In Atlanta for #TESOL19 to Present "With Ubuntu: A Philosophy for Humbled Togetherness & a Community of Refugee Youth Writers

Was such an honor to be asked to present on a panel for Refugee Writing Across a Lifespan, and to highlight the research work from Syracuse that led to all the work at the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University. As of a week ago, I officially hit a milestone with grants and fundraising and am still shaking my head at what has been accomplished since 2014. This summer, we will have served over 1,000 young people in CT with our Young Adult Literacy Labs, including Ubuntu Academy, our two-week literacy lab for immigrant and refugee youth. In Atlanta, my goal is to highlight how this summer work has become yearlong work through the excellence of Jessica Baldizon and William King.

The presentation features highlights from previous publications, but sets up a framework of how that academic work was married with the National Writing Project philosophy to create the phenomena that is CWP! I'm a visual learner, so tend to present less with text and more with photographs from the years: they trigger the story, and I am at TESOL to tell the story.

This is the first time, however, I've been to this conference. I'm sort of solo, except for the names of the other presenters on the panel that were asked to speak. I've been to Atlanta before with my CWP teaching crew for NCTE and while walking by Sal's Liquor Store I said, "Oh, now I remember downtown Atlanta." That was the year my teachers got CrAzY!!! It was a blast and very unforgettable.

I'm not sure how much sight-seeing I'll get done, as I'm committed to several deadlines (a few I KNOW I WILL MISS - so sorry, NWP...I mean well). I have the opportunity, however, to walk through Olympic Park everyday. This puts a smile across my face as I walk to and from the conference convention center.

I'm also in a hotel so have a nicer bed and pillows than I'm used to (I should simply get a new mattress - I sleep so much better in hotels).

Finally, looking forward to meeting new TESOL friends today...last night at dinner I struck up many conversations with total strangers who gave me more insight on what to expect from this! It seems like an enormous crowd!

And, Universe. I Get It. Dogs Have Emotions, Too. But the Sighing and Whimpering. It's Just Two Days.

I'm heading out of town again, this time for TESOL, Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages conference in Atlanta, Georgia. I was asked last fall to be part of a keynote panel on teaching writing to refugee-background youth. I'm not familiar with their sessions or the layout of their professional discourse, but I'm ready and happy to be part of a new community.

In the meantime, Glamis the wonder dog watched me pack and I saw it in her eyes. She will be in great care with her friends Jake and Pammy, but it doesn't change the fact that this dog, more than any other dog, is extremely dramatic and emotional. She likes her routine more than any creature I've ever known. She freaks out when a snowman is built in someone's lawn that is new, or when garbage is out. She knows her world and that is what she wants on a daily basis...her schedule, her agenda, her timing, and her needs.

That's why the suitcase throws her off. She's been sulking all evening, and although I took her for a walk, and played extra hard with her, the drama wins out. She literally has been laying at my side whimpering and sighing (insert dramatic elbow and paw to the snout) with her sadness that she detects I'm going away.

I am going away. She will be taken care of. Still, she prefers the theatrics. It is something. I know guilt is self-created. I won't let her win.

Instead, I will catch my flight to Atlanta, present on Thursday, and head home on Friday. I'm treating this as a semi-mental retreat, too, where I can have the space to process all that has been going on.
I will bring the sighing and whimpering with me.

Hello, Atlanta. I'll be there soon.

With Thanks to @FairfieldUBooks for Hosting @halseanderson the Night Before SHOUT Debuts - Feeling Lucky

Last night, it was an honor and privilege to spend time in the company of writer Laurie Halse Anderson as she began her tour of SHOUT at Fairfield University Bookstore. I wrote about the impact of the book last year (see the poem below), but last night the writer offer more context for the work she does, her thinking, her resiliency, her power, her voice, and her mission. Listening to Laurie Halse Anderson as she was interviewed by Meg Wolitzer, I couldn't help but think, "Wow, we are in the presence of magic...a magic that arises from pain, language, perseverance and the power of words." 

It was a full house at the Fairfield University Book Store, too, which it needed to be. As gracious as always, however, the Laurie Halse Anderson gave time and care to everyone who attended, had a question, wanted or hug or asked for a picture. This is the beauty and strength this writer. She truly is a champion of teachers and young people (many of whom were in the audience last night), and exudes love, hope, and safety in her message, always with a touch of wit and a bit of rage.

(photo credit, John Berry, Syracuse, NY)

There's a story about the photo taken above and it has to do with the photo to the left, taken by John Berry, father of Rhiannon, a VIP human in my world (and the world of my boys). While I was doing my research in Syracuse, Mr. Berry was assigned to do a photo shoot of Laurie Halse Anderson in upstate New York and took this photo that featured in the Syracuse Herald Jounal. It has been imprinted in my brain for ever: so much light, so much of the outside shedding truth for the inside, and so much openness and hope. It was taken WAY before I met the writer, but whenever I read her work or think of her, I think of this shot (and my friend/colleague/life-sojourner, Rhiannon, whose father captured the moment). The photo, to me, is Laurie Halse Anderson, and I channel it in my head whenever I want a muse for my own work. . The light that was filtered onto her, was filtered into her books. This is the shine that readers feel, too, when they read any of her books. She is the same shine. She allows light into an often dark world.

I told her this last night. There's an optimism in youth cultures, and in them they carry the light for another generation, one more tolerant, yet intolerant, for the claims of previous generations. They want action and for the United States to become the democracy it has always claimed to be (but that has always been experienced by the few). 

I suppose there's a place in every writer's history where they simply sit back and reflect, "I had a story to tell, and I told it. Then this happened, and this. And of course it was followed by this." 

I was in my second year of teaching high school when SPEAK debuted. It had a tremendous impact on my students, and it made me a better teacher. Fast forward 20 years, and we have this post. 

Actually, the post is all Laurie Halse Anderson. There are time to Speak and times to Shout. Her writing screams and we need to listen! 

And so I return to my original post about Shout - a poem I wrote in response to my first reading.

I wish Laurie Halse Anderson the best as she travels across the country bringing such window-light into the world. We are better because of her spirit, heart, vision, kindness and absolute generosity. 

T hen there are days, privileged in nirvana,

h armonious cosmic karma, where

e verything I wanna understand gets

r eflected in poolside chlorine, an arched

e yebrow from Walter Meyers, that Dean of

a dolescent possibilities, & where a writer crafts

r eality (or at least it seems), and I

e volve from storytelling, poetic dreams, as

t he beautiful writer screams at the

i nsanity of the sane, the saneness of our chaos,

m e, her, him, they, us ---

e arthquakes in deep water

s end ripples to the surface, resting bitch face, a

t ouch-me-and-die face

o vertured in a symphony of existence.

S houts are rarely heard in silence, but

P oems capture the clutter of noisy voices,

E very second, all our choices,

A nnouncing who we are supposed to be -

K nowledge, truth, love - the trinity to set us free.

a nd a book is written. a confession,

n orse codes for our imperfection, where

d anish fjords become explanation,

t eaching water to flow in Anderson ways.

i magination is a gift for the soul, it prays,

m anages pain, blooms branches w/ sun-rays, &

e verything evolves at exactly the right time -

s ongs composed/praised to counter its crime

t hat sing survival through rhythm and rhyme, that

o ffer humanity to counter its slime.

S hame turned inside out - 

H ow the story found a page,

O mnipotent strength from a writer's rage

U ntangling Gordian knots -- all un-

T wisted and crafted by a poetic sage.

The Fastest 24 Hours Spent in CT...Home Briefly, But Spent Productively (and with Love).

Waking up at 1 pm, means breakfast comes at around 2 pm, and I believe my kitchen was in shock, "Wait, you're cooking breakfast?"

I never cook breakfast. I pour milk into a bowl or put a bagel in the toaster oven. Ah, but I was pretty sure these boys would need greasy food, eggs, and toast to soak up all the undertook until the wee hours of Daylight Savings Time. I had to laugh, too, because all 3 came to the kitchen table with their laptops and immediately began doing school work. I actually had to tell them to put the technology away so we could eat.

Then they left. Chitunga took him for a tour of Fairfield University, Bridgeport, New Haven and Yale, the beaches and then to meet Pam and Jake. I, on the other hand, used the guilt of sleeping in until 11 a.m. to kick my ass in gear to plan, grade, write and get on top of the week ahead.
I also looked over at the dining room and realized it makes a great extra bedroom when we turn it into one. I need one of those Giant Bean Bag chairs that my cousin Mark has in Amagansett. It would be a good alternative for that space when not using it as a dining room.

I got a long run in, and then they returned around 7 (love that it will stay lighter later). They brought pizza and some of Tunga's home friends stopped by to eat and hang out, including Gino, his funeral parlor friend, who came today as if he was auditioning for The Godfather. Love that kid.

At 2 in the morning last night, they left for the airport on their trip to San Juan. I was impressed that they actually were
lights out at 10 pm trying to get 4 hours of sleep before they took off (and of course I woke up as they departed - making it two pretty sloppy sleeps over the last couple of days).

I know Glamis is exhausted, too. She never got a second to sleep and even had double the amount of walks.

Okay, it's Monday. There's much to be done in the next 12 hours / 24 hours / 36 hours / 48 hours / week / and month. I will take it one moment at a time. It is always joyous and warm to have a full house - the whole rhythm seems to be in better play. The walls, beds and floors miss all the chaos when everyone is away.

So, here we go week. We got this. But first I really need a cup of coffee.

With Respect For Butch & Sue, The Paybacks Are Real. Youth Is Wasted on the Young. Oh, To Be Young Again.

I attended the Milford St. Patrick's Day Parade yesterday afternoon, but the truth is we never saw much of the parade. Instead, my friends knew that downtown Milford would be a zoo of people, and they recommended we find somewhere to eat to begin the shenanigans.

I drove separately. I drank water. I was hungry, but I knew I needed to accomplish a lot later in the day.

So, I got up, wrote, ran, walked the dog, cleaned a little, and then drove to meet them for lunch.

They were dropped off, which was an indicator that their day was going to be a lot longer than mine. I knew that Chitunga and his friends were coming in from Syracuse and we were going to get Paradise Pizza. As a result, I left early so I could get groceries and come home and finish cleaning. Then I asked Chitunga, "What's your estimated time of arrival?" He reported 10 p.m., so I did a "Roger" and went back to cleaning. Knowing they would be in later, I decided to lie down for a little big and pretend to nap. Didn't work, so I got up and started preparing for the week. That's when I got a text saying it would be more like 11 or 11:30. "But stay up," it read. "Joe wants to have a drink with you before he goes to bed. Don't fall asleep."

Dude. At 11:30, I'm already asleep. What do you mean stay up?

Of course, I stayed up. They are only in CT for 24 hours before they head to Spring Break in Puerto Rico - a trip I've never made, but one that I'm happy for, because Chitunga doesn't allow himself many breaks (cough cough, doesn't sound like anyone I know).

I inflated a guest bed (because I needed one for everyone coming) and then remembered that Chitunga said, "We'll get Paradise Pizza. Don't cook."

I didn't cook, but they ate in Amsterdam, when Chitunga stopped to pick them up at their own homes. I lose out. And he texts, "We have a full day on Sunday, and won't be home much."

They leave for the airport at night!

All of this is to say, "What comes around, goes around," and I deserve it. Earlier years stressed me out waiting for the car to enter the driveway so I knew he was safe, but I recognize his independence now and the fact that when I'm not around, he has no one but himself to be responsible to. I also know that I have no problem sleeping or staying in my groove while he's away because we always text one another right before we go to bed. Alas, he will be in this house tonight - probably rearing to go - when I should already be counting the zzzz's.

My dad turned 77 this week. He was 53 when I was 23. I was already in KY by then, and when I came home, it was family time, but also friend time. He and my mom were still working, but I was cruising along my post-undergraduate days where going to bed at 3 a.m. was normal. Two hours after I went to bed, my father was already out the door to work.

I don't know how they did it - with 3 of us. Of course, they have always been better nappers than I'll ever be.

Alas, let them sojourn Connecticut today, as I have the Keynote to prepare, my graduate course, and an author visit. I'm simply remembering the Yoga-breathing techniques I once learned a long time ago, and will work hard to find my ommmmmmmmmmmm.

ummmmmmmmmmmm.

Will Finally Represent #Breadloaf in Spirit Thanks to The Hard Work of a Pomperaug H.S. Senior & His Hard Work

I've been wanting Adirondack chairs for my backyard ever since I move to my Mt. Pleasant home. Maybe it is because I live in a yellow house (no green shudders) that I've craved the wooden chairs for my outdoor landscape - a landscape I first learned from Bread Loaf School of English. For the last 8 years I've looked for the chairs, peeped them online, and simply gave in to my economical practicality not to buy them. I've been waiting for the right time, the right location, the right price, and the right style.

That is when French teacher, Ms. Kelly, who works at Pomperaug High School in Southbury, Connecticut said, "We have a teacher at our school who works with kids to make these chairs."

I wrote to Ms. Carpenter (her name is Caryn Carpenter), the wood-shop teacher, and she put me in touch with a student, Gunnar, who was assigned to my request - two chairs.


Gunnar contacted me in a professional manner, inquired about my request and said he'd love to take on the job. Last November, I replied, "Go for it." During every step of the way, Gunnar sent me updates and photos of the project, treating his carpentry and artwork as a pro! I would later find out that one of my neighbors, Mr. Blanchett, a counselor at the school, also had Gunnar as one of his seniors. We tried a few ways to get the chairs to my house in Southern Connecticut, but nothing worked. Yesterday, however, we had the vehicle, the space, and the time to make the transition happen.

I'm more than thrilled by the work of Gunnar, Class of 2019, and in our textual exchanges, I inquired about his name - very Danish, indeed. It turns out that his grandmother was from Denmark and I told him about my friendship of a mentor in Denmark, Gunnar, who shared his name. He reported he's never been to Denmark and I'm hoping it will be a post-high school experience he'll allow himself.

He did extremely well and I'm proud for numerous reasons. The first, of course, is that I finally have my chairs. More importantly, however, is the vision of Pomperaug to mentor seniors like Gunnar into a hands-on trade that teaches a skill that can be carried to a post-high school career. It's a win-win-win situation. I got my Adirondack chairs, Gunnar had the opportunity to work with me as a customer, and his school is providing space and time to help him to be successful. If only more of our schools committed such time and mentorship to their students.

I asked Gunnar if he'd send a photo so I could include it in this morning's post and he sent the one to the right. I could have bought two chairs and never know who made them. With respect to the craft-manship, time, and care, however, of an artist like Gunnar, I wanted to give credit where credit is due. As of March 9th, the chairs are a part of the home in CT. The chairs will always be a celebration of his hard work and I will always tell the story of the investment he and his school made in making this purchase possible.

I am feeling lucky, indeed. 

And On This Friday, I Exit the Last of the 14-Hour Days That Made Monday-Thursday What They Were

And at 9:40 p.m., I pulled in my driveway after beginning my day at 7 a.m., to work until midnight on meeting the last of the week's deadlines. I did have the pleasure, however, of working with a team of five to select this year's 7th and 8th Grade Poetry For Peace winners from Fairfield and Bridgeport schools. We had a record number of 470 poems and narrowed it down to the top 16, a representation of many schools with a variety of poetic styles.

Have you ever read 470 poems by middle school students? You should some day. It makes you a better human being.

We had numerous folders to go through and had to come to consensus and we were thrilled that the 1st 12 were on all of our lists. The last four, however, came from conversation, debate, and an eye on representation.

I went to bed last night with the thought "Poetry Is," reflecting on the number of responses from middle school students. The picture to the right is part of our 'narrowing-down' process in 148 Canisius Hall.

Meanwhile, at home, the cold temperatures have thinks crackling and breaking: limbs, snowbanks, rooftops, etc. I heard a large bang out back that made it seem like the back porch collapses. I have no idea what is was, but it shook the whole house. I thought winter was over last month when it almost hit 70 degrees. Surprise. March had much more in store for us.

I'm kicking off my Friday wishing I was at a resort where I could hike, walk, and run all day, then take momentary breaks looking out at oceanic waters. I would love this to be without technology: computers, emails, cellphones, and social media. I need a week with a pile of books, sunshine, and fresh air, where I hear no demands, no voices, and just the lapping of waves.

That would be a TGIF, indeed. A dream, but the wish will keep me going for a little longer.