How did I live before cell phones?

It's relentless.

I can be anywhere at any time and I instantly think of ways to be stupid, dumb, irreverent, and offbeat. It's not a good hobby, but when the dentist leaves me alone in the chair for too long, I get bored and the ridiculousness of the moment takes over. It's terrible, actually, but I can't help it.

And yesterday, what a day....from meeting with district leadership in the morning, to talking with students and teachers at the institute, to a new crown (thank the great whatever for insurance), to dancing with the Bernadetts in Trumbull, to arriving in home just in time for bed.

But now I need sleep. We still have three days left and I cant' keep up with this schedule I'm maintaining. It's all flowing in beautiful everything.

Thinking ahead to fall - Teaching The Composing Processes, somewhat charged...somewhat sad

Today, when Jaydah arrived with her writers' notebook, funk and wit, and incredible sense of individuality, I missed teaching in a high school classroom. Students have offered tremendous feedback over the summer including "This is what school wishes it could be, but can't." Parents, too (sans a few), have offered tremendous feedback. Last camp: My child wants this to last for the rest of the summer. This camp: My children are blessed to be a part of this; anything I can do to promote the good work, let me know.

Perhaps that is why I'm a little sad. I ordered books for the fall, including the course I've been teaching since 2010. It is a semester on best practices on teaching writing and, enthused and energized as always to teach the course, I'm realizing that the current reality students report is HUGE. Unfortunately, having teachers who embrace writing - even English teachers - is rare. I'm using Graham, McArthur, and Perin's updated text on Best Practices, too, and I realize that the language they are using totally caters to the Common Core State Standards, and practically avoids any writing that isn't analytical, academic, and geared for research. There is a narrative chapter, but as our summer program demonstrates, students want to write, seek spaces to be creative, and grow from having freedom. I'm afraid that the CCSS push on writing - although stronger than what we had before - will ignore genres where a student, like Jaydah, can push the limits of their mind.


I was thinking about this when I doodled yesterday morning's pre-opening prompt thoughts. Last week, Tony led a workshop on having something on our mind and taking action with it. I began writing about the lack of writing opportunities in school. To model my thinking, I listed six possible outlets for what I had to say. As I listed the genres: editorials, business letters, newsletters, email, workshop, etc, I realized most of these have been confluences for my ideas at one point or the other. What I worry about in the CCSS mission is that the tests to come - and they will come - will be more of the pervasive literary analysis and, alas, most of this will be on-demand. That is writing, but only a tiny, tiny fraction of it. It measures one's skill to read and analyze literature in a formulaic, on-the-spot timed way.

This brings me back to my Fall course. I want to prepare students to be well-rounded instructors of writing with a variety of tools to encourage students to write in a plethora of genres. I want to merge the writing workshop with both creativity and direct implications of what's to come. This, of course, throws my mind upon the Kentucky I once knew and then the depression grows even more severe. I'm not sure if any of us will ever have such support for writing, K - 12, again.

Sunday, Bubble Sunday - Oh, Snap, It's Monday

again? really?

This post is simply to thank Pammy for having us at her house yesterday for hamburgers, steak, vegetables and soap circles.
The weather held off, and we were able to sit outside on her deck by the pool on her new patio furniture simply talking and having fun.

The morning was spent cleaning, arranging, organizing, unpacking (Yes, I had several boxes from Syracuse I still never unpacked - mostly garage items and books). I even pulled out my Shop Vac and, alas, I can't believe I spent the last two years without its use. I forgot how awesome it is sucking the dust and cobwebs out of life. I must have Shop Vac'd for three hours before driving to spend the day with Pam.

Wonder Twin powers, activate. Form of a swimming pool! Form of a Swallowtail Butterfly. Auditioning for Amazing Race. Wait? Amazing what?

Start Spreading the News

I didn't see Ellen anywhere in NYC and she took her sons to Book of Mormon. She was there, too, but not with us. Shoo.

Actually, Beauty and I covered China Town, Little Italy, the 911 Memorial, Battery Park, an attempt at the Nelson Mandela restaurant in Brooklyn (trains weren't running, however), a Tex-Mex restaurant, and the UN buildings. Her feet were fried and, at 7:30 p.m., she said, "Can we just go home?"

Now, it should be noted I've shopped with many in NYC, but Beauty gets the prize for most tchoskies (that's not spelled right and I don't care) in one visit. And then I had to carry everything for the rest of the day.

I also deserve an award for haggling with street vendors to get $30 caps down to $8 a piece if I bought 7....so I got all 8 for $56. Beauty then bought four of them off me for friends in Pretoria, and I kept three behind (most likely for me, Abu, and Lossine...although I'm leaning on keeping all three for me).

It was a BEAUTYful day and one for the record books in NYC. She wondered if we would have done as much if it was hot and I told her, "If we had last week's humidity, I wouldn't take you. There's nothing more obnoxious that the apple in heat"

It's 90 minutes by train, and although it took me two years to get my arse motivated, in the last two months I've been there three times. I want to go back again soon, too, by myself, so I can hang out with friends from high school, college and my teaching-Brown days. I want to explore new parts.

Fridays Cause Tensions, so today I head to NYC for a day

One of Beauty's requests is to see NYC, so tomorrow morning we head to the Big Apple to get away from Connecticut for a day. I'm always up for that adventure, simply because I like to be where life is booming, large, and alive. No, I don't like to stay their long, but I do like to visit here and there. I also love showing the city around to people who have never been, in the same way Gina Amaro hosted me when I was a student in 1993. I was young, a junior in college, and we had so much fun.

Yesterday, a friday, was rough and I need 24 hours with my mind on something else. Anyone who teaches knows what this is like. In the summer I go non-stop, all day long (a throwback to teaching high school). I joke all the time that I can't wait until the school year begins in the Fall so I can relax. I am serious about that. I always remember, however, that teaching high school was 100 times more work - a different kind of work - a more exhausting breed of work. Yes, my job now is stressful now and non-stop, but the mischief is caused by me and what I think is best. I still have 85% less students. Instead of teaching five classes a day, five days a week for five hours, I teach two classes a week for a total of six hours. In other words, I teach approximately one high school day a week. The rest of the time is spent in meetings where people discuss how much work they have to do. If they're not discussing their work, they are creating more work others to do.

I'm not sure what labor is more satisfying and purposeful. The verdict is out on that, although I do like having more autonomy and and time to plan wisely than I did as a high school teacher.

I'm ranting. Why? Because I deserve to every once in a while and my brain is fried.

Today, though, lady liberty.  I will be more focused tomorrow.

A Conversation with Colleagues from South Africa and CWP-Fairfield's Beauty Makinta @cwpfairfield @fairfieldu

Last evening, Fairfield University's special guest from Pretoria, South Africa, was featured on National Writing Project. She, along with four other colleagues from S. Africa and their hosts, were interviewed about their collaboration with the U.S. Embassy, and how they are invested in establishing writing projects in S. Africa. They came to the United States to attend teacher institutes, and Fairfield was fortunate enough to be a chosen location.

Beauty Makinta joined 11 other teachers this summer for four weeks of writing under the direction of Julie Roneson, Lynn Winslow, and Dr. Bryan Ripley Crandall, an assistant professor in the Graduate School of Education and Allied Professions and the Director of the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield. During week one, teachers wrote personal  pieces and learned from several demonstrations of expert teachers. The second week they worked on writing creatively and had opportunities to experience stellar writing workshops. In week three, they focused on real-world genres and met with State Senator Bob Duff, and next week they do teaching demonstrations of their own and write reflectively to showcase their thinking of the invitational summer institute. The National Writing Project model is teachers teaching teachers and their mission is to promote teachers as writers and writers as teachers.

The full episode, A Conversation with Colleagues from South Africa, showcases the experiences of the teachers from South Africa.

Motho ke motho ka bathao ba bangwe. (Sotho)
I can be me because of who we are together.

Ubuntu is a skill4life that promotes literacy4life.

Being elsewhere is always the best way to understand being right here (and vice versa) @cwpfairfield @writingproject

I've never been to S. Africa, but I've been to Denmark. I've never met Alan Paton, but I've read Cry The Beloved Country over twenty times (even after Oprah put it on her book list and the price skyrocketed). I've taught in Japan, too, and worked in varying locations around the world. Whenever I leave the United States to teach and/or learn in another nation, I learn more about my life as an educator here.  I understand here more when I gain other ways of knowing.

I've often said, too, "No, I've never visited the diverse nations of Africa but many diverse individuals from Africa have visited me."

Perhaps this is why the drive home today with a friend from S. Africa - a teacher, youth advocate, and motivator - grew sad. In week three of her first visit to the U.S., she has begun to see the holes in our educational system and it is perplexing her. I cannot write for her, but I can make a few stabs at what I heard her articulating today.

• How can bright, energetic students she's meeting at the Young Writers' Institutes have such terrible things to say about schooling, especially in terms of writing and their teachers (Quote: The writing institute is what schools wish they could be, but they can't). Why can't teachers promote students to be exceptional human beings?
• Why are educators, especially those who work in urban centers, completely disrespected?
• Who chooses the leadership in school districts? How can non-educators, politicians, and businesses be trusted with the minds of young people? Why are they ruling U.S. schools?
• Why, in a nation of wealth and extreme everything, do the schools remain underfunded and poorly resourced?
• Why aren't there more programs like the National Writing Project who push for teacher excellence and provide support to help every student?

I did not help her thinking, when I reflected on my own experiences and choices for leaving the classroom. In fact, I told her my questions led me to pursue a doctoral degree (I lost my salary and a position I loved when I chose to find answers to the questions I had about what was destroying education).  At the time it was poor leadership who distrusted the excellent teachers who students trusted, the demise of the Kentucky writing portfolio process, a rising police state of national tests/teacher accountability, and most horrific, a loss in guaranteed funding for the National Writing Project. I wanted to answer my own questions and what I found has disheartened me even more. As I spoke, she grew sadder. TEACHERS and RESEARCHERS are being ignored - like the young people we promote, our voices do not matter. Currently we don't count in the big paradigm shift of top-down management and financial restructuring of schools. We cost too much. There are unions. And worst of all - but most important - real knowledge can't be measured by tests. Each and everyone of them are flawed. If we were to create a nation of writers who wrote to advocate what they believed in, the whole paradigm would collapse. Why? It's much easier to spend time scanning bubbles in a machine.

• Who gets all the money that is poured into districts of poverty? Where does it all go?

 "They are making themselves rich off of the poverty of others," she says out loud. "These people are wrong and disgusting." 

Money pours into impoverished areas of the U.S. and no, I'm not sure where it goes, either. 

Right now, all I know is that very few of all who live in these communities are ever heard. It seems to me that a game of the United States right now is being played between wealthy liberals and wealthy conservatives who come from privilege and who simply fight for maintaining these privileges. They do not know anything but pampered society and this is what they advocate for in all sorts of rhetorical games. I'm sorry, but I'm disappointed by both parties and their treatment of education. 

No, I'm not sorry. I'm angry.

Alan Paton wrote, "The tragedy is not that things are broken. The tragedy is that things are not mended again."

Those with political power don't want anything mended because they've benefited from the power structures that landed them in the very positions they hold.  My students tell me, and so do their teachers, "We know what is wrong. We're tired of us having it pointed out to us. We need materials and support to fix it, not the charity of do-gooders coming in to save us with this or that program. This or that expert from a Research 1 school. This or that text book.  We don't need to be saved. We need to be trusted and empowered to believe in what we know works best. We know what we need but our government doesn't listen to us." 

Paton wrote, "But there is only one thing that has power completely, and this is love. Because when a man loves, he seeks no power, and therefore he has power."

I much prefer to learn from youth and the love they have for learning and the best teachers have for teaching. The surest way I know I am being educated by a fool is when he or she introduce themselves as having expertise. Those who do are not after learning...they are after dictating, preaching, and keeping things exactly as they are.

I think Lockhart proved this best in Harry Potter.

In Great Need of a Retreat, and @CWPFairfield Feels Fortunate to Be Hosted At Enders Island in Mystic

Michael White, the Director of the MFA program at Fairfield University asked me to visit Enders Island in January to learn more about the low residency program he hosts. At the time, we discussed bringing 12 teachers from CWP-Fairfield to Enders Island during the summer so they could sit in on writing workshops, experience the gorgeous setting of the sanctuary- on-the-sea that resides on the Long Island sound just miles before it meets the ocean. Today, we arrived to fog and an 80% prediction of rain, but then it lifted at 11 a.m. and we had a perfect day for meeting with writers, walking the island, looking at the water, visiting the church and history, and reflecting on our own writing.

I was more than surprised when, at lunch, they served corn fritters with maple syrup. The only word for this is STOKED and I had two helpings, thinking of my grandmother Vera. Then, as Attallah Shephard of New London, Connecticut, visited to perform some spoken word with our teacher group, a few butterflies chose to flutter through our tent. Thanks, Grannie Annie.

The only trouble with our day was that it was short-lived and didn't last as long as it could have. We needed more time to process the experience, to sit by the water, to absorb the grounds, and to interact with the writers on retreat. With knowledge that we've been working overtime at Fairfield University's campus, it was a tremendous change of pace to be with Michael White, the authors who work with him, and the students in the MFA program. Feeling blessed, indeed.

Baby Einsteins...Not.

I guess one has to see it to believe it.

I've heard for three years now that there's a summer camp that arrives each year for child prodigies - gifted toddlers who are beyond their years with wisdom, intellect, and wit. I guess this is why I was surprised, yesterday, when I finally ran into the Baby Einsteins on campus. I expected small people. I didn't expect thumb-sucking, bed-wetting, teddy-bear carrying brainiacs that needed to hold hands when they walk from point A to point B, and who needed super counselors helping them to take one foot in front of the other in order to move forward.

I asked about the program and learned it was for talented and gifted kids (read: parents who have a lot of money and want to believe that their kid is talented and gifted). I guess this is Gold Coast phenomena and stuff you see more often in the super suburban, high powered parent communities that I've never worked with.

"Watch," I was told. "Keep watching. Wait until you see how they carry their food out of the cafeteria. 50% of them will fall and lose their lunch on the floor and then have a crying fit."

Seriously. A camp for child geniuses.

I guess there are Sports Dads for Nerds who promote the extra-ordinary gifts of their three-year olds to attend college campuses in the summer.

Granted, they and their counselors walked up the down staircase blocking everyone who was trying to go down.

Yep, seriously.

As I've always said, "I'm so glad I have always lived an untalented and ungifted life. I am a better man for it."

I did my part for National Ice Cream Day,

but am happy to know that the month of July is actually National Ice Cream Month.

For this reason (I'm using this as an excuse), I drove to the store yesterday to buy Magnum ice cream treats. If you've never had these, you should treat yourself soon. Although they are much, much, MUCH better in Denmark, they still do their part in the United States.

I went for the Magnum White (all white chocolate) and the Magnum Gold. I admit it, too. I had to try both last night...after all, it was National Ice Cream Day.

And tomorrow, is National Day National Ice Cream Day, and this week is part of National Ice Cream Month, so I might have to buy more before all is said and done.

Also, it should be noted that I'm licking the inside of my mouth and teeth searching for remnants of flavor as I type this.

Yesterday was meant for dancing at the Stratford Blue Festival at Short Beach

or in Manlius, New York.

Shaun and Jacob's dance party with Nikki is featured above, but Beauty, Stephanie and Pam's dance party at Short Beach is featured to the side.

Yesterday, I had VIP tickets to the Blues Festival in Stratford so we spent the day at the beach. We joined Phil, Patty-Ann, Julie, Noelle, and others for a wonderful day in the hot sun with the cool, Long Island Sound breeze. I am amazed at myself because I was successful at spending 7 hours in relaxed mode, which is highly unusual. Bacardi, lemonade, ice tea, and friendship. These are what the dog days of summer are all about. I wish it could be every day.

We had a blast and even though we didn't have storms, we welcomed the break of humidity and the celebration of beach life in Stratford, shaking whatever we could shake for whatever reason we felt like shaking it.

It definitely will be a ritual as it was a total blast of friendship and something new. Sad that today is Sunday and tomorrow is Monday and we will have to return to the grind. But for a day, anyway, we channeled our youth and had an absolute blast.

One word...exhausted

I am trying to think of something clever to write, but my brain is dead.
I want to be creative and reflective, but my brain is dead.
I thought about writing in one direction, but my thoughts froze.
I came back to rethink of another direction, but I couldn't get away from the numbness.

I have nothing to write because I need sleep. So, today, I leave you with a community
of those who need rest.

I am channeling my inner infant and plan to zonk out for more than one z.

zzzzzzz.

I need to recharge for next week.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NELSON MANDELA! (The Day After) @CWPFairfield @WritingProject #ConnectedLearning

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NELSON MANDELA! 

From the CWP Fairfield ISI Teachers

We learned yesterday that individuals in South Africa celebrate Nelson Mandela’s birthday through volunteering 67-minutes of their day to make the world a better place. Rather than offering a whole day off – a holiday – Mandela suggested an hour and seven minutes to symbolize the 67 years of service he gave to the country. In honor of his birthday, the students in the Young Writers’ Institute and the teachers in the ISI brainstormed a list of 67 things that could be done to bring more happiness to their communities. The following list was typed by Allanah at Lynn’s request and mailed to me. This was the listed created by teachers. It seemed like a perfect end-of-the-week post:

1. Bubble gum bliss to colleagues
2. Garage sale for charity
3. Write NPR to suggest 67 minutes in U.S., too.
4. Plant flowers in a community space
5. Volunteer at a local refugee center
6. Hold the door for someone
7. Smile at a total stranger
8. Pay it forward at Dunkin’ Donuts
9. Pray for the sick
10. Really LISTEN to a child
11. Write about humanity.  Pass it on.
12. Make a donation to a soup kitchen.
13. Recycle
14. Sit with someone who needs a friend
15. Stay after school to do an activity with a group of kids
16. Say a prayer for Nelson Mandela
17. Donate books to a library
18. Donate blood
19. Help a neighbor with their yard
20. Volunteer at your local animal shelter
21. Start a new club at school
22. Adopt an animal
23. Be a curteous driver
24. Bake for students/friends/anyone
25. Let someone cut in front of you in line
26. Clean out closets or cabinets and make donations
27. Invite a friend to lunch
28. Become a mentor for a student in need
29. Volunteer your time reading to children
30. Take your dog for a walk (helps you and the dog)
31. Give someone a massage
32. Send someone a poem you wrote for him/her
33. Dance! (It helps everyone)
34. Buy someone coffee (smiley)
35. Smell flowers/plant them
36. Make someone a homemade treat (like blueberry bread)
37. Make dinner for your mom/dad
38. Thank people who work at toll booths
39. Visit a senior center
40. Help an elderly person with groceries
41. Tutor a child
42. Clean your church
43. Give someone a ride to work
44. Cook a nice meal for someone
45. Call a friend
46. Sing
47. Buy someone a gift
48. Post on your mom’s facebook wall
49. Laugh at least once a day
50. Laugh at someone’s sucky joke
51. Leave random notes scattered for friends/roommates – especially if you go on a long trip
52. Leave a note, text, email to remind someone you still care
53. Don’t take yourself too seriously (It truly helps others)
54. Make public/shared space with friends/coworkers brighter and more friendly/communal
55. Plant a tree
56. After enjoying an activity with a child, write a story about it and make him/her the main character
57. Adopt a child
58. Love, unconditionally
59. Share
60. Remember that you only live one life and live it to the fullest
61. “Scat” like Ella, Billy, and Ms. Horne
62. Bake double fudge cream cheese brownies
63. Read globally, act locally
64. Rescue an indoor insect and put it outside
65. Make dinner for a neighbor
66. Teach someone new technology
67. Channel your inner-child

This Is Not A Sugar Free Post @CWPFairfield. It Was a Double Twin Threat From Brittany and Kelli

In Kentucky, my colleague Alice became famous for her tubs and tubs of Dubble Bubble chewing gum that she stored in her history classroom to train juniors and seniors as Pavlovian Sea Lions. This summer, thought, to change the institute's feel, I purchased a bucket of Dubble Bubble for the Young Writers (to be like Alice) and, at the last minute, chose to put a few wads of wrapped bum in each of the beach pails designed to harvest writing gear for teachers.

Within day two, however, I realized I made a tremendous mistake.

The Double Twins from the 80s commercial, Jayne and Joan Boyd, channelled their jaws of steel to exist upon two teachers in the summer institute. By day three, I had to replenish the bubble gum bucket and, yesterday, I was reprimanded for having the audacity not to write about them on my blog.

They belong to a community of gum chewing addicts and, although-Willy-Wonka's-father-in-the-horrible-remake-of-a-classic-movie would not approve, I'm thrilled to see this dynamic duo in pre, mid, and post-chew.

Why? Because it inevitably will continue again, round after round after round, chew after chew after chew.

I think about my teeth, too, my dental issues, and my luck and I know that if I consumed as much as they, my teeth would fall out and I'd look like Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show. Wait a second. Statler and Waldorf, that's who they are!

Sometimes My Zaniness Works @CWPFairfield @writingproject And I Wonder How

Since 2002 (and with much appreciation to the Louisville Writing Project and Class of 2002, Victoria Trout) I've  worked with students and teachers on composing 10-Minute plays. It was during my time as an ISI teacher at Central High School in Kentucky (Muhammad Ali's H.S.) and while I was working with Jean Hicks that I processed a student's request that the Brown School, where I worked, needed a drama club. I had a slight memory of short scripts I saw performed at the Humana Festival at Actor's Theater and when the student made the request, I thought, "Hmmm. I might be able to teach 10-Minute plays during a 6-week unit on Greek drama. I went to the library to do research" It worked out perfectly.

The result was eight years of Brown School's annual 10-Minute Play Festival where students wrote, directed and performed pieces of drama that were written by them: comedy, tragedy, and history. The festival stands as one of my favorite things I accomplished as a classroom teacher and the writing composed by my students went from page to stage after much revision, many laughs, and totally engaged participation (it was also a tremendous money maker for the senior class).

Fast forward eleven years. Although I recently learned that the Brown did not host the show this year (Carrie Klingnefus who carried the torch after I left moved to another school), I'm happy to note that the 10-Minute play writing genre and its power travels with me wherever I go. I've been presenting a various workshops on it since the Louisville Writing Project and still use much of the material my students helped me to create. This workshop belongs to them and they were instrumental in bringing it voice, pizazz, pastiche, and brilliance.

Yesterday,  I presented the latest demonstration of this genre with the teachers participating in the CWP-Fairfield summer institute. The first 1/2 hour of the presentation requires that I stay completely silent as audience members perform the demonstration.  I have scripted parts that teachers must perform, including the above scene. Here, Shaun Mitchell, Bridgeport Teacher of the Year and #ConnectedLearning guru, improvised on the spot as a dance instructor. The teachers had to follow his lead while I introduced photographs of the ex-boyfriends accumulated by one my Young Writers' Institute teachers...Justine (it's a running gag over the last three years and she's okay with it). 

The demonstration brings me nothing but joy. Teachers get loose, tap into their creativity, have an absolute blast, and amaze me. To me, this is a culmination of everything I stand for: they laugh hysterically, have fun, and learn simultaneously. Shouldn't it always be this way? 

I share student-written models and offer exercises on scriptwriting and  teachers grow excited about the possibilities of hosting similar projects in their classrooms. We read drafts, then they draft, and hopefully the revise and shoot for performance, themselves. of their own scripts. This makes me very proud and I owe this demonstration to the community of Louisville, especially the Brown School, Actor's Theater and Victoria, class of 2003.

What cracks me up most is how, despite the whacky and bizarre ways I twist and turn the presentation, the teachers always go along with it. They get funky. Yesterday, however, Shaun's impromptu dance-a-thon was icing on the workshop's cake.  Brilliant

This cohort has bonded forever. Ubuntu is the magic of life.

Scripting for Teachers - a short post in preparation of a great day @CWPFairfield @writingproject

(man enters car holding his breath).

Man: Just a second, Beauty. It's frickin' hot in this car.

Beauty: shwwh. shwwh.

(opens windows. starts car).

Man: You ready?

Beauty: Sure.

Man: How was the day?

Beauty: Fulfilling. You know the community, don't you?

Man: The community?

(both reach for seat belts)

Beauty: The people around here. You bring all the magic to us, the teachers.

Man: Nope. I don't. The National Writing Project does. They believe in the power of teachers teaching teachers. I'm bringing you teachers who are finding amazing ways to promote literacy in their classroom. While you learn from them, I was running a college essay writing workshop for a summer's scholar program.

Beauty: It is amazing to learn from everyone.

Man: It's more amazing when you successfully do this with our students, too. What you are feeling is what they feel when given respect, when they are held to high standards, and when they know you have their back when trying new things.

Beauty: Shhhw. Shhhw. It is hot.

Voice Over: Yesterday at CWP-Fairfield, Dr. Elizabeth Boquet, Carol Ann Davis, and Lea Attanasio presented the poetry publication they created with students in Newtown with CWP-Fairfield funding. The demonstration was tremendous. Today, however, we welcome poet Jack Powers. It's only day two of creative exploration. The script begins here...

Sunday Brunch at Blue Lemon with @PaintDeez and @Balbert3, Artistic ubuntu

Artist Gordon Skinner has a piece, John Lennon - Picasso Style ("As a Garbage Pail Kid," featured at Blue Lemon in Westport, Connecticut. Blue Lemmon is a restaurant with a fondness for up and coming artists in southern Connecticut and a tremendous supporter of the Beechwood Arts community. Yesterday, the restaurant hosted a delicious brunch where Beauty Makinta, Lynn Winslow (summer instructor for the ISI) and I met with Alisha Smith of Gear Up and her boyfriend, Howard. We sat with Gordon, his friends and family, and Bob Albert. Gordon, although nervous about public speaking, did a phenomenal job.

Skinner's been actively working on a new collection and although he has another show in Brooklyn in a couple of weeks, he's hoping to move his latest pieces into galleries as early as October. Jeanine Esposito, the coordinator of the brunch and organizer of Beechwood Arts displayed at Blue Lemon, described Gordon's work as highly original. "It's different, alive, and captures everyone's attention. It speaks and wants to narrate its story. You keep wanting to come back to look at the layers again and again."

Lynn, who is working with teachers this summer, asked Gordon if he'd be willing to do an art/writing workshop with young writers this summer and I'm hoping he will agree. His talents will surely inspire creativity with the adolescents we are working with.

And as Beauty and I drove away, she laughed to herself, "Ubuntu." I asked her to explain.

She stated all the people gathered for Gordon's celebration of artwork today were connected by a community of like-minded individuals. "It's Ubuntu," she explained and I love that she lives by this philosophy, too.

A Night of Comedy with Elizardi Castro's MADE IN AMERICA with @EdnaGarcia67

Last evening, Edna Garcia invited Beauty Makinta and I to a beautiful dinner in Bridgeport followed by a performance at the Klein Auditorium starring Elizardi Castro. Sponsored by Bridgeport City Schools, his humor was brilliant and his antics on stage, his physical performance, and his ability to move a flexible body was hysterical, especially as he played a little boy wanting to go home when his mother was visiting relatives. He greeted the audience as BridgePuerto Ricans.

In truth, I've said for some time how I want to dedicate a year to comedy: reading memoirs, watching performances, understanding timing, working with improvisation, and thinking about it as an English Educator and writer. I've made a claim that Howard Gardner missed a major intelligence with his multiple intelligences when he overlooked the Whimsical/Comedic learner...the kid who is brilliant with humor, slapstick, wit,
parody, impersonations, and one liners. I've had a number of them in my classrooms and they easily became my favorites. For other teachers these kids were the discipline problems, but for me, they were sidekicks. I'm serious - I want to spend a year thinking about humor and writing...and mark my words, I will.

It was a tremendous blessing to have an invitation from Edna and to, afterwards, get photographs with her, Beauty, and the performer. By day, Elizardi Castro is a lawyer. At night, he celebrates heritage with music, dance, pride, and tongue-in-cheek observations of the world. Without a doubt, this was one of the best nights I've had since I've moved to Connecticut.  I am forever thankful to have Edna in this summer's institute and even more so to have her share a part of her life, culture, and pizazz with me. We laughed hysterically and if anyone was looking, I'm sure our hips could be seen moving, salsa style, in our seats, too.

Pictured with Elizardi above are two incredible women with amazing stories. Wow.

Week One (Check). Week Two (I'll think about it Sunday night). @CwpFairfield

There's something miraculous that culminates at the end of week one during a summer institute that is sponsored with the National Writing Project mission. It doesn't quite occur, though, until Friday when the author's chair makes itself known. The teachers spend the first week working on personal pieces in writing groups, and attend a variety of workshops to assist their thinking about the teaching of writing.

One by one, the teachers read their first piece out loud and, although often emotional (and nerve-wracking) they get through the experience. In some ways, it is this ritual that bonds a group. On day one, everyone is quiet and somewhat nervous, antsy about what is to come. By Thursday, friendships have started and smiles are shared (particular to the 2013 crew, bubble bum is shared --- well hoarded). Then, on Friday, the human connection is sealed. The teachers have helped one another on their pieces, invested energy on the construction of them, and experienced audience reactions. Words are meant to be heard because writing communicates and writing builds community.

I told Jean Wolph of the Louisville Writing Project that I was extremely nervous about being able to recreate the bond I experienced in LWP XXI when I took a position in the northeast with a site of my own. The first year, however, the teachers connected. The second year, too, the teachers connected. This year, while I'm working between the Young Writers' Institute and the ISI, the teachers are connecting. Jean was right - the NWP model works. It can be trusted to build a professional community because it treats educators as professionals. As a classroom teacher, it was the one source I could always count on and trust. In my research, as well,  NWP came to the forefront as the most trust-worthy model for educators to improve their practice in teaching writing and to build stronger writers in their schools. I am feeling the magic once again with the cohort of 2013.

I can be me because of who we all are together.

Cool anthropological phenomenon of pen tapping

My friend, Faye, an anthropologist sent me a website documenting a new phenomenon of pen drummers and the music they make has spread across the nation. I think my years of watching field bands and drum corp has my ears listening to the beats made by any thumping or whomping. I like the style and, egads, I'm jealous I can't create such rhythm with my Bics.

And, given that today is Friday and we've all successfully completed five days of writing institutes, I'm in need for pep in my step and a cadence to make it to the weekend.

Wusah! It's Friday!

There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it. Buddha

I'm somewhat partial to Buddhism, simply because my body is morphing into that of a fat, jolly man who always seeks the good out of life rather than the bad. Yesterday, however, I thought of this quote after talking with my best friend in the world, Alice, and then another great friend, Elizabeth, in Syracuse. It's also a fitting quote that resonates with many of my wonderful friends in Bridgeport, including Shaun and Julie, and their district issues with vision (or lack thereof) and authenticity (or lack therefor...seems to be in the hands of courts).

The connection for all, however, is that we are all teachers. We pride ourselves in excellent work. We do all we can for students.  We believe in the goodness of educating and mentoring.. Yet, at times, colleagues (and bosses) (and parents) (and hierarchies) (and paradigms, such as those entrenched at universities) are not good people. They are evil. They  don't see themselves as this and, often, they live vaingloriously in a heightened sense of themselves. Still, at the core, their actions are truly pathetic and wrong..

The junior year curriculum at the Brown School was dedicated to exploring two things: Good and Evil. It was that simple and we used literature, writing, history, wars, ethics, and philosophy to explore both as themes. The goal, of course, was to have students come up with their own solution to what each meant (solutions, in fact, proudly displayed in 301's showcase windows - a room that holds incredible memories that have been created by Brown School upperclassmen, Gay Rapley, myself, and most recently, Alice Stevenson). Something as simple as displacing a teacher from a room can be at the heart of what is both good in the world (for some), but absolute evil (for others). And then, we must process what it all means. Who is right? What is just? Who is wrong? What is evil? Who knows best when to stand up as a wall or to stand up to walk away?

That is why proving the purity of goodness, for me, and rising above evil, is always the best answer (even if my decisions are depicted as devilish by others).

That, and homemade chocolate chip cookie ice-cream sandwiches make me look even more like Buddha. They're both good and bad, so I prove my point (I think).

Another Beauty-full day, #2, of @CwpFairfield Invitational Summer Institute

and exuding pride for the young writers and young(er) writers attending their own institutes. My day, yesterday, was moving from room to room checking on the ebb & flow of what we were doing. I kept shaking my head because in each of the three rooms (and even in a computer lab) everyone was writing --- not only writing, but WRITING in the flow (Czikszentmihalyi would applaud because CWP-Fairfield has been in the zone).

The tag teaming between Justine, Shaun, Ali, Cristal, Julie, and Lynn has been wonderful to watch as they flip roles, coach groups, solve problems, and #makesummer happen.

I couldn't help but snap a photo of Beauty and Edna, two teachers in the institute, because they were wearing matching pink. In two days, I've already learned their amazing stories from Pretoria to Puerto Rico. After the institute each night, I hear from Beauty about the great connections they are making: spiritually, personally, globally, and willingly.

I also was pleased at 9 pm last night when Julie's giant ice block came in handy. I am feeding everyone subs tomorrow and I needed to keep them all cool. That is when I remembered that Nanook, I mean Julie, donated that chunk of frozen everything to the institute. It worked perfectly and I was thankful.

But the happiest moment of my day yesterday was watching the young(er) writers and their imaginations. They tackled their writers' notebooks with zest, creativity, a love for drawing, more love for sharing, and the greatest love for policing one another to stay on and off task - what a great age.

Game. What is Julie's Face Saying and Why Is Lynn Smiling? @cwpfairfield

At first glance, I thought Julie Roneson, a leader at this summer's institute was eating a cookie (at close investigation, though, I see that it is a vegetable wrap). That is not why I write, however.

Julie is giving me the look that says,

• Bryan, what did you do? 
• Bryan, I don't believe you. 
• Bryan, don't say it...don't say it. 
• Bryan, I hate having my picture taken.
• Bryan, Shaun is up to something and I can't tell you what it is, but Lynn knows.

Lynn is smiling because,

• the camera didn't catch her off guard like it did Julie
• Shaun is up to something and she likes his impish ways
• she's daydreaming about Kelly Gallagher again 
• she's getting a pedicure after work
• the two successfully finished day one of the program.

Yet, Julie also wondered what I fed Beauty last night and, eeeks, I served her tomatoes out of a tin can (garlic roasted ones). She is allergic to tin and it caused a reaction (see Julie's first bullet). 

What I didn't tell Julie, however, is how Beauty and I went for a walk in my neighborhood and I failed to take into account that everyday people don't walk six miles for fun. I exhausted my poor guest as we walked in this heat. Worse, however, was when she followed me across the street and asked, "Bryan, what does the red hand on that light mean?" I answered, "Don't walk. Stop. It's not time to cross." 

This, however, is when I realized we were already crossing the street and the traffic was not happy with us. 

Poor Beauty, she really is living with the Beast.

Most people don't know I can cook, but breaking bread for #ConnectedLearning @CwpFairfield...

is worth every ounce of sweat I put into the grilling labor.

Anyone who voyeuristically spies on me would notice four things. 1) When I eat at home it is usually Triscuits and cheese, 2) I tend to eat out more than I eat in, 3) if the first two aren't options, I often show up unexpectedly at dinner time at someone else's house, and 4) when I do cook, I COOK.

And for the next four weeks I should be cooking because I am hosting Beauty Makinta of Pretoria, South Africa, as she attends our #makesummer institute with the Connecticut Writing Project. She is one of four educational leaders selected to attend ISIs in the United States through the National Writing Project and the Department of Education of S. Africa. Beauty wanted a home stay and I had an extra bedroom, so Wulah! She's with me for 32 days and I get to demonstrate my barbecue skills. It's only been 7 hours, but already the two of us have made tremendous global connections.

• morale of teachers is down in her country, too,
• education has become big business with those who have money making decisions that don't consider the reality of our schools,
• politicians side with big business because they're slimy like that,
• marginalized voices get more and more marginalized (they're simply not heard),
• teachers are not viewed as professionals, but bullied as factory workers,
• curriculum is disconnected from the needs of 21st century society,
• the haves (who make the decisions) are oblivious to the have nots (those who suffer from them),
• one size reforms are pushing more students away from school than keeping them in,
• writing is the key to success and students want to write, but it is taught too little in school.

We broke bread over couscous, fried peppers, feta cheese, tomato salad and BBQ. We've already broken stereotypes of one another's nation and learned that educational apartheid exists everywhere (read Kozol's Shame of the Nation for the U.S. version). AND we found the proper adapters for her computer and cell phone to fit U.S. outlets. Beauty came downstairs with what looked like a washing machine plug and said, "Bryan, your outlet doesn't fit this." Truth be told, I didn't think they made outlets that big. I think maybe swimming pools have such outlets (but this was for a laptop).

The most humorous part of yesterday, however, was when I greeted her at the airport. It is winter in Pretoria and she came with a fur leopard coat and a pair of winter boots on. She arrives to Connecticut on a 95 degree day. The humidity hit her and she said, "Oh. tt. TT. tt. I didn't expect this." 

We may be using my coupons at Kohl's a lot this week. I feel blessed to have a new friend from overseas. As we gave thanks to the dinner, we both looked at each other and said, "Ubuntu. Literacy4Life."

Not a very ecological Sunday post,

but it's been two years and I haven't had time to get out my electric clippers. I went a bit crazy yesterday.

I rent.

I therefore don't feel a responsibility to landscape my yard like I would if I owned. I have had two homes before Connecticut and keeping everything pruned was a specialty I prided myself with. This, however, went to the wayside as a renter (and with a schedule that is a little spastic - okay, a lot spastic).

Yesterday, however, after finishing 15 graduate student projects for a summer course (over four weeks: INTENSE,  and a lot of grading two days before the major summer institutes begin), I did a little house grooming.

Actually, it began with the fact that sometime today I pick up my summer guest from South Africa who is staying with me for four weeks. Feeling negligent about my house, I went speed shopping  and totally redid the upstair's guest bedroom. I figure it will be nice when someone comes to visit or if Nikki, indeed, moves in after she graduates high school.

This, though, was not how I celebrated my grading. I went outside and hooked up my electric hedger and began pruning the ridiculous jungle that is my property. The landlords don't do this and it has been embarrassing pulling in my driveway because it looks like a neglected haunted house. So, I got a little sheer happy and pruned the $#%@ out of the front, side, and back. It is now neat and orderly. You can tell a human being lives here and not squirrels.

At 9 p.m., however, I reentered my house to shower and read a book. See, this is what life is like when you're a workaholic and you never have time to do what needs to be done around the house. As soon as you have a 24 hour window between summer course A and summer institutes B, C, D and E (and before you pick up a guest from overseas), you go ballistic on your property. Well, your rented property.

Then you come inside exhausted, dirty, and cursing the heat, the ridiculous schedule you keep, and the fact that you are a renter and not a home owner.

But, today is another day. I need to go to campus to get things ready for Monday morning. I need to pick up Beauty from Westchester (that's her name). Then I need to work on presentations for Monday.

In case you're wondering, the fixation on green life outside also exists on my graying life indoors. Right before writing this post, in fact, I noticed that a large clump of gray hairs has sprouted from my chest. In this manic state of exhibiting control, I plucked those mother $@#$%$#, too. They will grow back (as will the shrubs and trees - as will the volumes of student work), but for now, I will try to establish a semblance of control.

Yeah, right. It is all a facade. 

Accomplishing, but feeling UnAccomplished

On a positive note, the photo to the right was taken when Abu, Lossine and I traveled across the sound and before I had my veins worked on. It may not be obvious to you, but the bulge is evident to me and it went all the way up the back of my leg. I am happy to say that this is no longer the case.

The case, instead, is (as I wrote to Nikki). "Just got back from a long run, but still fat."

Yep, despite my efforts, I'm morphing into a Walrus. I know this, because when I returned from a six-miler today I sat around in a towel and the reflection on the black screen of my laptop made me think that either there was a Buddha before me, a pig, or...well, me.

This made me stand before a mirror. So, I like my back and now that my vein is removed, my legs look normal again. But my love handles, stomach and chest continue to morph into additional girth. It's ridiculous. I am thinking I could easily go as a gorilla for Halloween. Just need the mask and a little more hair.

But, I'm running again. I did a marathon of grading yesterday, and slowly, but surely, I'm getting back to a semblance of normalcy (he writes while laughing because his guest from South Africa arrives on Sunday, and Monday brings the summer institutes). I looked at pictures from Denmark in 1998 yesterday and longed for the daily runs of 10 to 12 miles. My knees allowed it then.

Seriously, though, I'm glad I'm donating my body to science. It needs to be studied. They can check out  what's beneath the cloth and say, "Poor guy, then add biological knowledge to the field of medicine."

In the meantime, I will live my life working against the way this carcass chooses to be. It ain't pretty and they say it will only get worse (although Lossine promised me that the male body begins to lose weight after 50. There's hope. Then again, he got a C in that course. Not sure if I trust him).

Beyond the Patriotism, Heroes are Within the Heart @abubility

Yesterday, on the 4th, Abu sent me an essay he wrote in a freshmen college English class where he personalized a narrative about his grandfather - a man who influenced his integrity and goals as a Liberian-American in the United States. Abu is a now a junior, but I love that he's the reflective sort and goes over his previous work. He wrote,

After my first semester at The College at Brockport, I was not looking forward to anything but going home and hanging out with my family and friends. I was looking forward to eating my mom’s cooking, her yelling at me every morning and forcing me to eat, because she cares so much. I was also looking forward to playing in soccer tournaments with my friends and hanging out in the mall. 

Abu's a junior now, but of the age where he can gain perspective from the sacrifices that were made so he could live with integrity in the United States. After his first year of college, sadly, he returned home to his mother to learn that his grandfather had passed - a man who helped raise him in Liberia and who instilled in him a sense of honor, faith, and integrity.

This is the man I learned everything I know about life from. Like how to pray, how to read the Quran, and how to respect and value life. To find out he will not be teaching me anymore is the feeling that I will never get over. I remember when I was I think seven or six years old and my grandfather would cook every Saturday morning and have us eat.  Another memory I have with my grandfather is, when he surprised the whole family on Monday morning with a dog and we were so excited that we didn’t want to go to school, so he decided to let us stay home and play with our new dog. That is a day I will never forget with my grandfather.   

I remember that after my freshmen year, I returned home to learn that my grandmother, Grannie Annie, had passed. I learned then that to understand life, one must comprehend death.

Musa K. Konneh lived his life beyond the hustle and bustle of traffic, technology, malls, and American complexity and did all he could to maintain family during turbulent times in Liberia. As I read Abu's essay I couldn't help but think about the power of Ubuntu and that the young man I met as a 15 year old at a high school in Syracuse had an incredible amount of community and family invested in him before he left arrived to New York through refugee relocation services. We, in the United States,  have tremendous pride for our progenitors who made democracy possible and freedom a reality. We live, for the most part, without a fear of violence and with a sense of calm and safety. Similar pride exists elsewhere, too, but in turbulent regions and without the harmony that comes with an American life.

My grandfather passed away at the age of hundred and eight and now every time I think about him not being around, I think about the legacy he left behind. The goods he did for his sons daughters, grandkids, and his neighbors that had nothing. He made sure that we had what was needed for survival every day of the week. That’s the kind of man my grandfather was and that’s the kind of man I want to be. A loving and caring person that puts his family and friends first. 

There is a saying that apples don't fall far from trees. This is evident in Abu Bility. Without a doubt, Musa K. Konneh guides his journey  in the U.S.

Here's to grandparents everywhere who plant spirited seeds of excellence and care into grandchildren all around the world. As Jim Hendrix says, "When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace."

Peace.

Reflections on the 4th, bombs bursting in air

Growing up in Cherry Heights, the neighborhood kids loved the 4th because Bobbie's father always lit fireworks and everyone gathered on Duncowing or Bamm Hollow to see the show. It was a bit of ritual (including the year that a skipper, of sorts, hopped across the pavement and went up Peter Boy's shorts and burnt his ass - I could be wrong, but I imagine he still has a scar to prove it...just like the time cops came to end the 4th of July festivity because the show was somewhat illegal and permits were nowhere to be found).

I also remember traveling to Loch Lebanon where our parents would bring us down to the Sharp's camp to see a few dazzlers thrown up over the lake before they all retreated from the mosquitos to play Pitch and the little kids, like me, found a couch to lay on to fall asleep, exhausted from the hotdogs, potato chips and soda.

In Louisville, I don't remember the 4th being too excited because the bombs bursting in air during Thunder Over Louisville spoiled local residents of what a real display could look like.

Still, whenever I hear the drunken laughter and whoops of adults setting their own bombs off (didn't Karl lose a mailbox one year?), I always think about what it must be like for children and adults who lived during times of war when real bombs and lights were flashing above them trying to cause their death. I can only imagine what the noise and flashes cause for traumatized victims of war, including many of the refugee groups I've worked with who have had glimmers of post traumatic stress disorder caused by malicious militaries and jets.

In the U.S., we celebrate the colors and skyline Crayolas to brag of independence, recklessness and freedom. Yet, such light shows are designed as a replication of the true violence that has killed, maimed, and destroyed so that people like me would have the right to meander thoughts like I do. Do I love it? Yes, I'm a fan of sparkle and can look at a lit Christmas tree or house of lights for hours. And No, such light reminds me that our celebratory ways can get foolish when we don't recognize what the holiday really represents. Such a day is meant to express thankfulness and I am thankful.

It's more than the spectacle. It's a reminder of our humanity: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The Connected Cart, Ellen, and Early Preparations #ConnectedLearning @CWPFairfield @NWP

Most of my colleagues retreat in the summer and spend their time drafting, editing, and writing for selective research journals. My position as a NWP Director, however, doesn't provide too much time for my own writing. Instead, it is preparation time for the teachers and students coming for the writing institutes (I will get some of my writing done when I am writing with them). We will write in personal, creative, and real world genres while aiming for a digital creation, as well.

We are ahead of the game, too.

Yesterday, Ellen and I put together the writing "pals" that will go into each of the three rooms where institutes are occurring. Last year, we only made writing kits for the teachers, but I remember the faces on the students when they saw that teachers had all the colors, markers, pens, notecards, stickers, stress balls, and bubblegum. So, this year I opted to put together kits for all the rooms.

And I laughed. Actually, I strutted around the building like a peacock. I borrowed a book cart from the library and it turned out to be perfect for carrying the items. I was proud and I wanted to be sure everyone saw the cart and, ha ha, took pride with some of the sneers received that I would have playful items at a college university. I am forever 14 - of course I have toys for my classes.

Seriously, the writing pals have stickie notepads, colored pencils, rulers, scissors, etc - all you need to move forward with a writer's notebook (except crayons. I forgot crayons).

Either way, I'm ready for next Monday where the teachers and I will write away our summers. It's the greatest way to spend July (after the 4th, that is).

I haven't reached 10,000 hours yet...

...or maybe I have, but I'm still a schmuck.

I've been intrigued by Malcolm Gladwell's hypothesis that it takes 10,000 hours of work to actually become good at something -- a sport, a subject area, a musical instrument, a concept, etc. One must practice and devote oneself for 10,000 hours before one can say, "Hey, I've got expertise in this."

I did the math yesterday after feeling like a lethargic hippopotamus while running. I was like, "Dang it, Bryan, you must have run at least 10,000 hours in your life." But then I did the math. Assuming I ran an hour every day since I was 16, that is only slightly over 9,000 hours. Factor in I didn't run everyday and that takes away from that number, but then add in my 20s where I ran 2 hours every day and that brings it back up. My point is that I'm not at 10,000 hours of running in my life, but I still suck at life.

Want to know why I suck at life?

Well, because yesterday I was on mile 5 yesterday when a black car came running through a red light and nearly killed me. I flew into some bushes to save my life and, luckily, came out with a only a few scratches. Normally I'm in peace mode while running (a Zen-Buddhist thing), but this pissed me off. I dusted the leaves and thorns from my arms and flipped the car off. In fact, I actually cussed at the car . I hate rude drivers and I was angry.  ##$$^$#@@!

It was then, however, that I realized there were several cars running the red light and they all had their headlights on.

Yep. It was a funeral procession and the lead car with the casket was the one that knocked me off the road. I totally cussed out a casket-carrying vehicle and all the cars that followed saw me in action (and with absolute incivility).

That is when I ran back into the bushes and hid.

10,000 hours and I haven't learned a thing except for the fact that some things will never change.

Bryan will always be Bryan.

Um, Cynde was right. Indoor furniture doesn't belong outside.

When I have out-of-town guests, I try to treat them with style. I, myself, don't need much, but when Cynde and Mike were coming to Connecticut, I knew I needed outdoor furniture. I left my other set in Cicero before I moved because it wouldn't fit in the Pod. I've lived without since.

Yet, while Cynde and Mike were heading this way, I ran up to Targets to see what they had. They deserved to be treated like a King and Queen while visiting so I found four chairs on clearance and bought them right away. Of course, they didn't fit in my car because I now drive a clown mobile. Actually, they did fit when I rearranged them but while I did, I noticed that one was broken, so I returned it. I only ended up with three. While I was in line, I also saw tables on clearance for $6. I said, "Hey, one of those will work for the weekend."

Cynde said when she saw it, "No. Bryan. That table will warp when it rains."

I said, "It was only $6. It will be fine."

Well, when I mowed the lawn last night, the table turned inward, lost its paneling, and transformed into into a dejected log. It warped....not as pretty as the one above, however. The one above is still holding together much better than the one I left out back.

I don't have an outdoor table any logger. I have wet wood. Looks like I will be hitting clearance items again sometime this week. Sometimes it doesn't pay to be frugal.