Please, lend me the superpower of un-sucking all that is truly sucky. I'd love to use it in so many locations."

Think about it. You could say, "Um, that's nasty and doesn't do anyone any good. You're slurped. I saw the way you treated others and although you think you're the center of the universe, you're not. Look into my hose. You're gone. Bye-bye. Wait, you are treating children how? That's not acceptable. Ciao."

I think I may create that costume for Halloween next year. Look out, however, because I may be coming after you. Ha Ha.

Well, Wednesday. Whatya Know? Yesterday Was a Day of Surprises. What Do You Have for Me Today?

You know you're a proud father when you do the unspeakable -- you pay for a suit for a graduating son that is 3x's as much as you'd spend for a suit on yourself. Chitunga deserves it. He didn't want the accolades of doing an undergraduate commencement and he was only home for 36 hours before heading to Boston for more internship work, so I couldn't help but respond to his statement of 'What do you want to do,' when he replied, "I wouldn't mind getting a new suit.

Sh'Zaam. New Suit. No Brainer.

I will, however, spare you the salmon-color one....just the pants.

He left yesterday morning and, with the grace of the crazy Whatever, ended up having dinner with a high school dear friend, Vickie, who showed him around the city and filled him in with crazy stories from our past. I love this kid for his willingness to be open armed and to embrace all the people, characters, friends and family I continue to introduce him to. He loves to embrace them all.

The second part of an unexpected, yet wonderful, Tuesday was stopping by to see the final meeting between Staples and Harding High Schools for their post-April poetry slam (as inspired by Nikki Grimes). I absolutely love that I was invited and the great work of their students was shared with me (which, in truth, was the direct result of vision from two spectacular teachers: Fola Sumpter of Harding High School and Barbara Robbins of Staples High School). I really do think the answer is to mix up our schooling communities as much as possible. The collaboration, conversation, focus, and student-driven discussions were outstanding and worthy of the nation to hear (wait, they can....Baltimore... NCTE '19).

The rest of my day was spent crunching numbers, looking for more behind closed doors, and finding a host of them under several rocks hidden in the back of campus (the accounting part of my job is horrendous)(I wish I could hire Chitunga to do it for me)(numbers and accountability are his thing).

Hump day already. I keep thinking I am going to find time to read the 46 books sent to me to review. I may need to hire high school readers to come help me out. Any takers? I have a wide assortment.

Portrait of an Artist as a Bird-Shit Stained Young Woman. Hello Walnut Beach, Very Pleased to Meet You

Tunga's only home for a brief bit before he heads to Boston for more training, so out schedule has been tight, so doing an evening stroll with Jake, Noel, Pam and Kaitlyn was part of the plan (somehow we missed the dinner plan, as he and I ate at home and then drove over where they were waiting for us to feed them....it's all good. I brought what we didn't finish). He's busy unpacking from school, repacking for Boston, rearranging his room, getting his hair cut and finishing a graduate course.

The plan? Go for a walk, then stop by Burlington to pick him up a couple more suits (yesterday was Father and Son's Day, the day of his adoption). In honor of the celebration and his graduation, we got him suited up.

But the walk.

We were at the halfway point when we heard Kaitlyn scream and freeze in the middle of the street. She had Noelle and my first instinct was one of them wet or stained themselves. Kaitlyn wouldn't talk and began flapping her wings like a crow, and that's when she screamed to the universe, "I've been shit on by birds!" They got her 3 places up front, two places below, and across her jeans. We didn't mean to laugh but it was one of the more eventful Milford walks.

Kaitlyn walked like the Bride of Frankenstein, too, not quite able to move her torso as she was disgusted by the aviary guano that perfumed her robin-egg blue pullover. I told her, "We'll show them! Let's find a bird's next and do our business there as revenge."

It was horrifying for her, but I loaned her $2 and made her walk into a convenient store to buy a lottery ticket. Luck has to be with her. She didn't want to go in, but it was a must.

Meanwhile, Tunga got a slick suit (without his Dad's knack for clearance items) and additional slacks and jeans. I have to say, however, that I"m in shock at the chaos of his bedroom and that he was/is okay with the disarray. I wouldn't think he'd be able to sleep until he solidified the arrangement.

Okay, we're off this morning to the University to prepare items he will need in Boston and then to the train station. I'm then booked in schools.

Shhhhhhh......It Happens! Still as good as 2000, when birds crapped on my tuxedo before my first graduation speech. Audience says Shhhhhhh and I say in the Mic, "It happens."

Because it does.

12 Years. It's Been 12 Years. Doesn't Seem Possible, but 12 Years Later, It's Been. The Last Moonbeam Shine.

Mr. Moonbeam and his Moonbeams did their last dance with All Stars and Fireflies in 2007. The graduating class that year was one of the best and he'd bring them down to first floor corner of Muhammed Ali and First Street to read books, do art, play games and sing songs.

Twelve years later, those All Stars and Fire Flies grew up to be Moonbeams, themselves - the J. Graham Brown School Senior Class of 2019.

Such growth was not on Mr. Moonbeam's radar when he left, but Alice reminded him the other day via text. I suppose I thought time would sit still and nothing would move, shift or alter upon leaving.
Ah, but that is beyond foolish. Everything lives. Everything changes. Everything evolves.

It has me thinking, however, about changes that have occurred since leaving and all that has resulted because I did.

• 4 beautiful years in Syracuse while earning a doctorate, 
• a tiny little ranch home on Eastman in Cicero,
• more family time,
• a Directorship of a National Writing Project site,
• 12 years of having the privilege of working with k-12, refugee and teaching communities,
• the purchase of the big o' yellow home on Mt. Pleasant,
• the invention of Mt. Pleasants,
• Glamis the Wonderdog,
• publications,
• travel to many locations, 
• speaking engagements,
• meeting and interacting with brilliant Young Adult authors,
• a kayak on the Long Island sound,
• seeing the Long Island sound every day, 
• proximity to my cousin in Amagansett and the Hoops4Hope work,
• the boys, especially Chitunga, 
• and less humidity and swamp air in the summer

Phew! Not a day goes by when I don't think of the joy that the Brown School delivered to me - I will always see it as a spark to life and an inspiration. At this point, I've spent just as many years beyond teaching at the school and spreading its joy to everyone I meet in the northeast and across the nation.

And writing to the Class of 2007 and letting them know (by the way) that their All Stars and Fireflies are now Moonbeams put all of it into perspective. 

Okay Blooms, Grass, Pollen, Trees and Other Irritants. Enough. I Want My Nostrils and Chest Back

I knew while running yesterday morning that, well, running probably wasn't a good idea. Although I had a good clip and felt decent while in stride-mode, I came home to a series of sneezing that led to coughing that led to swollen eyes that let to, well, my perseverance. Screw this drainage crap.

I mowed the lawn, I did laundry, I ran errands and in the afternoon Leo came over so we could watch the soccer championship game. As soon as he left, I lied down upon the bed I brought to the dining room and with the cool air blowing in, I fell asleep.

I slept for two hours, actually, which I never do. The snot simply wore me out.

What frustrates me the most about falling asleep is that I missed many of the items on the to-do list, especially rearranging the garage (which needs to happen very soon). I also want to go on a Great American purge of crap that I no longer need but somehow horde....I'm thinking minimalist (beside the books)

And now, I will await Chitunga's return. Actually, I have a Hoops4Hope board meeting in the a.m. and a CWP planning meeting on campus in the afternoon. Maybe that is why I collapsed yesterday. I knew I wasn't going to get Sunday to rest.

May your day be peaceful - this is one of 100s of flowers that bloomed yesterday in my garden. The colors are something else.

Hair Faded, Summer Focused, House Arrangements in Process and Eyes Swollen Shut From Pollen

Hello, June 1. This was taken in the morning, before I was consumed by allergies as the Cottonwoods began to bloom at campus and I-95 was loaded with floating fuzz balls (aka Cottonwood sperm). It is my number one tree allergy and I have been fighting so hard against the snot and coughing.

Towel is thrown in.

Actually, I accomplished a lot, even through I was a dripping mess. I proceeded to move guest bed #1 out of Chitunga's room, so he can have full space this summer for settling into his routine and work. That bed is now in the dining room, which is for guest #1 on Tuesdays and Wednesdays (a fellow from Kentucky moving to UMass for his doctorate, but wishing to do attend CWP before he starts (his interest is with relocated refugee literacy processes).

I then proceeded to tackle book cases because I had to move my office home and there are boxes of books everywhere. In my head I was thinking Pequot Library Book Sale and a massive donation of unwanted books. It's just hard, because I want to keep all my books; they're my friends and I like them. I did manage to put one box together (cough cough...that was allergies).

I also did a massive dump of shit I know longer need: boxes, cards, paraphernalia, and junk. This made room, you see, to store more books.

The office has also been moved to the dining room, make-shift office, which will become Abu's space for the last two weeks of summer programming, while he gives up his room to a woman from Zimbabwe, Africa who is coming for Hoops4Hope, but interning with CWP. My Kentucky guest, I'm hoping, will find additional housing while this happens (although Pam said Abu can stay with her on Tuesdays and Wednesdays).

I told my friend, Beth, that I try to get my life lived in June and July so the rest of the year I can be selfish and read. The summer months are totally social and Mt. Pleasant is a B&B and playhouse. I love every second of it, but enjoy the calm when it ends, too. Glamis? She's hard to read. I think she loves all the attention, but when everyone is gone, the entire place can be her bedroom. The hair I swept last night was evidence of that.

Today, I'm waking up hoping to get to the dump and to tackle the upstairs. I also want to hit the garage which has been a Chitunga sanctuary of his middle, high school, and post-high school life. Everything is stored out there and I don't know what he wants to keep. I do know, however, that a goal I have this summer is to set him up for his return after graduate school. I know he won't last long in Stratford, but we can redo his room as if he's returning as an adult. Economically, I hope he will stay home after graduate school, but logically, the commute will eventually kill him (a life on the Metro is too much).

Back to my head. Okay, Jerry Simeon is a god-send barber. I go in and he makes me look younger, crisper and more alive. I appreciate that. I walked around everywhere on Friday feeling somewhat cocky and confident, all because the hairs on my head allowed me to be.

It will all be different today when I run, shower, and do my doo myself (read fail). Happy Saturday and June 1. I will leave with a special shout out to my nephew and Godson,  Jacob Charles. It's his birthday and I'm hoping he has the best time ever in CNY.

If only I could get him to invent a real time machine and take me back to 1990, where I graduate and proceed to move on to the best four years of my life - college. I don't necessarily want to go back to those times, but I'd love to be in that skin again where everything was so new, fresh, exciting and promising.

Happy Birthday, Jake. Keep that spunk and funk alive!!!!

And may Sherburne have a successful pageant of bands.