Take Lip...run finger up and down...say bBlbllblllbbbb

Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are rough this semester. I feel like I go from 7 a.m. until 9 p.m. and get home just in time to repeat the next day. It's a funky groove to be in and I'm liking it, but crossing t's and dotting i's is tricky. I don't get to my emails until late and that is a job in itself.

My colleagues in Syracuse, Pennsylvania and Canada and I are putting together a proposal that is due Friday, too. Editing and revising is the nature of this beast and none of us have a lot of time to focus and so we do it piece-meal.

It's all good, though, because tonight I can pack and head to Syracuse on Friday for the U of L/Syracuse game. When I get home from work I have to look at my house and think, "Shoot, laundry." I don't need much, but do have to organize before I depart. When I was a boy, I always claimed I would have a maid. Dang, I'm one ugly maid and I have to keep up with my messiness. Not fun. But to get to laundry, all I need to do is finish a book, meet with one Principal, meet with Gear Up Directors, meet with English teachers, meet with a literacy specialist, return to campus, plan my class, teach my class, then drive home. It can be done. It must be done.

Beyond Sport, Beyond Labels, It's About Community

A friend sent me this video yesterday and I enjoy the story it tells. Community and teamwork is not always about winning, but respecting those who encourage us to win. This means inclusion and when it is supported by both teams, it is even more meaningful.

The moral is we all deserve a right to play, to have a moment, to be respected, and to be part of the team. The coach's integrity trickled down to his players in the way a teacher's maturity can model for students in his or her class.

Those in the stadium, that day, will never forget this moment; This is a greater victory.

All this testing is making me testy....

Teachers have been sending me order forms for this bumper sticker with advice it needs to be spread across the nation: High-Stakes Testing Is Destroying Education. It's not only the testing, it is now the observation of teachers who are doing the testing. I've been in several public and parochial schools the last few weeks and the only way to describe schooling is "a state of fear." Students are in panic that they won't achieve well on the tests, parents are fretting over the education their children are receiving, teachers are stressing over the narrow curriculum they're forced to offer, administrators are alarmed by the importance of the scores and, well, I'm somewhat sick of it all.

Learning is no longer about learning. It is about robotics. We've created an inane system that is not working, does little, and is, as the bumper sticker reports, destroying education. These communities need to be fixed. Teachers and students deserve the investment of support; not the management tool of examinations that assess very little.

I heard from a teacher last night who shared a story of the hell she's been living in. For two years, administrators in her school have been policing her and harassing her, reporting to higher ups that she needs to be monitored and watched. Within the last few months, however, these administrators were removed and placed in other schools. New advisors are now in charge of giving her feedback and they are seeing what I always saw. Their feedback has been stellar and supportive. She went back to her teaching philosophy to visit why she went into the profession. She revisited scholars she appreciated and mentoring she valued. She realized that the new observers of her classroom valued this, but the ones before did not. They had no academic or valuable reasons for their criticism. She is exhaling now, for the time being, that student-centered curriculum and guidance may be a new norm. The fact is, though, these individuals can be replaced quickly by other Delores Umbridges who lack of classroom experience and are completely misguided. Part of this, I feel, is the fault of universities. How do they let such individuals into leadership roles? How do they get by? There's plenty of blame to go around.

My advice to everyone now is to get vocal. The cartoon  of a student taking a test to prepare for the test that will be give before the test is extremely accurate. Parents, taxpayers, and community leaders should be alarmed. The revolution is needed. Running schools as assessment emporiums has gotten out of control.

Bridgeport Sound Tigers, Sadly, Didn't Hear a Win...

My experience with ice and skates is limited. I vaguely remember the two-three bladed plastic ones we had as a kid. I also went once during high school and held onto the railing. I think Cynde and I also took Nikki skating when when she was much younger. I also took a group skating through the Liberty Partnerships Program while working at Syracuse. That did not end well - my colleague hit her head skating backwards. It was not good at all and I don't like to think about it.

Why do I mention this? Because I went to a hockey game at the Webster Arena yesterday to watch the Sound Tigers of Bridgeport play Scranton. They lost, but it was a good game. I've only been to see Syracuse Crunch with my Uncle Steve in Syracuse, and I'd forgotten how much I enjoy the sport. I couldn't play it, but I definitely can be a spectator. I'm in awe at the speed they get, their ability to keep up with the puck, and the physical perseverance needed to survive. I told Leo and Bev, friends I went with, that I'm not sure how long I'd last on the ice. I think the first time I got going with some speed and someone slammed into me against the walls, I would get super pissed, I think I would take my stick and whack him across the head. I know why they all play aggressively. It'd make me angry, too, to constantly fall on the ice.

The game went into overtime and then sudden death. The Scranton bunch had one more goal after it was all said and done. And the beer was $8 a bottle. I thought, "Shoot, double that and I can get a case of Newcastle - Americans sure know how to rob a guy."

I was impressed by the crowd, however, as it was a community of fanatics that were really into the game. I was there a few nights ago watching basketball. It's pretty amazing how quickly they convert the facility.

Finally, thanks to Draw Something (2012) I now know what a Zamboni is. Webster arena had two and it is my goal to one day have the opportunity to drive one. Need to add that to my bucket list.

A Memory Out of the Blue...

...funny how they sometimes appear.

I had forgotten the poetry I left on the walls of 546 S. First Street while teaching in room 301 all those years. Yesterday, Elizabeth Russell posted this photo she snapped when she revisited the school (12 years after here graduation). She was happy to see this doodle still scratched in chalk above the three showcase windows.

In this hand a universe --
possibilities for forgotten dreams
always lying in truth
moon,
     suns, 
the ones who fly by the fires of shadowed caves
cry through love's rants and raves
trying to grasp the stars 
in the brown landscape of 
tomorrow...and tomorrow...and tomorrow...

When I began teaching her class in 1998, I never thought their graduation in 2001 would come. As it got closer, I grew more anxious and sad. These were the kids I had for four years and their high school English experience was me. When they left, I felt a whole was left but it was soon filled by the oncoming needs of the next class. To know it's been over a decade now seems unimaginable. It was like yesterday that we traveled to St. Augustine and watched the sun rise together.

What a special feeling to know that a piece of you exists somewhere where you once worked routines. It is like I am still there, but so far, far away. It made my day to have this sent to me -- to remind me of the community that remains at my core.

Perhaps, like wine, I get better with age...

or maybe not, but at least I tell myself that.

I'm aiming for a less beer more wine weekend in my post-40 life. Why? Well, I don't feel as heavy and it still brings me to that relaxed place of community, easy, and Friday celebration -it's the end of a work week.

I know that being an academic (or teacher for that matter) does not often see a division between a week of labor and a weekend of catching up, but at least it brings about 48 hours without meetings and a chance to go for Merlot or Pinot Noir. I simply like sipping redness to channel my Grannie Annie and to toast a glass to my sister, Cynde, who I'd share a glass with if I still lived in Syracuse.

I could easily live a life of wine tasting, cheese and crackers. Yes, I love my imported beers, but wine is more economical and a lot better for the bulge. So, here's to the weekend, to Saturday, to the Syracuse/Georgetown basketball game and to you.

Cheers.

One of the greatest things about moving to Connecticut...@sonyahuber

...has been becoming a part of Sonya Huber's community. Last night she read from her hard cover, Opa Nobody (or as her husband, Cliff, dubbed it, Oprah Nobody) to celebrate the soft cover release of the book. Interestingly, the university book store only had the hard cover, but this was part of the humor.

The photo to the left doesn't show it, but the crowd was abundant (much larger than I'm used to seeing at a Bookstore event). Opa Nobody features her search to know her grandfather more, a man who lived in Germany and took part in political activity to fight against the Nazi party. What I loved about her reading (and the book), however, is the way she blends her own political activism during the 90s as a punk, radical rebel (I've always bonded with such folk). It is obvious that her shaved head and tattoo'd spirit remains with her, even though the love of a son and family has redirected some of the spunk of fighting the systems that need to be fought. The tensions of being political and practical, simultaneously, resonated with me - what was I to do with the inner hippie, postmodern redneck literature major that I was after I graduated?

I know Sonya as a comrade who was hired the same year as me and I have grown fond of her laughter, sense of humor, her husband Cliff, and the way they both do the world. They have become my Stratford inspiration and muses. I'm thankful to have them both in my local community.

There's not much that makes me happier than when one of my students makes a connection to one of Sonya's classes and they say, "Bryan, that's almost like was Sonya Huber was saying the other day in [fill in the name of a class here]....do you know her?"  The words make me feel I'm doing something right at least some of the time. "Yes, I know her," I respond. "We used to be Siamese twins but were separated at birth, both physically and spiritually. We're somewhat uncomfortable around each other because it is strange to have a twin enter your life at age 40. It's like we know each other, but we're complete strangers."

One of my favorite parts of the evening last night was when Sonya shared her mother's memory about "Opa" moving anti-Nazi literature through Germany in a baby carriage. Upon investigation, she explained she learned that it wasn't her grandfather but her great-grandmother who was moving workers' literature, fighting for the rights of local men who worked in mines.

Memory, either way, demonstrates the 'call for action' that flows through the bloodlines of Huber's unique heritage. "Nobody," Sonya explained, was a way her mother referred to her father, but as she kept asking questions, her grandfather became much more than a nobody. This is what writing does, it "gives" mothers their "father back." We arrive from lives lived before us, but piecing together the stories of exactly what make us who we are is complicated, piecemeal, and emotional. This is the power of memoir and memory, and what I love about Sonya Huber. From her, I learn.

Selected to be a World Book Giver! @NSLCsyracuse

In January, I applied to the World Book Night organization to be a book giver. I learned yesterday that I was selected as one of the givers this year to distribute books to the world at a location of my choosing. They have not sent me the specific details yet, but when I applied, I wrote about the North Side Learning Center in Syracuse, New York with their mission of aiding adult and youth literacy development, and to be instrumental in teaching self-sufficiency and self-actualization to newcomers in our community. I know through my work with relocated youth that it was literacy programs like theirs that truly made the biggest impact on learning.

My colleague, Dr. Betsy Bowen, who also is a recipient, has distributed books in years' past to the Mercy Learning Center in Bridgeport. I wanted to be part of it this year to thank the young people from Central New York who have relocated from many countries from refugee camps. Dr. Yusuf Soule, one of the leaders and directors at the center, contacted me last year about running youth programs for reading during the summer months. At the time, I could only contribute a list of books that resonated with the young people I worked with while working on my dissertation. This year, however, I will be able to provide them with a class set of middle school books for them to work with - all thanks to the World Book Night initiative.

This brings me tremendous pride as the community of Syracuse is extremely deserving, especially the hard-working, diligent and dedicated young people who use the North Side Learning Center for tutoring and support. It is also an opportunity, perhaps, where parents and children can work on the English language together. I'm hoping to use this as an additional opportunity to visit Central New York in April. I hope this post will be followed-up in the next month after the distribution is made!

If you live in Syracuse, I hope you will check out the work of the North Side Learning Center and consider doing whatever you can to offer support.

The next time you're bored at a meeting...

you might try one of these (source LAURA VANDERKAM, CBS News)

When I began to reflect on my life this month, I realized that the majority of it involves meetings, more meetings, and more meetings. I think when I was a teacher, there was not a lot of time for meetings, but now that I'm an academic there's meetings about scheduling meetings and meetings for reflecting meetings. I'd rather not meet and just get work done. Yet, we are all a part of a community and so working with one another is par for the course. 

I thought it would be funny to find a top ten list for getting through a boring meeting, but found this longer one, instead. Actually, the Internet is exploding with people posting on how to survive a boring meeting. My guess is that boredom and meetings might be synonymous:

1. Write poetry (assuming you're allowed to take notes)
2. Hone your bucket list 
3. Daydream about what you'd like your career to look like 5 years from now. What steps can you take to get there?
4. Pray or meditate
5. Make a list of things you're grateful for
6. Make a list of people you'd like to thank for specific things (then send the emails when you get back to your desk)
7. Ponder the premise for a novel. Write character sketches.
8. Look around the room and come up with one genuinely positive thought about each of the other meeting participants
9. Sketch an idea for a cartoon character
10. List your top priorities for next week, next month and next year
11. Brainstorm a sideline or hobby you'd like to take up. Or even a new business idea. If you wanted to increase your family's income by $20,000 this year, what could you do?
12. Recall one of the happiest moments in your life. How many details can you remember?
13. Think through things about your organization that annoy you. Are there any inefficiencies here to which you can propose solutions? Could you save someone some money? That could be the key to a promotion that gets you out of these meetings.
14. Recall the lyrics to a song that has been meaningful to you. Write them down if you can. Why did you like them?
15. In sales? Make a list of prospects and old clients to check in with. Actually, you should probably do this even if you're not in sales.
16. The old lotto fantasy: If you won $100 million, what would you do with it?
17. Take it down to earth: Say you got a $10,000 unanticipated tax refund. What would you do with that?
18. Write little booklets of advice for each of your children or grandchildren
19. Sketch the meeting room, or even your cup of coffee

Once again, the biggest loser...

I sat last night watching the Biggest Loser and joked between the commercials that were offering fitness, foods, and positive reinforcement, "Yes, I know my body is a temple. That is why I feed it Double Stuff Oreo cookies."

That cracked me up.

But it also was a painful truth. Do know when I buy Oreo cookies I eat one and give the rest to my roommate. I know the foods that lure me in and they have everything to do with the blue, furry guy from Sesame Street. Nope, not Grover.

So, after a birthday weekend of wine, Thai food and, today, a sausage omelet, I settled in for the night to reread John Dau and Martha Akech's  Lost Boy, Lost Girl when the show came on. As usual, I listened to the television set rather than watched it, until the very end. The woman sent home gave a tremendous speech and everyone had tears in their eyes. For communities of people who have wrestled with weight, self esteem, exercise, and image, her words should resonate. It is always a fight to do more, to work harder, to persevere against the biology of big bodies and the psychology of emotional eating. The trick, always, is to get into a healthy routine.

That's why I have the gym which I avoided last night, but will return to early in the morning before work. Truth is, I ate a half moon cookie (well, part of it - I took a bite and gave the rest to my roommate who is Asian and eats fiendishly despite her petite body).

My point for this post? Ah, spring is coming and I can't wait. I live much better when I can run and walk daily. I've said over and over again that the gym saved me my four years in Syracuse, especially during the winter. Well, February is almost over and I'm thankful for the gym again. 

A Daolicious Birthday Weekend

I admit it. If you visit me in Stratford I will take you to Dao Fusion Cuisine and Lounge, treating you to sushi and Thai treats. Two nights in a row I have eaten there: first for a celebration of age and second for planning curriculum that cares. In both cases, it was an excuse to eat daolicious food and to take advantage of the incredible coupons they text me.

As they say, "Outside it is cold, cold, cold, but in our restaurant we are hot, hot, hot." The food is always perfect and I spend hours afterwords licking the flavors from my teeth.

No matter where one lives they need a restaurant to bring the community together, and although I miss Vietnam Kitchen in Louisville and Panda West at Syracuse University, I am thankful that I've found Dao Fusion. It has become my culinary home for dining with friends and colleagues.

Yum.

on being 41

(with thanks to Gordon Skinner for giving me a print of Fotolia for my birthday)

part of me is yesterday,
but another half still waits to be written.
the colors have yet to be splashed onto canvas,
or to fill the dimensions
of what i haven't been able to be.

midway, i am partially filled with pastiche,
and give the stains of memories to
the potpourri of existence.

the photos tell only traces of truth,
the paintings fill only partial lines.
because part of me is still young,
running streets with a spray can 
and ready to write my name in vain.

but i am older now.
more focused and filled with
doubt, still eager to shout
about ways to view a world -
pep in my eyes recedes with a hairline,
beats of my heart are more paced and self aware
(less likely to commit to the page -
more afraid they'll disappear).

part of me, this age,  
where prisms grow enraged
in expressions of lifetime.
the skin covers muscle, the muscle attaches to bones. 
the bones provide structure. and together they walk...

yet part of me is tomorrow,
and that...
..only the soul can know.

Sometimes My Administrative Assistant Scares Me

How many faces do you see?

Ever since I met Lois, she's stopped me to see if I can see the faces in the trees...or in the rocks...or in the sky...or in paintings. They are always obvious to her and, at times, she even sends me photos of her comforter, her floor, or a pair of pants she pulled out of the dryer.

They are her friends. The faces stand out to her and it becomes a came of whether or not Bryan can find them.

When I saw this picture (right) where you are supposed to find ten faces in the tree, I instantly thought of Lois. I feel like I'm a part of her ghostly community, able to see what she sees at all times of the day.

Now I'm going to be looking for faces in everything: my toilet water, an evening beer, the toilet water after an evening of beer. They are so obvious to her and I feel I'm missing out when I can't see them. So, now I'm looking.

Purging Stuff we No Longer Need

My colleague next door is retiring at the end of this year. Every day she comes over with a pile of items she thinks I might be able to use: research articles, books, CDs, reports, etc. She's a self-proclaimed hoarder and even found a check a friend gave to her 9 years ago. But, because the journey is turning the corner for her, she is getting rid of her collection.

This, to me, is beautiful.

We build our communities through our collections and the things we put on our shelf and in our forest have temporary meaning for us. They make us who we are. They define us. Yet, at some point, we're able to eliminate the excess and get rid of all those things. Herein lies the greatest freedom.

I feel like I need to purge but I can't figure what I need to get rid of. Everything seems temporary for me: renting my car, renting a house, on a short-term contract, adrift from my old career. I was thinking tonight that I didn't have the purging experience when I left Brown. I gave items away, but I left just as many to room 301. I knew I couldn't carry all those materials and I saved only one box from Brown. I moved on and into new communities.

Yet, I'm thinking about the purging process and how 99.9% of what we do is collect unnecessary things. Trinkets here and there are nice because they take on meaning, but at the end of the road, we only hold on to a few things. It's something to think about: if you were to pack of everything to be given away, what are the items you'd want to hang on to forever. I'm looking around my home right now and thinking, "hmmm. I'm not quite sure."

Best Song to Celebrate Today

It's V-Day. I won't write a lot but will post one of my favorite songs of all times. Yes, it's frat-like and cliche' but I really do like the song.

Dave Mathew's Crash Into Me.

One of the best songs ever. Hope you are in a community of love. I'm taking advantage of some cancellations to sleep in and catch up on my sanity. Friday, after all, is the day of sales to stock up on candy and crap left over from all the lovers who couldn't find love this holiday. I get it for 70% off and distribute to students in schools. Today will be a day of rest while the rest of the world works from guilt to do something special with their special somebodies.

You know you are a nerd when...

You drive a half-hour to score 11th grade writing portfolios at 6:30 in the morning after a weekend blizzard.

Seriously.

And the entire way I smiled and grew excited. Since leaving Kentucky I have not entered schools where writing processes are encouraged and where a school, through investment of administrators, parents, and teachers, require portfolio. In addition, students are expected to aspire to a particular rating before they can graduate - the expectations are so much higher than the tests required by the state to analyze comprehension and formulaic writing alone. In fact, even the superintendent of the district participated. It was a throwback to the system I knew for so long in Louisville and the products were extremely worthwhile. We learn so much more about what students can do from a collection of their written work and reflections on why they submit them. Although I did not meet a single writer in person, I became part of their community through the words they composed.
This is what I miss about teaching K-12....sadly, I know what I once had was wiped away by a change in state policies.

It is a matter of two hands. On one hand, our schools are preparing kids for life after high school with few writing expectations other than a reliance on nearsighted standardized tests. On the other hand, we have a school here that is embracing writing, 9th - 12th, and requiring students to write in multiple genres that demonstrate their idea development, sense of audience, purpose, mechanics, sentence structure and voice. Which graduates are better prepared for the writing they will encounter after graduation? Hmmm. Easy answer. The students who attend school where writing is the norm.

I kept telling the English teachers that it brings amazing joy to know that their district leaders continue to invest in them and their students. They are a high performing school, I'd argue, because they create their own professional development and their best practices arrive from listening to other teachers who are masters of the practice. In today's climate, this is remarkable.

Educators across the U.S. should want what this school has created. Each and every portfolio I scored today (work at many levels) offered so many windows into the practice of why written communication matters. I drove away thinking, "Man, what a shame that students in other schools do not have this sort of support and advocacy. What an inequitable country we live in."

Extremely inequitable.

I am returning tomorrow for another day of scoring where I will soak up how one district invests so much time in helping young people to find their voice. Where are politicians and their policies at schools like this? This needs to be replicated! This should be the norm!

Skipping across communities like a rock thrown across a stream.

Boing. Boing. Boing.

Stratford is still closed and so is Bridgeport. Although my street is cleared, the others are still blocked. Communities are getting together to have neighborhood snow parties. Why? So they can get out of their neighborhoods to the main roads that are clear. They're doing this with shovels.

This photo is a bit obscured. This was Sunday when the phenomena began and when the sky was clear. Yesterday, we got freezing rain, then a day of mist, followed by amazing fog. This resulted in the abundant fluffy snow turning into abundant heavy, wet, slushy snow. It was easier to move two days ago. It was like moving bricks, today.

The city of Bridgeport remains shut down until Thursday. Most roads are impassable. Then, on my street, the flooding has begun. In front of my house a lake formed because the melting snow had nowhere to go. The banks were too high, so the water was contained between both sides of the road. The town came through and put orange cone markers up to slow people down, but they washed away. Sad as it is, they look like deceased koi on the side of the road.

Meanwhile, other towns are humming back to normal and I have work to do. Fairfield University will be open and I have portfolio scoring in Easton during the day. There's a global literacy initiative tomorrow night that I'm a part of.. Zoom...my life is back to normal, even if Nemo has turned everything upside down.

And I hope I get there.

This is definitely not Syracuse (and really? are they really calling for possibly two more storms this week?).

Mind mind is rather numb to the reality that I had three days off from the work and grind of a workweek, but I spent most of it with a plow or shovel in hand. I accomplished some, but not all. And we're off again

I spent a snow day reading Sherman Alexie

and plowing the 8 foot banks at the end of the driveway.

I enjoyed Alexie more. Always have and always will.

I think it was 1998 when I first picked up Tonto and the Lone Ranger Fist Fight in Heaven. It was later made into the movie Smoke Signals, but reading it yesterday brought me back to the dazzle of one of my favorite writers. Although some of the stories resonated with me more back then, other ones hit me harder this time. I was a naive 24 year old with long hair, an environmental degree, and a new career as a teacher. At the time, I thought a look, an intellect, and an occupation could fight against the systems I learned about in college - the histories that exploited so many people. I was naive. The system, itself, is a tsunami that can't be stopped, but a writer, like Alexie, can capture the tension it creates. With that, he's a professional.

Reading his work, I think a lot of things, but I'm not sure overanalysis is necessary. I wrote about The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian and paid honor to a phenomenal mind like his. Tonto and the Lone Ranger, however, is much sadder. Perhaps this hit me more this time because my world is less Brown. Somehow it doesn't seem the same reading it with students in my current job.

Either way, I'm not Spokane and have no indigenous blood. I read Alexie's work with an eye in the sky looking for an eagle and wonder, "Just how many stories never make it to page?" How often do we read the earth for the stories it has to tell?

A Community that Blizzards Together, Digs Out Together

Saturday was spent, well, snow-blowing.

The snow was still coming down at 9 a.m., but it tapered off soon after and the strong winds finally settled around 3 p.m. (although they still gust from time to time.

The plows of Stratford have still not gone down Nichols Avenue, but I'm proud of myself for getting my machine through the thick of it. Although not perfect, the driveway is almost clean.

To the left, you can see that the snow banks were over my hip. Pushing the machine through it was rather comical, but nothing that couldn't be accomplished with three tanks of gas and several hours. At the bottom of the driveway where the snowdrifts were built, I actually blowed underneath the snow only to create avalanches over my head. Then I had to go over the trail again.

Weijing snapped these photos - she was thrilled by the snow and as I lifted piles higher and higher, she kept jumping up and down to say how beautiful it all was (she was right, but not while my toes were cold and my face was beat red. Go inside where it is warm).

And there is still no traffic. The few cars that attempted to venture out ended up stuck in the snowbanks. At one point an ambulance tried to move through. It was a mess, too, because it couldn't get by the cars and trucks stuck in the snowbanks. I felt rather bad for it (and the destination it was trying to reach because it wasn't getting there any time soon).

I hope this will do it for the year. Bring on the daffodils and tree buds. Just a little big too much snow for one storm.

We found Nemo, or he found us

It's too bad Nemo came because he caused me to take the day of to write at home. I got up at seven, began to edit, and before I knew it it was 9 p.m.

I avoided all calls, all emails, all Facebook postings and all texts as I obsessed on editing a paper just to be, perhaps, accepted as a community member in the Literacy Research Association yearbook. The photo to the right with Dory would be appropriate for my day if I actually had company to experience the storm with. Grumpy Bryan, I know.

I am stoked with myself for accomplishing my goal, but mad at the universe for not providing any time to get that task done earlier. I've been trying to do it since December and, sad, I had to complete it on the due date. I'm not thrilled by this. I like to have more space in my life to revise and edit. Oh well. I met my goal and only time will tell.

Meanwhile, what the heck, Nemo? At 9:30 I went outside to see what you were up to. We can't see and it's very white. I'd say about 10 inches have fell and the winds are outrageous. I'm hoping you'll let us keep our electricity, but I do have xmas gifts of light if you decide to call on the muses from previous storms.

Tomorrow, I will join the rest of Connecticut in digging out. I think it is supposed to end at 1 p.m. and my goal is to wake up, drink coffee, and read. I'm used to this sort of snowfall in Syracuse but have become a bit spoiled by my expensive New England life. Sure, it's ridiculous to pay rent here, but the snow isn't so bad...unless a Blizzard hits and the winds whistle through all your windows.

Actually, I'm fascinated by it all and only wish I was in a mental place to appreciate the absolute stillness caused by it all. There is no traffic. Everyone is stuck. If only it could last for a little longer.

Wait, now they are calling her Charlotte...who decides these things?

Kudos to Catherine Murphy, Maestra

Last night I had the honor to sit on a panel after a screening of Catherine Murphy's documentary, Maestra, about the Cuban volunteers who led a literacy movement under Fidel Castro. The film captured the passion of many female educators who set out in rural Cuba to teach beginning literacy skills to adults who previously did not have an ability to read and write. Some of these "teachers" were 8 years old.

Her film interviewed many who were involved in that time of history and she transitioned the conversation to local literacy initiatives and what the local Connecticut see looks like in our community. Dr. Betsy Bowen and Dr. Terry Jones addressed their work at the Mercy Center where they help lead tutoring initiatives with adult women. Dr. Bowen also discussed service courses she teaches where her students read with young children in local schools. I spoke on behalf of male teachers and the need for more male educators in schools so that students see individuals like them in front of a class. I emphasized the need for a strong teaching force made up of diverse educators, especially Black males and Hispanic males in our schools.

I was moved by the emotional connection the audience, standing room only, made to the documentary. What became clear through the clips was the passion and heart required in teaching - an area unmeasured by observational tools and underquantified. Learning arrives from relationships and the best teachers offer curriculum with care.

Having opportunities to discuss literacy with undergraduates is a highlight of my job and I was honored to be asked to speak on the panel. More conversations like the one that was held last night need to be available to others across the nation and globe.

So, what do we write about when we're given freedom to write?

Questions for my EN 12 troupe to work with while posting to their blogs (a dual purpose posting)

I'm not excessively ambitious about having  freshmyn students write online as regularly as I do  in my Texts and Contexts class, but I do want them to be privy of online writing spaces (and comfortable working within them). More importantly, I want them to think each week so I can follow their understanding of books, ideas, and personal quests as they create an original argument for books we read in this course (and I mentor their written communication)

Traditionally, I've had students turn in think pieces every week (1 to 2 pages of writing as it reflects on class discussions, personal connections to what we read, and/or quotes from books). These blogs do the same thing - they help to build a community of thinkers. The difference is that classmates can read one another's work, too.

The following are questions students may use to inspire writing each week. I require ONE post a week (but encourage more).

Personal Passions
Students might tap into something they're interested in. They can write about this interest (passion) through writing that matters to them. They might write responses to:

• Why am I interested in this? 
• What's the history of this interest?
• What's my background?
• Who has been involved with this?
• Who else in the world has this interest?
• What communities exist for others with such interest?
• What books and articles are there about this interest?
• What webpages might I hyperlink to this interest?
• What images or You/Tube videos might bring this interest to life?
• What stories do I have about these interests?

Reading Connections

Yet, Texts and Contexts is designed to push students to think more critically about literature and to make original arguments with their writing. A key ingredient is to cite texts properly and to join the community of readers through interpreting texts that make a larger point (argument) about the world. To do this, students need to make text-to-self connections. The following might prompt blog entries:

• What did we read this week and what did I think of it? Why?
• What passages or quotes stood out? Why?
• What interested me the most this week and why?
• This reading reminds me of this book/song/movie and why.
• This reading reminds me of a time in my life and why.
• As I read this writer I couldn't help but notice.....and why
• The part of the reading I don't understand is....
• I wonder if the author wrote this story because.....
• The reading made me think about the activity we did in class because....

Students should write a few paragraphs of developed though. When we wrote in class under a stopwatch, we learned how many words we can get to paper. It is expected that students will spend more than six minutes writing. The goal is to DEVELOP ideas that we all can read and think about together.

From the posts, we can shape larger projects. These are spaces to dump (brainstorm) our ways of knowing and to shape them into more substantial pieces of writing.

Retracing a Digital Journey - The Blogibilities of Digital Learning #DLDay #NWP

February 6th, 2013

For the last six years I've used digital spaces to organize my academic, personal, and professional life. I'm using today's post, February 6th, to reflect on the multiple uses blogs have had in my classrooms, in a new career, and within my more creative endeavors. This is how I am celebrating today's events (and I'm using this post to do a workshop with others at Fairfield University).

I became curious of using blogs after I left a high school classroom in 2007 and when my last senior class began to share with me their online writing at their first year of college (e.g., students in 2007). I wanted to know more. At the time I took a course in technology at Syracuse University  with Dr. Jing Lei and started to challenge myself to write about happiness for a year (365 posts). At this time I also began collecting research on blogs. The result of this has been six years of keeping additional blogs for myself on themes: quirkiness, karma, cacophony, Connecticut and, this year, community. It is a way to reflect every night before I go to bed and to maintain a writing life (as supported by the National Writing Project)

While in my doctoral studies I thought to myself, "hmmmm, wouldn't it be interesting to create a  professional portfolio for the job market?" In addition, I continued to learn from students who used blogs to tell their stories in interesting ways - thank you, Ibrahim and Joanne)

This tech-tual lineage led to a curiosity for using blogs to design courses in my  adjunct work and inspired me to start requiring pre-service teachers to use blogs with students. Some of them loved this and others hated it (it remains that way, today).

Now at Fairfield University, I use blogs to manage my courses in both the English Department and Graduate School of Education and Allied Professions. They serve as a hub for the work I do: EN 11, EN 12, EN 373, En 411, ED 369/459, ED 455, ED 561.

Yes, there are multiple possibilities (blogibilities) for using blogs , but for today I will simply leave you with the following,

10 Reasons I Love This Digital Platform:

10. Students continue to teach me (vlogging)

9. I maintain friendship 

8. I read others who are  Taking a political stance

7. It's a space to share  Art

6. It helps students who are Maintaining Professionalism

5. It allows me to See students using them to achieve

4. I can upload  my own digital stories

3. It allows me to keep up with family

2. It allows me to make things happen

1. I can continue to building community

Happy Digital Learning Day, 2013

This is a true story about telling lies...

and in this writing I'm lying to express a truth.

And this post is my thinking after reading through my freshmen students' letters about their reading histories in high school, the passions they have in life, and what their relationship has been to literature. The vast majority of them, like those I've taught before, experienced the Readicide that Kelly Gallagher has already published. Schools kill reading and destroy writing. Arriving into higher education, with more freedom to explore, more appreciation for original thinking and creativity, and the flavor of embracing curiosities, students reflect on reading in high school as abysmal, pointless, and a death-sentence. Similar to my own lineage as a reader, they loved to read at home, enjoyed it in elementary school, and slowly experienced the Death Eaters sucking out their souls from middle to high school.

I found it interesting that several of the students wrote that they still enjoy reading non-fiction, but that they never understood why high school teachers taught fictional texts (most pretended to read these books without reading them). This actually got me thinking about why writers make sh#t up in the first place and what makes them explore  scenarios in untrue plots when, in reality, a lot of crazy sh#t happens in the real world. Ah, but a lot of writers don't make sh#t up and they write true stories from personal experiences, research, and biography. This writing is made up of the sh#t of life.

I find it complicated to answer these questions because I personally feel that every true story has fictional elements and much fiction is based off true life and lived experience (maybe that is why I chose to teach What is the What later this semester and Sherman Alexie this week). There's a blurring between the two and I don't know if any of us can accurately ever tell a TRUE story to capture actual truth. No, instead we can only write to capture partial truths through making sh#t up creatively and/or drawing on the sh#t in life that is interesting to share, honestly, with others.

It has left me pondering why we tell stories at all...why do we read them...why do we view them...why are they passed along? It seems to me that all stories, at their heart, are written to serve a purpose....to teach us something about our human experience, and/or to educate us with more accuracy of the day to day details we endure.

My English course this semester emphasizes fiction because that is the requirement. I'm somewhat questioning why this line is drawn and how literature, made-up sh#t, is more or less inferior/superior to other genres of writing. Why the differentiation? In either case, the author writes to communicate ideas to others, no? The genres provide structure for how ideas are communicated, but I'm not sure I have a solid answer to why it's done this way. Both my graduate students and my undergraduate students are questioning why teachers assign what they do in high school curriculum and it is interesting to read what they have to say. They are not fans of what they had to endure while in school.

Some of my students love watching sitcoms. This is fiction, but the stories resonate with them because there's truth that they connect to. Others love sports movies. Some of these are based on true stories but they are played by actors who share a fictional account of a story. Yes, these are filmic examples, but students read these narratives whether they are the "truth" or made-up sh#t to help them make meaning of their lives.

I was talking to my cousin last night who shared a story about an African friend who asks his students if an artist draws a guitar, and a writer writes about guitars, and a musician plays the guitar, and the craftsmen makes the guitar, doesn't it take them all, together, a part of the guitar's music? Why do we draw lines as we do? What does this do for us? What does it limit?

That's what I'm thinking about this morning. And it's only Tuesday. I think this post will be a part of tomorrow night's class.

$20,000 for refugees in Connecticut

For the second year in a a row, I ran for the Integrated Refugee & Immigrant Services (IRIS) organization in New Haven, Connecticut. This year, my ambition was revved up by Kaitlyn Kelly who has been chanting, "Run for refugees" for over a month. Although I'm back at the gym, I have run very little since I busted my ankle last fall. The first two miles were a great trot, but then phlegm and cramps arrived - I struggled a bit, but still made it through. Nope, not my seven minute mile days of my early twenties. This boy is slow, now.

Still, for the 28,000 refugees relocated to Connecticut with another 400 expected this year, the hundreds of runners who made it to the cold trail made a wonderful impact.f.

We arrived an hour and a half before the race began (out bad) and managed our time well by playing on our phones. The run reminded me of the work I hope to be doing in Connecticut and I need to be smart about writing grants to support the adolescents who use IRIS's services after school and on weekends. It would be awesome to teach a class that prepares teachers to work with relocated youth and to have part of their coursework take place in tutoring sessions in New Haven. I'm inspired to make this happy (and will keep my eyes and ears open). Literacy4Hope.

My Words With Friends/Scramble Community

As the new year rolled around, I decided I know longer would play Draw Something because it was sucking too much of my time and the doodles were becoming repetitious. I opted to keep Words With Friends, however, because it's like playing Scrabble in slow motion and I actually love it. Alice, Charlie and I used to play in Kentucky while drinking New Castle and, although not the same, it's good to keep up with them in this capacity.

I must admit, though, that I traded Draw Something with Scramble. I quickly enjoyed the word game and became better at it, although I am thinking I might need to cut back one game. Pre-cyberspace, families got together for game nights a couple times a year. Now it's as if I'm playing multiple games daily and when I go to sleep, I'm seeing blocks of letters and looking for words. It does seem, though, that since I've been playing Scramble to unwind, I'm sleeping better.

I suppose this is why living in Europe would be more fun, especially if I relied on trains to get to work. I could play my games then rather in the morning when I wake up and right before I go to bed. It really is a phenomenal distraction, but it keeps me competitive with communities of people I love. And, I confess, it is the first thing to go when I am extremely overwhelmed with other responsibilities. 

NAACP Awards. Watching wide-eyed for Kwame Alexander

Earlier this year at the New York State Reading Association conference, author Kwame Alexander was highlighted as a speaker and guest. I did not see his performance, but a text message changed all that. Rhiannon Berry, teacher at Liverpool High School, sent me words  to pick him up at the hotel because he agreed to present to her students. I was brought into the mix and hen we arrived, she billed me as a presenter, too.

Kwame went first. Not only did he recite poetry off the top of his head from numerous publications in print (and on their way), but he dazzled the kids with his voice, poise, and confidence. Something about his style warned me, "I'm being set up and he's going to throw this at me any second now." As he rocked his words, I went to work on my computer adapting several presentations in case he wanted me to follow his brilliant execution. Inhaling and exhaling over obnoxious nerves and a tendency to sweat, I went into chill mode and began to syncopate and rift a presentation that could follow such excellence. My volleyball coaching days taught me to be cognizant of the bump, set, and spike routine. He bumped it, he set it, and I knew he wanted to see if I could hammer it over the net when he called upon me. I did my thing with Berry's sophomores and he asked for a copy of what I presented. I took this as a sign I didn't let him down.

The morning after he presented at Liverpool High School we went to the Carousel Mall, now Destiny, where he hoped to get a new winter coat for the upcoming year. I hate malls, but because he was a visitor to Syracuse I showed some CNY hospitality. He hated malls, too, so I took him to Wegman's to get a sub, but he got pizza. I left him with a copy of Lopez Lomong's chapter 8, Writing For My Life and the magnitude of his achievements didn't hit me until yesterday when I saw he was heading to L.A. for the NAACP Image Awards. I knew he was a writer, but I didn't know he was a WRITER WRITER!!!

Mr. Alexander, Friday night, is a finalist among the nominees for Best Children's Book at the NAACP Image Awards and he is up against some powerhouses. The nominees are:

0. Outstanding Literary Work - Children
   
• "Fifty Cents and a Dream" - Jabari Asim (Author), Bryan Collier (Illustrator)
  (Little,nBrown Books for Young Readers)
  
• "Harlem's Little Blackbird" - Renee Watson (Author), Christian Robinson (Illustrator)
  (Random House Books for Young Readers (Random House Children's Books))
  
• "In the Land of Milk and Honey" - Joyce Carol Thomas (Author), Floyd Cooper
  (Illustrator) (HarperCollins / Amistad)
  
• "Indigo Blume and the Garden City" - Kwame Alexander (Author), JahSun (Illustrator)
  (Word of Mouth Books)
  
• "What Color is My World?" - Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (Author), Raymons Obstfeld (Author),
  A.G. Ford (Illustrator) (Candlewick Press) 
  

I'm waiting watching NBC in hope they will air the winner. I might have to wake up at 2 a.m. to do a Google Search, instead.

I'm rooting for Kwame Alexander and cherishing the strange coincidence that was created because I returned to CNY to present at the same conference where he was a keynote (here's irony, I did my presentation and booked and only agreed to go to bring him to Liverpool because I believe in the power of Rhiannon's teaching).

I do know that regardless of the committee's decision at the awards, I'm a fan (as I'm sure Nikki Giovanni is, too). Here's to the Rooster. He's winning no matter what the result entails.

Honored to Celebrate the Martin Luther King, Jr. Essay Contest Winners

Part of my work at the Connecticut Writing Project-Fairfield that I truly love is supporting young writers with all they have to communicate in written form. This year, we were once again invited to be judges in the Connecticut Post MLK, Jr. Essay contest and to help organize distribution of information. We also designed the flyer accommodating this year's theme for middle school students - a time when they chose to do something right.

The winner, Abram Goda, immigrated to this country after his family faced persecution in Egypt because of their Christian religion. The 7th grader addressed the audience to discuss how Martin Luther King offers hope not only to Americans, but young people growing up around the world. He discussed the inequities around the globe and that now, more than ever, oppressed people need inspirational ideas of intellects, change agents, and leaders. He dedicated his essay to a police officer in NYC who became famous for purchasing shoes for a homeless man. Such acts of kindness, he reported, is what we should always celebrate amongst one another.

photo below taken by Fred J. Kuo,
Director of Student Involvement at Fairfield University

The three essay winners were given cash prizes from the Connecticut Post, a scholarship to attend one of the Young Writers' Institutes this summer, a copy of Trina Paulus's Hope For The Flowers. All award recipients were deserving last evening and I was humbled by the great humanitarian spirits they shared with their words.

As this year's theme declared, The time is always right to do what is right. Last evenings ceremony was the right time to honor deserving youth, staff, students, and faculty at Fairfield University.