And, inhale. Exhale. Everything evolves at exactly the right time.

I met with my connected learning liaison yesterday and we placed tech-tual goals in place. Spent the a.m. grading Graduate projects and await several more coming in during the last week of their summer course. Finished writing a grant and went for a long run. It felt good to sweat and stretch my legs.

After this week, things go crazy for a month. We have 11 teachers and 70 youth coming to writing institutes and I believe we're about ready. Still, there's a number of things to take care of and to anticipate. I've been reflecting a lot about summers off and how, as a teacher, I rarely stayed still while in Kentucky. I studied in Cambridge and Tokyo, did the Louisville Writing Project and then participated in Bread Loaf School of English. I haven't had such luxury since I continued my education and summers have been the place for me to work hard and save money. Before I know it August will be here and I will have to think about courses and the next round of teaching undergraduates and graduate students.

As a friend said to me, "it's a good thing you love what you do because otherwise all the work would be a tremendous burden."

She was right. I do love what I do, but I would mind a little more breathing room, especially to get on top of everything it is I'm actually doing. The hustle and bustle is so immense that I sometimes forget to slow down to enjoy it all.

But today is Sunday and, at least for this day, I can work at a pace that will also allow me to mow my lawn. Yes, inhale. Exhale. Contemplate. Breathe. That is the motto.

Even if I'm exhausted this summer...it's the work I love doing #connectedlearning #clmooc #makesummer @cwpfairfield

Dedicated to success and upward bound...

Yesterday, I met with several students on Fairfield University's campus who are part of Rony Delva's Upward Bound program. These are students from Bridgeport City School District who have committed to the hard work it takes to get into college. They are youth with a vision, a dream, and a desire to achieve. What I appreciated most about my time with is their devotion to learn. I admired similar students in the Upward Bound program where I worked  at LeMoyne College - I have tremendous faith in the work of TRIO programs for supporting youth. They bring excellence to their students that transcend school.

I spoke with these students about writing and the Young Writers' Institutes hosted on Fairfield's campus. Several of the students attended the Writing Our Lives-Bridgeport conference in May and the invitation stands for them to spend two weeks of their Upward Bound experience with us at CWP-Fairfield. Rony Delva and I met earlier this year to discuss our common goals and, together, we decided to partner ideas - including writing advocacy, discussion of Lost Boy, Lost Girl, countering the violence often experience by students in their communities, and partnering programs for "connected learning" that builds off the digital world into face-to-face reality. Through writing, living on campus, reading John Dau's text, participating in CWP workshops, and bringing forth expertise, I hope that the students of Upward Bound have an unforgettable experience with Rony Delva's program. They were a remarkable group and I learned this from watching them fly their crafted airplanes!

I had only a short time so I conducted a couple of team-building activities learned from my environmental work in Kentucky. No, I didn't have high ropes courses or beanbags, but I did have willing youth who proved to me that they could perform a group lap-sit and untangle human knots. Both were simple metaphors and experiences to demonstrate Ubuntu and what it takes to be an accomplished young person in the 21st century. Digital tools matter tremendously, but so do the social tools of working with peers, collaboration, teamwork, support, positive reinforcement, and trust for the dedicated adults who live their lives to advocate for young people.

I am looking forward to additional activities throughout the next month with Upward Bound as CWP connects learning across our campus in real time, brings students to our writing institutes, and begins to work with teachers in the ISI. More challenging, I think, will be getting John Dau to SKYPE with us while we are all learning together. But, the dreamer in me will try. Technology will help us to make this happen.

Here's to all of us!

I'm still wearing support stockings, you know....

...and in this heat, I'm miserable.

Lucky for me, I've been too busy to even think about it. One more week. One more week. One more week.

But that's not why I write. Today, when I headed out to work, I noticed that items I planted out front were blooming and that the monarch butterfly that glows at night (a gift from my mom and dad) looks perfect with the foliage.

I rent, and therefore I'm skeptical of too much landscaping to benefit the property owners and not me, but I can't help getting dirty. I like digging and rearranging. Perhaps I was an earthworm in my previous life because I feel at home when I'm in the soil.

Calm. Cool. Safe.

And I haven't done enough of this because (a) I don't hold an environmental job any longer and (b) I don't own my property. Both I miss drastically. They helped keep me centered and I feel off base as a renter.

It might be the stockings, though. Dudes aren't meant to wear pantyhose...that is for sure.

And it's time for a very serious post.

A post that I'm proud of.

Last night when I returned from my three month marathon of 14 hour days, injuries, surgeries, and mourning, I said to myself, "Tomorrow, your day is light. You only have a grant to write, two meetings, a book to read, and a dinner at 6 p.m."

What does this mean? It means I can have a glass of wine.

And who doesn't it make me think of? My sister, Cynderballs?

And who do I sent a video to?

My sister Cynderballs.

Truth be told, Cynderballs is the backbone of Mike, Nikki, and my parents because she is the child who lives closest to them all (and if I could speculate for a second, I imagine that KC was at her house yesterday, too, leaving Jacob and Sean behind for a little while because chances were Cynde and Nikki would be home - there were birthdays, after all). Therefore, the entire month of June doesn't belong to anyone but Cynde. She is a cheated sort because her birthday is three days after Christmas.

So, this shout out is to my older sister who I love immensely. I poured a glass of wine, made her a video, and toasted her while watching manic chefs scream at each other on t.v. (okay, that is a lie. I graded papers, played Words with Friends, and made a list of what I should accomplish today...but the t.v. was really on so Abu and Lossine would be proud). She did, however, text back that she laughed at this video, but she only polished one glass of wine. My mistake.....one bottle of wine.

21st century community. I can be with my family even when I live far away. I love every one of them so much. Ubuntu.

Happy Thursday.

Wait. Stop. What are you thinking about? Change that direction....@NikkiIsgar

...it's all about Mike (well, yesterday) and today, well, it's all about Nikki.

You got that?

World, are you listening? Today is Nikki's birthday and yesterday's was Mike's.

You should have them permanently imprinted on your brain. Everything revolves around them and June exists to remind us of that.

Seriously, my world is better because my sister married Mike, they created Nikki, and this week celebrates all of who they are. I can't be in Syracuse to celebrate with my family and their self-perception of what it REALLY is about, but I am carrying them with me in my heart, mind, and body throughout the day.

Love you both. Hope you had a spectacular time.

OH, Yeah. Crap. I need to also mention that it is the anniversary of SUE and BUTCH. If I forgot that, Cynde and KC would have to hear my mom complaining for weeks. I can't let that happen.

Cheers.

Good Night, John Boy. Good night, Elizabeth. Good Night, Daddy. Good Night, Son.

You might not get that reference, so here's a snapshot of my childhood watching The Waltons (visit the link here).

I thought about that last night before I went to bed after spending another marathon Monday grading, planning, writing, thinking, teaching, reflecting, and moving forward. That is, before I go to bed every night I need to write a post, such as this, or else I can't sleep. This blog (and the blogs of yesteryear) are my Good Night ritual that eases my mind so I can call it a day.

Good Night, Bryan.

Actually, it's Good Morning, because I post it to "air" in the a.m.

Yesterday, I did another community building exercise with my graduate students to accompany literacy acquisition in the content areas by highlighting stations of many learning intelligences. Again, I asked students to sculpt cows to emulate John Dau and Martha Akech's childhood memories from Lost Boy, Lost Girl. The herd is shown above.

I also did an collaborative art activity where students were given a shape to a larger puzzle that we put together in class. One student, Lisa, who had the letter I made a stick-figure drawing, but placed him in a Legos X-Wing fighter. She explained that literacy, to her, was getting every students into the

cockpit of their own educational journey. I love this. It perfectly fits into the larger art piece (although the X-Wing fighter won't make it into the glass frame).

Good Night, Bryan, he writes....

...after reading several reflections on learning about refugee relocation and hearing how profoundly affected most were from the wisdom provided by Edem, Lossine, and Abu last week.

Yes, literacy in the content areas can be hands-on, artistic, visual, intellectual, spatial, mathematical, interpersonal, intra-personal, culinary, whimsical, kinesthetic, verbal-linguistic, or a variation of the above. In the end, at least in this class, students will have a tremendous appreciation (or at least I hope they will) for global realities and are responsibilities to them.

Good Night. Good Morning.

Mischief, Central New York Style

The image to the right is of my niece and nephew responding to my sister, Cynde, when she asked them what they were doing. Note that this was sent as "the parents" were turning right on Route 17E on their way to visiting me without the kids. Yes, they were left alone for the weekend while the parents were getting away. No, this wasn't for real. It was their witty playfulness.

And I am remembering the community of Northstars when I was in high school and how we sometimes behaved (e.g., Vic's house in Cherry Heights). I remember a night several of us also spent at Brent Power's house while his dad was away simply staying awake without a curfew and having innocent fun - we got in trouble anyways (as we should have). The only crime that truly occurred was a makeout fest between one young Vickie and Brian who found Romeo and Juliet romance with one another.

When I became a homeowner I began to think critically of the way some adolescents use their parent's home when it is left to their own discretion and decided then that I would kill my kids if they ever acted like idiots while I was away. When I was left alone on Amalfi Drive, I tended to read books and watch movies...perhaps I ate more than I should have. With that noted, I love Dylan and Nikki for their sense of humor and ability to prove their trustworthiness when handed responsibility. Cynde and Mike should be proud - not all American youth act with such maturity.

Then there was college - well, that was a different story. I've never been a fan of the stupidity that arrives with alcohol. More times than not, it results in destructive decisions. The best solution is to avoid it all together.

Moderation in all things is always best. Continue.

Stratford, NYC, World Trade Center, Battery Park, Central Park, Stratford

I still lived in Syracuse the last time I was in NYC for more than a couple of hours. I remember going by the World Trade Center and they were just sketching out the plans of a memorial. Fast forward to today and we entered an almost finished tribute to 9/11. The water monument where the two towers stood is simply breathtaking and brilliantly conceived. The lines were long (glad we preordered our tickets) but experiencing the on-sight artistry and memorial was worth it all. I'm glad we fought through the direct sunlight and crowds to get in.

Also, in all the years I've been back and forth to NYC, I've never seen the Statue of Liberty. Yesterday, we walked from the memorial to Battery Park and were able to see the Statue from a distance. It was at the peak of the sun, however, and we needed to find shade.

We also took a subway to Time Square so Cynde and Mike could have that experience and spent a very short time in Central Park before heading back to Stratford.

In total, we probable walked 7 to 8 miles today, hopping on Subways when we could. I did find out, though, that it's free parking at the Stratford train station on weekends. This is great news for weekend play. I don't have an excuse any longer and need to get into NY more.

City Bound With Cynde and Mike

I write this at 9 p.m. when both Cynde and Mike have decided it is bed time. They arrived at three, we had a beer, we walked the shoreline, picked up socks and then got dinner (excellent, excellent scallops at Knapp's Landing in Stratford). We came home, I worked in the yard and they decided they had enough. Fine with me, I'm tired, too.

While walking the beach, a group of kids were collecting dead sea animals and piling them up over a R.I.P. sign (including a shark). Somehow I didn't think the Sound had too many sharks. I guess I was wrong.  The one was at least as long as the R.I.P.

Today, we're slowly heading into New York City to wander around and figure out a plan of action. Not too many goals at this point other than to take the train and go on an adventure. I'm simply looking forward to going to bed and sleeping. This is what my body craves more than anything else.

Retirement, the Color Orange, a Cold, and Country Clubs

So far this year, I've been to three country clubs. The first is where I presented in September, another for a scholarship dinner, and a 3rd to celebrate the accomplishments of Dean Susan Franzosa. She is the Dean who hired me so I will be forever grateful. She's also a tremendous supporter of education, literacy, the National Writing Project, and teacher development. She deserved the applause and dinner last night and the garden bench ordered for her beautiful back yard.

The day of the event however (which was Wednesday) began with novocaine, more novocaine, and more novocaine when I had my teeth worked on. I was a drooling mess. I also forgot my dress shoes at home and needed to run to a store to get new ones to match my suit. I found nothing. My administrative assistant, Ellen, suggested I get a tie to match my orange sneakers and make it look like I was making a fashion statement. $7 later, that is what I did.

Now I want to go back for a second. I am still in surgical stockings and was in these orange shoes and with runner shorts when I left the dentist office. Therefore, I needed to meet with Bridgeport administrators looking like a clown in pantyhose and with no control of my tongue, lips, or spit. I definitely made a name for myself and it is doubtful they will forget me.

Did I mention that my head decided to swell with sinuses and then drip for the next 24 hours? Vein removal, root canals, post nasal flooding - I'm just such a fun person to be around these days.

I suppose that is why I go to country clubs. I totally belong. Not. I still have no idea how this has become my life.

@abubility, @LBility, and Edem on the Big Screen #Continue #connectedlearning

Last night, my graduate students at Fairfield University (pre-service history, math, and foreign language teachers) had the pleasure of meeting Abu and Lossine Bility from Liberia, and Edem Wemene from Togo during an evening presentation about working with 21st century youth.

I've known all three young men since 2009 and had the privilege of watching them work through high school and achieving their current status as juniors in college. I continue to  admire their contributions to the United States and laugh at their antics, humor, stories, and wit (even Lossine's singing).
I know I am the man I am today because of how they contributed to my life. I am forever thankful to these three and the others who continue to enrich my every day.

This particular course is designed to support content area teachers with instruction to help them enhance reading comprehension, communication, and best practices for supporting literacy of all youth. I've used Lost Boy, Lost Girl as a touchtone text for us to discuss and supplemented the curriculum with articles, activities, technology and first person narration - the boys! - as a way to model ways of thinking about instruction. They briefly overviewed their relocation, transitioning to American society, and finding success in a new country. We didn't have a lot of time for questions and answers, but they covered the territory I knew they would over SKYPE! Awesome to know that although they are in Syracuse, I can still have them on the television (They performed, too. Who is Dr. Crandall? Where'd that title come from?)

If you look at the photo, you'll notice that they weren't looking at the camera (and my students). Instead, they were looking off to the side. Why, you might ask? Well, this is simple. They had the computer hooked up to the t.v. so they could watch themselves on the big screen.

Towards the end, Abu highlighted that his family's mentor told them there are three things you need in the United States to be successful: (1) Education, (2) Education, and (3) Education. When they heard the advice they took it to heart.

Without a doubt Abu, Lossine, and Edem were celebrities during our evening class. They make me proud and I'm honored to know them.

Everything Evolves As It Should, At Times It Amazes Me

On Monday, students in my ED:455 Literate Learners course (a class for content-area teachers on literacy) were assigned to read John Dau's and Martha Akech's Lost Boys, Lost Girls; Escaping Civil War in Sudan published by National Geographic. This is the third semester I've used this text and each time I'm impressed by the maturity of discussion it incites. It is written for a middle school audience with alternative chapters between John and his wife and it tells the story of civil conflicts in Sudan, the escape of children, the hardships of refugee camps, and the fortune of relocation. What is wonderful about this text, too, is it gives a name to Lost Girls who have too often been overlooked by the particular narrative told about the hardships faced in Sudan.

I chose to do Discussion Booklets with the crew - a packet of short, open ended questions that promote students to talk about their lives, their reading of the book, and connections they might make. I had three groups of five students and I was impressed by how quickly they jumped into the text and the willingness they had to ask critical questions of themselves as future educators. They also grew introspective of their own privileges of life in the United States.

Since 1996 I've been teaching students in one capacity or another. In 2001, my life changes for the better when I began volunteering with the Kentucky Refugee Mission. Fast forward to 2013 and I look at the screen from where I teach with pride. I knew John Dau in Syracuse and had the fortune of working with him on a couple of occasions through St. Vincent De Paul Church and with events for Sudanese people living in Syracuse. I truly appreciate his contribution of this middle school text because it brings the story to another age group and provides excellent fodder for discussing work with English language learners, students with limited and/or interrupted formal education, changing demographics and global inequities.

One of my students wrote a note to me after class saying that the reading of Lost Boy, Lost Girl changed her life. She was so captivated and moved by the story, in fact, that she went to the library to check out When God Grew Tired of Us and to seek other books depicting the refugee relocation experience. Dau's book helped her to open her eyes to a world she did not know existed and for these reasons she feels she will be a better teacher.

Connections like these make keep faith as an educator.

Hmmm...Perhaps there's a genetic reason why I'm obsessed with words

Lucien S. Crandall, the man behind the Crandall – New Model, was born in Broome County, New York, in 1844. He would become one of the great early typewriter pioneers of the 1860s and 1870s. Crandall patented perhaps 10 typewriters, about six of which were manufactured. All of his designs were very intriguing and brilliantly imagined.

The Crandall (1886) was his third typewriter to be manufactured...

This sounds like a question for Uncle Milford in Long Island. Like Prudence Crandall, I hope I am also related to Lucien.

Better yet, I want one of these as a desktop for my laptop. Time for me to do more research on family lineage, I suppose.

Cool morning find - I am thankful to Truman Williamson in Kentucky for sharing this with me.

Today, I hope to shower...

...and no, I haven't been around people. I've laid low to keep others from having to experience my surgical-stocking-can't-get-it-wet odor from the weekend. Yes, I was assigned to stay dry for 72 hours and, although I did do a sink bath every morning, I've officially not showered.

Abu and Lossine have vivid memories of being called on Fridays for their official shower while living in a refugee camp - a new meaning to T.G.I.F.

For me, it's T.G.I.M. because today, Monday, I can cut the bandages, remove the stockings and officially soak my body (at least that's what I think the post-operation states. I also can begin running again and only have to wear the stocking during the day when I'm not sweating and not sleeping.

Bonus.

I really do have an appreciation, well sympathy, for lady folk who feel the need to wear stockings because its in their fashion world - BUMMER. This man-stocking has been uncomfortable, awkward, and hot. I do not like it.

But today, I rejoin the community of non-restricted me who prefer NOT to wear pantyhose and I couldn't be happier.

Now, if only I could remember the official time I have my post-operation appointment. I'm going early hoping that's when it was scheduled. If it wasn't, looks like I will be doing work from Newtown again.

Son of a Butch, 2013

It's that time of the year again to reflect on Wayne Morris Crandall, aka Butch, and his official father's day celebration. No, I can't be in CNY to watch him mow the law or to join him at Chubby's for a few Labatt's Blues nor can I go with him onto Oneida Lake in pursuit of Walleye - the boat has moved to other owners (and I think he had it with fishing after Lossine talked his ear off in the boat while I was still at S.U.). In the photo to the left I can see that he's wearing one of my ties from my high school days of working at Sibley's, and that his mug shot resonates everything that a tuba player from Sherburne, New York, can say..."Want to walk down to Luis's for a beer?"

Yep, he's been my pop for 42 years and Cynde's for even longer. To this day, he and KC can still have the best fights. That is 4+ decades and almost a half century of his parenting. Pretty amazing.

Sure, I remember the little league games, the drives to Loch Lebanon with the Milwaukee's best tucked between his legs, and the rotatilling of gardens, both at our home and his mom's - I've always felt he deserved a pitchfork in his front lawn for having the nicest grass on Amalfi Drive. I think of episodes of Mash, reminders to take out the trash, and the ubiquitous question, "Sue, what's for dinner?" There are the firepit chats with him and Karl, the 2 mile an hour way he drives through Cherry Heights ,and the time he passed out in the downstairs bathroom because things came out a little heavier than they should have. There's the dented siding from baseball games in the backyard, and the long days that resulted from putting down Dusty, Mokie and Baby. There was the Syracuse basketball game in Louisville where Kentucky fans didn't treat us well, the hot and humid station wagon ride of Amish country Pennsylvania, and our annual summer trip to visit Rena at her camp on the St. Lawrence River (and the dirty joke books she kept at the side of the couch and in the bathroom). I remember reading about the birds and the bees (always a book work) and asking him seriously, "Dad, I get it all. It makes sense. But I don't know how you should know when you're all done." He responded, "Oh, you will know. Yeah, you will know."

But the one thing I hold closest to my heart are the annual tears he sheds when he sees Nikki perform and he recalls all the years he supported the fieldband and color guard as a dedicated pit crew member. All those days and devoted time only to bring him to the Papi status he has today. The Clam Bar, USair, Hancock Airport, and 5388 - all swirled into the Crandall crew still with him today.

Get yourself some of Val's wings and put your feet up in your chair downstairs. It's father's day, 2013, dad, and you deserve the R & R Sundays bring in your cave. I hope to get up to see you soon.

I will always be your Son of a Butch and all three of your children love you. Enjoy.

Celebrating the Community of Phlebectomy Survivors

Okay, so it's not that big of a deal, but I can honestly say the vein removal is over. In fact, when I was invited out to a birthday party to hear the Bernadette's playing, I asked, "Who?" and then decided, "Why not?" It was meant to be a good dinner, some music and a few beers.

Well, the Bernadette's of southern Connecticut, who cover music from the late sixties to early 70s, have a tremendous following.

I pinpointed that the demographic who follows them are women in their 50s, almost to their 60s, close to retirement who simply want to revisit the days when they were young, beautiful, and flirtatious. I imagine that once a month they doll up and go to hear the band play and they are DOLLED up. Coupled with this coy crew of ladies are the dogs and shark that look to score with them. There are much more fewer hawks than chickenhawks, however. It is a scene for sure.

I couldn't dance, but I could capture video. It seems like a perfect way to end a surgical week. I, too, was wearing support hose after all. The band was good, but watching this particular crowd relive its youth was a lot to handle.

Oh, and by the way....the restaurant where we ate had the worst service ever. It cost us a pretty penny but it was horrible. They will be hearing from me.

Thirsty Calf

Today, the last of the procedures commence.

Yesterday, the doctor doing the phlebotomy was training a new member of his staff and teaching her techniques and terms while they cut into the back of my leg, inserted a fiber wire, projected fluids into the vein, and ran both all the way up my leg. He said, "This will sting a bit," which I was ready for, but I yelled out "Whoooooo," as a feeling of an electric laser beam ran up my leg, followed by a tsunami of liquids. I was on my stomach and wasn't able to see what was going on. I was biting my arm. It wasn't painful as much as it was awkward. The leg doesn't usually feel that way. I pictured the back of my leg sliced open, but the incision is tiny. The procedure (and electric zip I felt) was all internal from the running of the materials in my leg.

"The vvs and bcv here, is calcifying against the calf muscle. Look at the ultrasound. See the ventricle departure at b6 as it leads towards the pulmonary G4. That's what you want."

He interpreted this for me as, "You're second heart is in your calf muscle and the veins and muscle create a co-dependent relationship. The calf doesn't like losing one of its veins and so we insert the fluids to help the separation. It's very thirsty. The calf will soak up all the fluids if it can."

I responded, "Moo."  "I suppose this is an udderly ridiculous procedure."

"Ha. Ha. That's pretty funny," he continues. "Now you're going to feel another sting as we zip up to the H4."

Yup. Moo, indeed. But procedure two, a success.

Stockings and Yarn as metaphors...

...winding, winding, and winding myself into existence.

So, I wore my stocking yesterday. Pam wanted to get a photograph of me for the record, especially the silky smooth way my hairy legs filled the damn thing. One leg is perfection. The other is hairy and less silky. Picture the wire running from my knee cap to my crotch because tomorrow there will be another from my knee cap to my ankle.

And last night...a student, Naara, discussed how she learned to write in Peru and the importance her culture placed on penmanship. Her mother used to unwind a ball of yarn and place it before her, requiring that it quickly get rolled back up. Why? Her mother felt that winding a

ball of yarn would strengthen her wrist muscles so her hands would be stronger to script perfectly. Talk about muscle preparation and deliberate exercises for the bodily-kinesthetic learner. This fascinated me.

Today, day three of procedures occur but I will not have a 4 and a half hour class to teach afterwards. Instead, I'm coming home, walking 60 minutes, and looking for a beer. I do not want too many more days like yesterday in my life. It was a spring from sunrise to sunset and too much work. I did it, but I'm cooked. Period.

Sorry, but I deserved a sticker...

...and I gave myself one.

I'm not sure where my squeamishness comes from, but I totally hate medical procedures. I did well in high school, but somewhere in the time period, I began hating seeing a doctor.

No choice yesterday. Had to be cut open so a fiber could be inserted in my thigh up into my groin. Joy. Nothing like feeling like someone kicked you in the....

and I tried to use humor to get by. I kept talking to them telling them I was sorry for my sweating, and sorry for my nerves, and sorry that my veins are popping out, and sorry for the universe.

They turned on the television to distract me. It was 1 p.m. and I yelled, "No, I can't take Days of Our Lives right now. You have no idea how this show will freak me out. I will imagine my mom watching her soap and then laughing at me for how I behave at the doctors. Change the channel."

They did. I watched a cooking show, and wasn't amused by sizzling steaks or porkchops. Too close to human flesh and meat in my opinion.

Needless to say, part two of four is over. Part three on Thursday. Part four on Friday. Yuck. And tonight I teach, after a month of losing a dear friend, having a root canal, and crashing my car. Fa la la la la la la la.

I even sang, "I've got a great pair of legs and it shows..." to the nurses as they were fitting me in my stocking. I think one of them chuckled.

I couldn't never do what they do for a living. Nope.

Phlebectomy - Phlebotomy, better than a Lobotomy

Yesterday, I went into my Phlebetomologist and sang him Carly Simon's song. I basically harmonized, "I'm so vein....I bet I think this song is about me, don't I? Don't I?"

He didn't laugh, but I also tweeted it to the Twitter account I found on his business card. I thought it was hilarious. Now today, I don't think I will be laughing as much. I'm including a cartoon of the procedure I'm having done, but I'm assigning you homework: Do a Google search for Phlebectomy and be amused. Anyone who knows me will instantly fret that I am heading to have procedures done.

I don't do doctors. I pass out at the smell of their offices. I sweat and am a nervous Nellie. But, today I'm going to be brave. They say the worst part is the needles and I've had plenty of dental experiences so I'm okay. I just don't want to accidentally see anything. I want them to drape a cloth in front of me so I'm not tempted to look and I want them to turn on the television so I can be distracted. The procedure is about ten minutes, but I will be there for an hour. They insert catheters into the vein and use radio signals to move wires through the vein. It helps unclog the vericose ruptures and will hinder the bulging that has taken over my left leg.

Here's to the comedy. I will be laughing the entire time.

2nd Year of Content Area Literacy...

...these four weeks I should be better than last year because now I have the pacing a little better.

I would be lying if I didn't say I spent the majority of my free time on Sunday preparing for tonight's first class, The Literate Learner, at Fairfield University. I have a full crew of math, science, foreign language and history teachers preparing to be teachers and the course, required by the state, is a first step.

Summer courses are something else...in a few weeks we must pack in an entire semester. Therefore, classes are 4.5 hours twice a week for the next four. Needless to say, June is spent indoors on Monday and Wednesday nights.

And day one...tonight...I have the 4.5 hours jam packed. I have to remember to give the crew a break. After all, it's almost an entire school day held in one room for an entire evening.

I made changes to this summer's course with different texts and I am excited that I will have more history majors with me. Last year, I did not have a single one.

The English majors aren't required to take this course and I get most of them in my other work. The class, however, is one I feel is very important. The literacy requirement is new in Connecticut and one that I think will serve the Common Core State Standards well.

All I need to do is get on top of my energy, resilience, and staying power. I can't listen to myself for 15 minutes. I have no idea how a class will be sustained with me at the helm. Perhaps I should bring food.

First Connections @CWPFairfield #connectedlearning #clmooc

Yesterday, we held orientation for several teachers participating in the CWP-Fairfield Invitational Summer Institute. I grabbed the writer's notebooks, my laptop, and a presentation to promote Connected Learning, MOOCs, and the digital support of the National Writing Project and Julie asked what she could bring and I asked to get ice. As she walked down the hallway I stopped her and inquired, "Are we bringing polar bears and penguins, too?"

Holy bag of ice, Batman.

This year's summer crew enthusiastically arrived and are ready to kick things off! The trouble is there are still three weeks more of school...this was only a taste-test of the writing symposium to come.

I'm excited to have Shaun Mitchell join our crew this summer to promote digital literacy and to help us connect with 21st century possibilities. I think between the two of us we should be able to promote incredible projects. I'm excited about the DIY (do it yourself) motif we're adopting and am curious about what teachers will encourage themselves to do. I am, however, thinking that writing prompts and assignments might lead for better digital narration. We shall see. I don't like to demand anything....

Instead, I like things to go as they do. With students, I found, this was the surest path to success. Offer the givens and let human nature do the rest.

Here's to us, 2013!

Throwback to Vietnam Kitchen in Louisville

If you live in Louisville, go to the Vietnam Kitchen and think of me.

For those of you who live near me in Connecticut, let me introduce you to Vietnam Palace, a restaurant I discovered when I opened up a BJ's Club account. I needed to get bulk supplies for the Connecticut Writing Project when I saw the tiny shop next door and walked in. I had a long week, it was raining (cancel that, pouring), and I wand good food.

Well, I lucked out. It was delicious. Perhaps they were the best Summer rolls I've ever had and this little dish to the left - don't let it fool you. It was full of spicy bites that caused me to perspire. No, seriously, it was hot. I felt so refreshed after eating it and I couldn't finish it all.

This is good news, too. Now I have an excuse to lure many ol' friends to come visit me in Stratford. My treat. I will pay simply to go and eat such excellence.

It feels like a part of my Louisville community has come to find me on the Long Island Sound. I couldn't be happier.

If you plan on visiting me, let me know. I will make sure I have funds in my account to take you here.

Grass Seed

Knowing the tropical storm may dump 5 inches of rain on Connecticut, I spread grass seed across my lawn and a special shade mix under my trees. We shall see. I feel smart that I was proactive enough to get seed, but also silly because who knows if it will work. I don't own the home, but the mud that occurs from heavy rain at this house is not sightly. So, I'm trying. And I'm thinking of Walt Whitman. I'm missing home ownership where I can dig my hands into the soil and invest in the aesthetics of the earth. And I'm procrastinating the planning that needs to get done for a frantic week ahead. Planting instead of planning.... 

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? ... I do not know what it is more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift of remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child...the produced babe 
of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give it the same,
I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be your transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women,
and from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of 
old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the fain red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come form the roofs of mouths.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
and the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring 
taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there really is no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward...and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed,
and luckier.

Writing Prompt Thrown My Way Today

(rewrite the Pledge of Allegiance)

I pledge allegiance to the frog

Of the substantial ponds of hysteria

And to the amphibians

For which croak stands

One lilypad, under Maude,

Inspirational,

With creativity and elephant shoes for all.

Hmm. Let me try again.

I pledge allegiance to the word

of the imaginary worlds of our karma

And to the synergy

For which kismet stands

One dreamer, under stars,

telepathically,

With destiny and fortune for all.

Not as easy as you'd think. Give it a try.

Had I been an accounting major...

...I might have a grasp on my creativity.

This guy reads books. This guy writes. This guy plays with poetry and can distract himself for hours doodling off a new idea and syncopating beyond his imagination. This guy nerds out on the Internet and, to relax, plays word games. This guy is not a financial guy.

Yet, this guy is in charge of summer budgets for CWP-Fairfield and other yearlong endeavors.

This means that this guy has to figure out how much to charge for programs, who to hire, how much to pay who he hires, how many participants are needed to make the program work, where to seek additional funding from grants, and how to implement the grants, economically, when the money arrives.

Had I not been so creative, I might have more confidence in my accounting.

Ah, but I'm succeeding. It looks like I will be able to hire 7 or 8 teachers to work with me this summer as we host three writing institutes for students and another for teachers. I'm also excited (stoked) about bringing a special guest from South Africa to join our cohort.

And the dollars need to add up, because my June course begins next week and I won't have time to play with numbers as I am doing this week. I've been saying this a lot lately, "Man, I've really had to grow up in the last two years." Ha. But forever 15. 

Home Sweet Home

and back in Stratford, Connecticut without FIFA on the television set, someone in the bathroom, and computer/cellphone chords lying all around the house.

Nope. I returned to silence and a stillness that is much needed. I ran. I went to the gym. I made green beans. And I unpacked.

Tomorrow, it's time to face the future and for me, this means the immediate summer: classes and writing institutes.

Last night, too, I received a call from a student from the class of 2005 (now age 25). He was one of my favorites that I took under my wing and, as roads will have it, many changes arrived to his life including a son, a change in his path, and an eye on the future. Nothing means as much to me than when I hear a voice from the past and am reminded of the other homes I've lived in, both Louisville and Syracuse. Change is inevitable and you never know what lady luck will bring.

Today, however, I must go to work and chisel away at the piles I left on my desk. I'm thankful it's not 90 degree weather still and that I can slowly work my way into the chaos that will soon begin. Home is where the heart is and mine is in many places, but for right now, it is right here with me.

"Peanut Butter & Sour Patch Sandwiches," the Sticker-Faced Uncle Suggested.

I had the pleasure of spending my short time in Syracuse watching my nephews in Manlius and catching up with quality kid time. They played pirates, superheroes, Temple Run, Wii, and Legos, while I created a new syllabus and tuned another one to get ready for the summer teaching that begins next week. Also had a great run before Casey and Dave left climbing hills and retreating from them in the morning rain. The boys told me that they wanted to run, too, so in the afternoon we did a lap around the neighborhood. Sean was good the entire way, but Jacob stopped and whined, "Okay, I'm done with this running thing. Can we go home?"

For lunch, they both wanted Peanut Butter sandwiches, but Jacob needed more convincing to eat his because, quote, "I only like them the way that my mother makes them." I think I won, however, when I lined Sour Patch kids on the bread.

Later, Jacob ran to me and told me a story about a Crab who brought a present to his Uncle Bryan and it turned out to be bubbles. Of course, this story came with stickers that he also stuck on my face.

And the heat gave way to more reasonable temperatures for June. Nothing like cool Canadian air to counter the humidity that greeted me when I arrived on Saturday.

Manlius, New York for Jacob's birthday

Made it to Syracuse safely and exchanged twins and FIFA with story time by Sean-man and Jacob. We laughed driving into downtown Syracuse and making comparisons with the Hamptons - this is the land of rich and preppy Syracuse in the bricks.

Jacob celebrated his fourth birthday last night and at 9:23 we sang him the ol' birthday song as Casey reenact end the birth.

Above, Sean read us a book instead of the other way around. It is cool to see that first grade transition, even with missing front teeth. 

Celebrating Attallah Shepard with @kwamealexander in Soho

Last evening, Abu, Lossine, Alisha, Attallah, and her family traveled to the Yard at Soho Grande , NYC, to help Kwame Alexander kick off his release of He Said, She Said, a young adult novel. Over a week ago our party began when Kwame was brought to Fairfield University to be the keynote for the Writing Our Lives-Bridgeport conference. At the time, I  introduced him to Attallah Shephard - a recent graduate of Howard University, resident of New London, and cousin to Alisha.

The rest is history. Somehow we all ended up in the Big Apple kicking things off on a Friday night (even meeting Ishmael Beah).

Attallah did her thang at Alisha's recent graduation party in celebration of her degree at Fairfield University and, as a result, I used magic to open up the writing conference for Kwame. He, in return, asked us to come to NY where she performed a poem. Very proud to know this up and rising Diva and to be in her entourage last evening to celebrate the Rooster's work.

The twins and I are heading home to Syracuse this morning and will do some family time with the birthday boy Jacob and his friends. We are still shaking our heads while we reflect on everything we've experienced since their arrival on May 20th. As we headed home on the Metro we realized there's a lot we must accomplish to earn these incredible experiences. It really has been a memorable, irreplaceable time.

And finally, a shout out to the extraordinary Kwame Alexander and the barnyard of friends at the Yard last night. Normally, I spend time on the pond, but I sort of like the way Kwame struts with his talons and plume. Meeting his people was another unforgettable experience.