Happy Birthday, Squid Head...

I am jealous of your hat. Trust me.

It flies by fast, Dylan. Just yesterday, I was buying you art books so you could draw pictures of fire-breathing dinosaurs and you were crawling around impersonating Godzilla and Mothra. Gone are the days of backyard combat duties, and Weather Channel evenings to get you to fall asleep.

Now, you where the same size shoe as me and are catching up to my height - you are able to (sort of) keep up with me on 5K runs in Cherry Heights and developing your own taste in music. We all know now that, if you wanted to, you could totally wrestle Nikki to the floor and torture her in the multiple ways she's tortured you.

May you have an incredible day of Doritos and glasses of milk, chicken wings and Mountain Dew, and Tuesdays at the Clam Bar.

Make your school year phenomenal and enjoy the junior high. It seems like only yesterday that I was there. It flies by incredibly fast, buddy. Enjoy every second of it.

Friday!

Yup, Friday! And thankful. So much so, I'm recalling Rebecca Black's terrible song, "Friday!" as celebrated by my EN 11/12 cohort in 2011/2012. They hated it, too, but loved to hear it on Friday afternoons before we parted for the weekend.

And so, I play it here because it is Friday. I have a lot of work to do this weekend, but I'm happy I can do it away from campus and at a pace that is without meetings. Meetings are horrible inventions.

But it's Friday and that is a good day.

I know Labor Day is coming,

because I'm back to school and I'm in labor. Actually, Congratulations Meggie (aka Dragonfli) - she was the one who was in actual labor yesterday. She gave birth to a baby boy, Greyson Tiberius Stogner, in Louisville, Kentucky. I'm extremely happy for her and know she will be a phenomenal mom.

For me, who also labored, yesterday was a day of professional development. Today, though, I must commit myself to pacing the semester. There's a lot on the plate and if I don't get my syllabi totally solid, I will suffer throughout the next 15 weeks. The syllabi becomes the play-by-play that rules my life and, with several conferences in varying locations this Fall, I need to be organized.

My poet friend, Carol Ann, who writes poetry prolifically, said that the week before a new semester begins she turns to writing narratively.

I just write what's on my mind and that distracts me from poetry, but helps for me to clear the head for the labor that's about to come. It helps me to plan.

And so that is what today's post is about. I am breathing, heavily, with the community of teachers, K - doctoral programs, that need to chisel time to plan. With high school teaching, it was usually six-week unit by six-week unit. There was not a day to day, solidified goal like there is in higher education. In higher education I have less time to be flexible.  I need t's crossed and i's dotted. Not surprisingly, it takes a lot of concentration and, I admit it, Big Brother messed me up last night. I had grande plans for my night, but Amanda has me hating humanity. I couldn't concentrate on my career any more and I used her for an excuse. I needed to go for a walk, but already had. I also already ran. So, I sat in my chair and stewed. I didn't accomplish my evening goals. I am behind.

If this year is like every other year I've taught, then Labor Day weekend will be spent laboring; this, of course, will come without the gratification Meggie and her fiancee are experiencing right now. I hope that lil' Greyson never has to meet an individual like Amanda. She plagues my brain because I can't imagine anyone so bullish can really exist. Scratch that. Evil is everywhere.

Note: In rereading this, the guilt set in. Carol Ann is right. Now I know I have to work.

"Not for Ourselves Alone" - a piece by John O'Malley

This morning begins professional development for me and the Core Writing program in the English Department at Fairfield University. I am happy about this, because earlier this week I hosted 75 teachers from a local high school for their own professional development. When I settled in last night I picked up the first article I was assigned to read, "Not for Ourselves Alone": Rhetorical Education in the Jesuit Mode with Five Bullet Points for Today" by John O'Malley, S.J., and I found the content tangent to my own thinking.

No. I'm not religious.

Yes. I am spiritual.

Yes, I teach at a Jesuit University.

Yes, I was drawn to the mission statement, sans the religiosity, for the work I hoped to do in my new career - to serve others and do what is best for communities that need support. For me, this means teachers and students in our K-12 programs who are at the whims and fancies of politicians.

The Jesuit tradition is student-centered and intellectual, which reminds me a lot of the Brown School with a much greater separation of church and state. I worry that schools have become anti-intellectual and anti-student in the age of accountability and that is why I appreciated this short article published in Conversations. The five points O'Malley hits home are:

1. The teacher's first job is to help the student to unravel their own shackles and escape their own shelters (I couldn't help but think of the Allegory of the Cave).
2. All learners are a product of their past and only can be who they are because of what came before them (UBUNTU)
3. We are not born to be selfish. We are born to look out for others. We must find a purpose for ourselves.
4. Perfect eloquence - there's an art to communicating (here's where I wanted to argue with the author, only because language has been used to ostracize and oppress people, and those who use it most perfectly and eloquently, I attest, are those I fear most. The concept is tied too closely to eugenics and the hegemonic nature of today's global worlds. There are many forms of perfection and many forms of eloquence - some are LESS valued by the academy)
5. Language traps us and our ways of knowing and needs to be understood for its finesse and representation of what we think we should know. (It's a Gordian Knot. Our job, unravel best we can)

And so, I will enter today's 7 hour session with something to say (and a laptop to work in case things get ridiculous and out of hand).

Fairfield University President, Jeffrey P. von Arx, Welcomes Bridgeport Teachers @writingproject @cwpfairfield @fairfieldu

Jeffrey P. von Arx, President of Fairfield University, welcomed over 75 teachers to campus yesterday during a back-to-school kick-off for Bassick High School. With funds from a National Writing Project SEED (Supporting Effective Educator Development) grant, the day focused on community, the importance of university/district relations, and the importance of teaching writing across the content areas. The event was a follow-up to the yearlong professional development offered to teachers at the school and an investment in the 2013-2014 school year. In 2012, President von Arx and the Superintendent of Bridgeport Schools announced the need for greater collaboration between Connecticut Universities and local school districts to better support youth. Their announcement arrived weeks after CWP-Fairfield learned it was a recipient of a 2012 NWP SEED grant to work with Bassick High School. On August 26th, yesterday, the teachers and staff traveled to Fairfield University for a day of workshops and motivation.  The following is a transcript of the words Father von Arx delivered.

Good Morning Everyone 

 On behalf of everyone at Fairfield University, it is a pleasure for me to be able to welcome you to this professional development day, in support of your efforts to begin enhancing the interdisciplinary literacy practices at Bassick High School in support of the Common Core State Standards. 

 I am appreciative of Dr. Wayne Alexander, superintendent Paul Vallas, and outgoing Dean of our Graduate School of Education and Allied Professions Dr. Susan Franzosa for establishing a partnership between Fairfield University and your institutions. The teachers teaching teachers model of the National Writing Project, too, deserves recognition and, Fairfield University is proud to host one of the three Connecticut Writing Project sites in the state. Through them, we are committed to building teacher leadership, better writing instruction, and professional development that matters to teachers. The model has historically been noted as the best professional development offered in the United States. 

As educators, we all appreciate how critical it is that our young people acquire the capacity to be fluently literate — to be able to express themselves, develop their own ideas, understand the perspectives of others, think critically, and engage with the world around them in a creative and civilly responsible manner. 

Indeed, the whole foundation of our civil society — our democracy and the values and truths that we hold to be self-evident — depends on a society of persons who can read and think, and through that capacity, be able to see themselves as valued and active participants in their community. 

In this respect, the work that you do as educators in Connecticut, especially in the city of Bridgeport, is extraordinarily important, and the stakes — where the future of our nation is concerned — could not possibly be higher. 

At Fairfield University we are committed to ongoing collaboration with city of Bridgeport and the city schools to promote literacy, and to share the expertise we have with our colleagues in the Bridgeport school system as we collaborate to help our young people achieve their potential. Specifically it is our hope that our young people will be prepared at the time of their graduation from high school to enter higher education with all of the skills sets that they need to succeed. 

Our vision is to see as many of your graduates entering higher education as possible and we are committed to assisting your efforts. Our Summer Scholars Program, for example, offers a taste of college life by providing a summer residential and academic experience for talented high school students. 

Although controversial to many, we believe that the skills required by the Common Core State Standards are a foundation for what young people will need for successful experiences in college and, later, the work force. 

Adopting the Common Core State Standards, however, will be a challenge for students, who will be expected to write more often, and to a higher and more consistent standard, and it will be a challenge to you as educators as you make important changes to your teaching methods and practices, especially as new assessments arrive. 

We appreciate too, that urban school districts face unique and difficult challenges that make the adoption of the Common Core State Standards even more of an obstacle than they might be in other districts. We also appreciate that very often, teachers are left to feel that they are on their own, without the support that they need to undertake the challenges they are faced with. 

That is why we must work together — collaboratively as educators — to build a stronger community, to share our expertise, and to identify what is effective in addressing our students needs, while also identifying the impediments to their growth, and acting in concert to remove or reduce those impediments. 

I hope that events like this one will be a step along the way, and that we will continue to find ways to work together to ensure that our young people will succeed.  

Certainly, at Fairfield University this is a commitment that we will continue to embrace, and I am confident that as we move forward, we will find other avenues for further collaboration. ~JVA

The Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University was extremely honored to have President von Arx address the audience of Bridgeport teachers. The kick-off event was a tremendous success.

Welcome to Fairfield, Bassick! @writingproject

For the past year, I've worked with Dr. Wayne Alexander, Principal of Bassick High School, and his literacy team. Hired a few days before the school year began, Dr. Alexander had every right to wonder who I was, what my intensions were, and why the Connecticut Writing Project-Fairfield wanted to help his school improve literacy efforts throughout the year. The original principal who wrote the NWP SEED grant with me was relocated, the literacy coach at the school was taken to another location midyear, and Dr. Alexander stepped up to the plate because he listened to what teachers wanted.

I am thrilled that after a year of working with members of the staff, Dr. Alexander and I put our heads together to create a back-to-school kick off and a plan for continuing the work in 2013-2014. This year, it is about interdisciplinary work and challenging the soul of every child.

Today, 65 teachers from the school will visit Fairfield University's campus to have a day of discussing interdisciplinary instruction, best practices for literacy, and writing. We will accomplish this through teacher-choice of 10 workshops with presenters who are academics, colleagues and visitors from other locations. Each will provide a 90 minute workshop on topics of interest to the faculty at Bassick High School: differentiation, English language learners, research, community, technology, collaborative curriculum, assessment, transitioning to college, and new faculty orientation.

The day begins early and mine even earlier (I have to set up signs so everyone knows where to go).

And, so, Monday it is! A hectic one, indeed.

Rev. Jeffrey P. von Arx, President of Fairfield University, kicks of the community collaboration for us at 9 a.m. - It is an honor to host the teachers on campus.

And then we said goodbye to summer, 2013

With news that the day was supposed to be a good one, and the reality settling in that it's back to school Monday, I couldn't help to soak in as much summer in one day as possible. It began with a hike on the beach in the a.m., and was followed by a run, just the same. Then I got sweet corn and packed my Hoffman hotdogs and salt potatoes for a picnic.

I didn't dare go in the pool, but others did. I was cold. The evening naturally flowed into darkness so we built a fire and sat around telling stories and talking. A giant cicada landed on my shoulder and chirped in my ear, too. Freaked me out and I almost landed in the fire, but it was just a bug (and soon there will be few of them around).

A day like this makes me wonder why anyone returns to work after a weekend or why all of us don't move to territory where we don't have to face winter and empty trees. It was perfect, ending with 60 degree temperatures and a starlit sky.

Ah, however. Today is Sunday and I need to think strategically and efficiently about the year ahead: courses, grants, work, arrangements, etc. Joy. But last night, a fire and friends. That's what it should always be about.

Cicadas, a friend, a Friday, and a sunset

What is beautiful about summer (when you have it) is the extended day light and the extra time to fit in a walk and talk with a good friend. Last night, Julie Roneson, a co-teacher of the summer institute, and I had a chance to eat some Thai, then meander to Milford for a walk along the sound. There's not much better than walking along the water processing life with another, especially as we noticed the back-to-school cicadas are singing and the sun is setting a little earlier. Taking such time becomes rare when the chaos of a school year begins, even when such walks are extremely important, therapeutic, and necessary.

I have to agree with her that living by water makes life a lot more enjoyable, especially when skylines can be captured into memory and temperature lie around 74 degrees. The port-a-potty, a necessity after drinking water to cool our mouths from Thai food, wasn't as pleasant and, perhaps, I ruined the flow (no pun intended) of this post with making reference to it, too. But, it too, was a reality of a later August occasion.

Beyond traffic. Beyond work hours. Beyond the hustle and bustle, there are also moments like these that deserve to be cherished. Perhaps, if they were more frequent they wouldn't have the same effect.

Even so, it is always great strolling with so many others trying to soak in the last seconds of summer.

How demented am I?

My sister has watched for several seasons. I believe my mother has been a fan just as long. Me? Last season. I don't remember the names or the specifics, but I knew I became a summer addict to see the manipulating, conniving, lies, game-play, and ridiculousness of the Big Brother household.

That is why I came back for the second season. I am Big Brother. I watch how people behave and I have my opinions and I know how I want the game to go.

So, last night, Thursday night, I watched once again as Helen was voted out. I know she and Amanda are master manipulators and, in the end, Amanda overpowered others in the house (weaklings) to sway the vote. But then there was a chance for redemption. The jury could return to compete.

What a silly addiction and waste of time. But, I'm hooked. I can't help it. The show pulls me in and makes me reflect on humanity, both the good and the bad. It makes me realize that the corruption in the household is the truth of the actual work game in life. Everyone is willing to sacrifice the other in order to advance their own agenda. It's tragic, but a reality. The metaphor of this show is actually rather accurate. Yes, that sucks, but it is as it is in a dog-eat-dog, criminal world. Interesting that I'm coming to this revelation on a day that President Obama visited Syracuse and, cough cough, promoted Say Yes To Education. Yep, it is not a fair or honest world.

Fart. And I have to wait until Sunday. Admitting to this is cathartic. I'm an American loser, too.

This post for Mommy-Dearest

All evidence is to the left.

The game is over and I lost to my mother: 369/304. She had the lead from the very beginning and nuked my nation with her 119 point word, "fathomed."

Deserved. Very deserved.

We've been playing for almost 7 months now and this is the first time she beat me. I knew she would, eventually, and I'm proud of her for it...it's not like I roll over to play dead against my opponents. This isn't BIG BROTHER (Amanda needs to go). Nope, I play to win (and that's why I hate Amanda...she's lethal). And Donkey-Face plays possum, anyways.

Losing also makes gaming fun. The challenge is to keep one's head up and to come back for another win. That's the style I live by. I'm right back at it.

And I have to give my mother credit. Some of my favorite memories in Cherry Heights is playing Scrabble with her while growing up and I'm thankful for Words With Friends for allowing me the joy on a daily basis, even if the games last several more days than normal. My love of words was inherited through her reading habits and passion for story (albeit it Days of Our Lives).

So, Congratulations, Mom! Dad owes you dinner somewhere - YOUR CHOICE. He, too, should be proud. Let him pay for it.

Whoops...I forgot the coffee mug

Dear Uncle Milford and Aunt Sue,

Expect a package in the mail.

See, I drove away from Hotel Amagansett over a week ago with the Amagansett Fire Department coffee mug in my little car and your map of Long Island. I knew I had to return it and being sharp and clever, I remembered discussing orange-cranberries with Aunt Sue. I told her she needed to try them in a salad (you get them at Trader Joes) and so I went to the store in Fairfield to purchase her a couple of packages (unless Mark wants one...then she only gets one package for herself). I also recalled that during dinner in Montauk on my last night, Mark mentioned he liked the pattern on my shorts and I thought, "Wouldn't a good cousin...no, a GREAT cousin... find a pair of shorts just like the ones that were complimented?"

Nope. I failed. I went to the same store in Connecticut, but they were sold out. That is why I drove to visit my CNY home somewhat disgruntled.

But then I went to Syracuse, my father needed new shoes, and we went shopping (Yes, I know...Butch and a Son of a Butch shopping together - it wasn't as bad as it sounds). Guess what? I found the shorts at the store and purchased them for Mark. They're not his exact size, but they come with a belt. He can tighten. They should fit.

Therefore, I returned to Connecticut to put together a package of your coffee cup, the orange-cranberries, the borrowed maps, and Mark's new attire. In fact, I mailed it today (and if you haven't been to a Post Office lately, I don't recommend it. It is complete chaos...if they were disgruntled postal workers before, man they are pissed-off employees today. Oof. Not enjoyable at all).

Anyway, after mailing the package to you, I came home for a long run. And guess what was sitting on my counter? The god-forsaken Amagansett Fire Department coffee mug!!!!

 I think I will keep it for another year unless you really, really want it back.

The package should arrive in a couple of days.

Bry

Taking time off is unfortunate...because we usually get sick.

Three nights ago, a sinus migraine that made me want to vomit. Two nights ago, a runny nose dripping into my throat. Last night, a continuation of a runny nose and the movement down to my chest.

But I have news for the Mucinex monsters. I ran five miles today and walked five miles. I also scored a set of four boxes of tissues, each with their own monster theme. I'm ready to fight them off.

I think to my childhood with eczema and the rashes all over my body (and those terrible nights at camp when Mr. Nu, cigarette smoke, and nature kept me wide awake - I miss AnERip's steam baths where I inhaled hot water from under a towel). Then I moved to Kentucky, and I lived 15 years with the impossible Ohio Valley, often becoming paralyzed because of the pain the pollen caused my sinuses. Now, in Connecticut, I have this water eye syndrome and nasal faucet. I'd love to find the location where I could breathe 365 days with ease.

I am thankful, however, as many of my friends, including Alice, are often hospitalized from such inflictions - I am lucky not to be asthmatic. So, I will blow my nose in appreciation that things could be a whole lot worse. Seems rather odd, though, to crave chicken noodle soup in August.

Wrapping up the home visit with a great meal...

fresh, central new york corn on the cob (check)

salad with sugared walnuts, cranberries, garden onions, and spring greens (check)

New York State salt potatoes (check)

bbq ribs (check)

Long Island iced teas (check)

Family (check)

Yum.

And all of this occurred out back by the pool although my flesh never fell once into its water. Still, a gorgeous day, a wonderful end-of-the-summer dining occasion with butter (albeit it, spray-it-on butter) all over our faces.

Such afternoons are what I cherish most about Cherry Heights and growing up on Amalfi Drive. But until next summer, this one is for history...

August has brought a new tradition

My mom likes to tell the story of my little league days when I slid into second base and, well, slid around six feet too soon. Therefore, I had to crawl the rest of the way. These were my butterball days and I can imagine it was a great laugh. I loved the sport, but was never given the athletic prowess to be awesome at it, especially as a chunk-meister.

Fast forward to now and the month of August, when the spring baseball season finds a culmination with the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. It's so easy to get hooked into the games and enthusiasm of the parents as the stories are told. I think it is great that ESPN and ABC have partnered to make this a summer ritual. I became hooked when the Valley team of Louisville, Kentucky, in 2002. Now, I can watch the series to keep a semblance of excitement on t.v. as the summer ends.

But these allergies? Rip my eyes out and wash them, already, will you? They're driving me nuts.

And then there were none

A month ago, I had eight New York caps purchased in Chinatown, NYC. Why? I wheeled and dealed to get them at a great price.

Tonight, however, after visiting with Abdi and the family, I no longer have a hat for myself.

I am a Son of a Butch. I give away everything that I have for myself, all for the glory of giving gifts away: beer, wine, hats, clothes, green beans, tomatoes, and cucumbers. That's the way we Crandall men roll.

Besides, the cap looks much better on Shafac than it would look on me. Such a Goose, that one.

And it seemed to be the perfect 'cap' to a Friday fish-fry with the family.

The bottom line? I need to get back into the city to replenish my stash. My caps are now in S. Africa and Syracuse being sported by the best. That's the least I can ask for.

That time of the year again

and I was at 5388 Amalfi Drive to experience.

The bacon.

The lettuce.

The tomato.

There is nothing better than a BLT with a ripe, garden-ready tomato from Papi Butch's garden. That is what I experienced last night....that, and two ears of CNY corn-on-the-cob. Yum.

I was good, too. I bought Magnum bars to share with my mom, but I resisted. My calorie counter had me closer to my limits than usual, so I opted against it. Last nights ice cream put me right at the edge and now that I'm counting, I know the numbers. I have to run another 4 miles to get rid of an ice cream treat. Boo on that.

In my next life, I want to belong to a community of those with high metabolism, for real.

i scream, u scream, we all scream for family?

Whoops. Forgot Mike on this one. Went to Manlius for Barnwell night and did Snow Top with the other side of Syracuse.

Also watched Big Brother. Not enthused by the way things unraveled tonight. Got over that quick.

AND IT IS COLD. Feels like October here (and I brought my bathing suit). Hopefully the days will warm up while I'm here and I will get long runs in and a few walks. Temperatures are supposed to rise and I hope they begin starting tomorrow.

Yeesh. I can't have Barnwells and Isgars pulling me on either side of town for ice cream. That won't cut it and it's just a matter of minutes before Abu and Lossine begin screaming for south-end/Liverpool trips. I will be fine with it if the temperatures rise another 15 degrees.

In the meantime, I'll cower in my hoodie.

In exchange for aluminum foil, a t-shirt

When I jumped in my car yesterday to ride across the Long Island Sound, I was greeted with the 2013 Hoops4Hope t-shirt. My cousin must have thrown it into the front seat last night before we left for Montauk...either that or after we returned. It was a nice surprise before I headed off.

And I laughed, too, that he asked me a serious question. "Bryan," he wondered. "Did you do something with my aluminum foil?"

Why yes, I did.

See, I went to cook vegetables on the grill and needed aluminum foil and his roll was a mess. There were several strands and layers - impossible to get any off. I took a knife, slit a layer, and then worked on the ends so the roll would role properly. My niece, Nikki, taught me this, I believe. Either way, he found it, noticed it, and loved it.

"Give me a hug, Cuz," he remarked, as we said our good-bye.

And then the t-shirt this morning. It made my day. Community. Family. Brotherhood.

A day of shifting

It looks like Tuesday will be a washout so I may head back to Connecticut a little earlier than planned. I hoped to get beach time this morning, but it is more like a water fest, so I most likely will hit the road sooner than expected to catch an earlier ferry.

Last night, the Tives, including Mark, took me to dinner in Montauk where we had Thai mussels, fish, and a few cocktails. It felt like a September evening with the cool air, but it was good to have everyone together at one table.

Mark's benefit was a huge success, held once again by his friends the Kazickas in their home that was once inhabited by Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe. The crowd was great and the atmosphere superb. It was worth the 8 hours of set up on Sunday and the 6 hours of take down yesterday. I love that I begin my vacation with physical labor and the full-energy mode of the Hoops4Hope benefit in August. Of course, every second is worth it.

One can't complained when they are in these parts as it is part agricultural with lots of farms, part fisherman's port, and part seaport. Of course, throw in the rich and ridiculous and it is part overwhelming. There are no words for the extreme wealth that exists in these parts and how much the world is their playground. Still, I am a better man for knowing it (I think).

...on the road again...

Happy Birthday, Lois

Dear Lois,

It's been three months since you unexpectedly left us and I, for one, can stand with testimony than you are surely missed by your friends, your family, and those of us who worked with you. Not a day goes by when I don't think about the humor, the love, the kindness, and the ultimate sincerity in which you lived each and every day. An angel left the Earth when you departed us, but I have trust that you are looking out for us from above.

I've talked to Pam often to state how much I miss you and how I wish you were still alongside me as a partner, a colleague, a neighbor, and a friend. I know your sisters, nephews, and nieces miss you tremendously, too. I think about the number of days we spent together in search of a six-foot picture frame (it still hasn't been found...but the one we did by lies proudly, painted by you and Luis, in my living room), meeting for brunch at a local diner for your favorite - Steak and Potatoes, or our weekend get-togethers where you and I would eat pizza and watch Luis riding his bike (I need a Paradise Pizza partner).

You were the backbone to all I did with the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield and I am thankful for your ingenuity, your thriftiness, your creativity, and the magic you brought to Fairfield University and our little piece of the universe. I know I drove you nuts with my zaniness, attention deficit disorder, and high demands, but you always countered this energy with a smile, a sense of calm, and your stellar outlook on life. You were the best thing that happened to me in my relocation to a new career.

Today is your Birthday and you are supposed to be with us so I could take you out for a drink or so I could deliver a special meal and bottle of special something (tequila? vodka? whiskey?). Instead, you are fluttering with the butterflies and making the world a beautiful place with your faith, spirit, and karma. Trust me...all the calendar alerts have come to me in stereo. You arranged them superbly.

I love you and think about you all the time. But it is not the same.

I, Dr. Byron Pigley Krudell, am a better man because of you and, because of this, you are on my mind. Happy Birthday, my dear friend. Happy, Happy Birthday.

Elephant Shoe,

Bryan

And the sun sets to the west

After a day of running errands for the Cos, I stopped by the bay to watch the sun set (and it was in the opposite space from where I was sitting). Still, I wanted to see the colors and I got there in time to capture the black sand and the orange/pink. green tinted blue sky - a great way to end a productive day.

The art work is collected. The uncle made the bidding sheets. The trucks are packed with supplies and the liquor was delivered. Really, today, all that needs to occur is set up and the enjoyment of art, good food, and the Long Island air.

I also ran into a Black Racer snake while running today...a rather long reptile that crossed my bath along the ocean heading from the brush towards the beach. I didn't quite believe my eyes (as it was as dark as the sand photo to the left), but when I returned home to look it up, I saw they were prevalent in this area.

In addition, I had my first DOSA, a light, crispy, sour dough crepe made of rice that serves as an alternative to break. The result was a delicious sandwich which wasn't as heavy. The chutney, too, was delicious. Now I want to learn to make them at home so I have an alternative to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. All I need are onions, spinach, chicken, tomatoes and whatever other vegetable I want for flavoring.

By the way, I believe this bay above is where they filmed parts of JAWS. I could be wrong. Most likely, I am.

Almost Forgot to Post...a new experience - Jackson Pollock's home

Spent Friday running from the rain (and in the rain), until the afternoon when I drove corn to Montauk Point, and ventured with my Aunt Sue to Jackson Pollock's house outside the Hamptons. Although I knew his artwork, I didn't know the story of his death or the recluse-like life he lived with his wife before his affair and crashing his car (with lover/lover's friend) into a tree - that's what alcohol will do to you.

I could be funny and say, "Hmmm, I wonder if the tree looked like one of his paintings after he crashed?"

Ba dum dum, ch.

It was a grey day before the sun rays returned to Long Island. Looks like the next 72 hours will be pure blue sky and perfect temperatures. Lucked out this year. But now it's time to get to work.

Vacation does this to me...I lose track of time and the daily ritual of posting a thought each day.

And a mini-break begins

I arrived safely to Long Island to do what I can to help the Cos who is hosting the Hoops4Hope benefit this Sunday evening. Until that night, I'm going to aim for morning runs, day-time beach, and evening walks. Tonight, I scored with my goal taking Wyatt to the water. Although humid, the air by the waves was rather cool.

They predicted a day of rain, but really it turned into a day of sun and quality Amagansett time. I was able to visit with the 'tives at Hotel Amagansett, and had and afternoon cocktail in their abode.

My new thinking is that I need to live somewhere near waves...the Long Island sound cuts it...sort of..., but it is not the lapping sound of the Atlantic or the winds pushing sand. I could very easily get into a routine of beach life, yet I wonder if the close proximity would keep me from enjoying it so much.

Today's goal: to wake up and let what happens, happen. I know it is impossible to totally break away from work, but I will try to do my best.

Bum deal, really. Shafted by Stephen Colbert @StephenAtHome

I don't stay up late. Not my thing. I like satire, humor, and the news, however, so when I was invited into the city to see the Stephen Colbert show taped live, I was intrigued. I'm always up for a new experience and, after reading Colbert's books, I figured the evening would be worth it.

And it sort of was...I think.

Pammy, Nick and I began with cocktails on the train and met Leo, Bev, and Kai to head to Hell's Kitchen together. We had a nice clip and made it in time to stand in line for tickets. We even had time to take shifts to the local bar while we waited. Soon, though, we were allowed into the theater where we went through security, stood in a massive pool of humans who had to pee and took turns using the bathrooms, and grew cranky. It was a lot of waiting.  (I'm going to be honest...I never watch his show. I believe I've caught highlights a couple of times).

We were prompted by several people on how we were the most important part of the show and our energy and enthusiasm sparked the stage - Steven Colbert thrives on it. That is why we were rather pumped when the doors of the studio finally opened. We took our seats with hype and laughed at the comedian who warmed us up. I even mastered my own fake laugh-track, so if the camera rolled by me, I would appear like I was having a grande ol' time at an event with the Colbert Report - heck, he deserves to win national awards. Screw John Stewart...this guy is much funnier.

The balloon grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger, and we all wanted the party to begin.

But, nope. It deflated.

After taping 10-minutes of footage (with several retakes and errors...all funny), Colbert decided he wanted us to watch a dance video he made during a previous taping. So we did. It was dorky, but we laughed. Then he announced that the segment with Ashton Kutcher (the guest for the evening that we were excited to see) was previously recorded. We had to watch the segment like we could have done at home. Finally, Colbert told us he would take one question, which he did, "Have you ever thought you went too far in an interview and wanted to take your question back?" Colbert looked at the audience and responded, "Yes." Then walked off the stage for good. I think many of us wanted to take our evening back.

We watched Ashton Kutcher on a screen. We wanted to boo and grumble (why did they bother having an audience in the first place?), but pretended to laugh. We wanted to be part of the Oz-factor. We believed in what we were told and what we were to see.

In the end, though, the curtain was pulled to the side. Just another Munchkin and another ego - another man making crazy money in a system obsessed with politics and its celebrities.

Now, if you listen carefully, you will hear the anvils falling dow to hit Wile E. Coyote on his head. It's a heavy whistle, whirling from above, and piercing the ear. It is the sound of all the energy that  deflated while at the Colbert Report last night. We were suckered, but today's another day. Bummer.

Throw back...thinking about younger days.

I'm not sure where I was when I first heard this version of "Bizarre Love Triangle" by Frente. I know she covered it from previous recordings and I think it was in a movie I saw once and that is how I found it. All I remember is that I often listened to the song in my early 20s and had it on my play mixes: first cassettes, then CDs, and now in ITunes. Not sure what it means or why I like it so much, but it does capture a period of my life.

I am supposed to go into work today to finish off projects but I am voting for staying home. I think I am more productive when it is known that I am not in my office. I have a lot of laptop work that can occur on my couch and not my desk.  I am in need of mental, physical, and spiritual relaxation - a week of no-brain everything where I ride the winds in the ways they throw me. I know I want to walk a lot, to read, to run, and to slow down my brain.

Whenever events end, I always feel this tremendous let down, wondering what just happened. My year has gone non-stop since last fall and this Spring, well, the semester ended with sadness...a sadness that continues to trickle into my understanding of life. Still, I persevere and work hard, but I do miss Lois Minto and her sense of humor. I miss the friendship in Connecticut tremendously.

And tonight, I go and see Stephen Colbert in NYC. I have no reason to complain. I simply need to move into reflective mode for a while. And I need to laugh.

Corny Pop, Pop Corn

To get over my 40-something weight issues, I downloaded LOSE IT, an app to count calories and to keep track of burned calories for the day (thanks, Ellen. My administrative assistant rocks). In day one, I was 1000 calories short of what I'm allotted so I remembered Ellen said that popcorn is a good snack. I popped some on the stove like my Grandma Vera and parents used to do. Besides the kernels now stuck in my teeth, the treat was greatly appreciated (Note: I purposely ate all the Magnum Bars in my freezer last night so I could begin anew today). Weijing the roommate asks, "Did you make this on the stove? I didn't know you could do this."

I had my daily run and, hopefully, the number counting will psychologically keep me from the cookies, brownies, cakes, and extra helpings that seem to have crept into my world since being hired at Fairfield.

Sad news, though - alcohol is not a middle-aged man's friend. I read several articles yesterday that reported a lot of estrogen sneaks its way into alcoholic beverages and, if one works out but doesn't for a while (which is what I did with the ankle fiasco from last fall and the vein surgeries this spring), then the body converts alcohol into make-shift proteins that equals blubber. Just what this gorilla needed to read. Pbbbrrrrttt.

Funny, too, because I also purchased a new wallet yesterday because it was $3 and I swapped several id's for the ones that I need now. When I arrived to Syracuse to begin my doctorate my head was huge. Two years later, when I began to work at LeMoyne, my head shrank quite considerably. I think it is because I made no money  and ate yogurt daily and other cheap items to sustain myself. I ate out rarely (except for the nights I showed up at my parents or sisters). Since joining the working world again, it's been too easy to eat out with friends, which often entails excessive amounts of food. My thinking is that being poor was a good weight loss for me. I need to get back in that mindset. Perhaps I should lose my job and struggle financially some more.

I will never have an ideal body. Nope. But I do know how great it feels to be in control of exercise, food, and the way one functions when healthier. It IS, however, TREMENDOUS work. Psychologically, it drives me bonkers, but I'm hoping to rethink my lifestyle choices over the last two years - it's excessive and I need to take more responsibility to control it. But alcohol? really? That's not fair. Time to research the buzz that comes from the bottle with fewest calories.

No humidity...I will take it.

Last night I went to the Long Island sound in Milford and relaxed with a 70s cover band and a gallon of lemonade (and Southern Comfort). I reflected on how uncomfortable the heat was in Kentucky and how this time of year, the atmosphere was spent wiping moisture off your face and swatting mosquitoes. No, I don't miss that and the northeast summers are much more comfortable.

Tomorrow, I return to Fairfield to clean up after four weeks of institutes. I have multiple goals to attempt in a two-day work week of getting things completed and set up for later August.

Beauty was driven to the airport in Weschester and the house is now a tad bit quieter. I realized after I played my games and caught up on my email that I rather like having distractions hosted in my house. It keeps me going, thinking, doing, and being in a pace that doesn't exist when I am left to my own discretion.

All day I've been thinking of Beauty and her 22 hour flight back to Pretoria and am sending all my prayers to the great whatever that she lands safely and will be with Boipelo, her daughter, very soon. It's odd to think that this will not be until Tuesday.

I told Pam that today was the first day that my face experienced the sun. It's been an indoor summer for the most part, except for my runs (feet running, that is). Sun is good. 80 degree temperatures with no humidity even better. Let's hope it continues.

Summer Institute Acrostic, 2013 @cwpfairfied @writingproject #connectedlearning

i.

S ummer songs are meant to be sung, to stretch the 
u vula and to expand the lung,  to 
m ake new music and to write the lyrics to be sung, and to
m anipulate the orchestra through a language wing-ding;
e ventually, the opus is written -
r eal writing comes when smitten with words. 

I am a better man because of you.
n o. We are a better community because of us, the teachers who write, who
s ing together in verse (even 
t hough four weeks is little time to rehearse what’s been
i nvitationally instituted across the nation).
t his is why it’s time for the standing ovation... the 16-stanza
u ndulation of what the past 20 days 
t ogether brought:
e xistentially, the rhythm swings because of these relationships. It’s

2 013, and in the next year, we will reach/teach over a 1000 students and
0 (none/null/zip) will be harmed by the work we do. Each and every 
1 of us, quite hip, deserve applause (what a trip) in the membership of
3 300 new teachers joining the NWP family this summer. Bummer it has to end.

ii.
K ryptonite. That’s what
e very super woman needs when playing the 
l ove-field of derelicts - especially arch enemies of
l oser boys....mama’s boys...thieving boys....and
i -scratch-my-butt in public

B oys (oh boy, oh boy). Will-you-pay-for-dinner, Boy?
a nd that’s-not-a cat’s-tail boy. There’s wisdom in the sea of 
n erdy-dorky twits and stupid-ass shits who can be found on
e bay (yes, of course the one that was gay). Yup,
t he women of the world need superpowers, for real!

iii.

E ventually we move on. We
m eander past the ways of our
i magination because the youth grab us,
l avish us, in the adolescent
y odle-lay-hee-hoo of growing up. We, the teachers, find

B alance between what we used to be
o ver what we’ve yet to become. We find
s erenity in the harmony of a
s ilenced cacophony, and deep down we know that the 
o verature is right now...that is whey we must embrace
n eophytes in an age of karma, with no harm, yea, in the carpe’ diem.

iv.
R abbit girl: hop, hop, hop.
h elicoptor man: chop, chop, chop.
o rangutan: Hwa Hwa Hwa.
n oodle kid: Soup, soup, soup!
d olly Parton: Boob, boob, boob.
a ardvark face: i look like a shrew.

S asquatch: i exist? do you?
u nderwear: Sometimes I smell like poo.
l ady on train: Choo, choo, choo.
l ady in car: Where you taking me to?
i maginary friend: i am at your side.
v ampire: i drink blood with pride.
a uthor of a poem: Another verse is done.
n udist at beach: Writing naked is fun.

v.
C ause hot pink purses matter
a s does Alice’s mad hatter,
i ntellectual and pedagocial chatter and 
t eachers teaching teachers climbing this summer
ladder (despite the hot (and cold) weather) where we
i ndividually sweat or shiver (the thermostat another matter).
n estled in our notebooks, the ideas grow fatter

W ider, and wetter, while we invest in 
o urselves to be better,
o beying the reading and writing fodder, celebrating the 
d elicious new england chat chowder
s omewhere near the Long Island Sound. Yep, we are profound.

vi.
T rickling yellow
o n porcelain urinal
m y bladder empties.

W henever i flush
a kitten is killed in Spain...
r idiculous piss...
d ang.  this second Tri-ku’s a letter too long.

vii.
J ust when i figured
e verything out, an about-turn
n icks me in the ass, alas, and 
n udges away at my stupidity.
i ntegrity? ha! hypocrisy....
f ool upon a Shakespearean stage who
e volves from mysterious curiosity, & 
r agies at the historical lummox that he is..

W hatever, Bryan. Your
e gotistical insecurity hypothetically
n eeds adjustment quite drastically:
t omorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
w hack! reality check! such sorrow.
o ut! out! brief candle. a 
r ipley crandall scandal of
t hinking a little too much.
h a! the poet nitwit...his words his only clutch.

viii.
J okes on us, so we might as well laugh...
e verything worth learning is asked in 3rd grade, anyway.
s o, what did one ocean 
s ay to the other ocean? nothing. they just waved.
i know. i know. real funny. how do you 
c atch a unique rabbit?
answer: unique up on it.

K razy rabbit. Trix are for kids.
a nd what kind of coffee was served on the Titanic?
n ope! not Folgers! Sanka.
o r what do you do with an elephant with three balls? 
f orget perversion on this one. think like a 
f ourth grader now. Walk him and pitch to the rhino batting next.

   ix.
E lizard Castro, Buena gente, laughed with us
d ancing at the Klein. Bridgeport is so Puerto Rican, 
n ationalidad, it’s Bridgepuerto-Rican. Proud to be Spanish-
a merican and ironing the historical flag…and

G rande is the creation of a nation from Spanglish riots
a fin de drunken Christmas music that disturbs 2 a.m. quiet:
r um, tequila, beer, ron, tekila, cerveza,
c reates a singer out of all of us
i n the parrandas of Nochabuena. 
a guinaldos. We are traditions. We are the songs we must sing.

x.
E verything evolves at exactly the right time, she
l aughed, hold on and enjoy the journey.
i am a lucky man. A
z illion and one mentors come our way, but the
a mazing ones...only a few. She lifted her wing, and whispered,
b ryan, the eventual
e piphany is that there’s no learning without
t he relationship. There’s
h eaven on Earth....but first you must push hell to the side.

C randall! Listen to me. Y ou need to
o rganize a purpose with your soul. Shut the classroom door and ignore 
t he idiots who are 
e verywhere. Trust your instincts. The idiots don’t matter.

xi.
A nd another day unfolds
l anding us in this moment where we must
l earn how to celebrate and lament
a ll that makes up our everything, our
n othing,  and our anything. The thing is,
a s we write, we fight, we seek inner might, and learn to  
h arvest intrinsic insight so the 

G reat whatever will offer light to bring us out of the darkness, bright;
r eflections like this make our lives alright, while
e volving and solving riddles and dissolving another
c allow Gordian knot with a chance to redeem
o urselves. Why? Cuz magic is held within...We simply must unwrap it.

xii.
B azooka-zooka, bubblegum, hooplah
r azzles, Rasha, Hubba Bubba, Zapp gum
i ce breakers, Extra, Doubble Bubble, Zoft Gum.
t rident, Turbo, Bubblicious, Fruit Stripe,
t idal wave, Winterfresh, Bubble Yum, chew hype,
a peppermint Mento, a strawberry Orbit,
n icorette, Cinnaburst, Big Red, Eat It.
y um bubble, Jaw Twist, gnaw-nugget, wax fist.

H oodie gum, Juicy Fruit, Stimorol, Wrigleys
i cky goo, sticky glop, resin wax substance,
l ick your lip, chop a wad, Dentyne, teeth dance, oompa
l oompa, Wonka’s Violet blew it. Pop! She’s now a blueberry.

xiii.
B y ancestry, I was born to rule, wrote Nelson Mandela.
e ducation is the most powerful weapon you can use to change the world. He penned,
a fter climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.
u biquitously we find ourselves on the mountain with Sisyphus. letlaila le 
t lailela morena (do not be afraid to make mistakes so they can be corrected)
y ou must embrace the darkness before the light can be appreciated. 46664.

M otho ke motho ka batho ba bangwe. (I can be me because of who we 
a re together). Mokodue ho tsoswa o itekang (and it’s easier to help those in our
kingdom who are willing to help themselves).
i am a better man because of his wisdom. 67 minutes of healing.
n tja  e itshokelwa yo a e fang (a dog follows the hand that feeds it) and I’m 
t enacious and hungry for wisdom – I want to learn – I want to know.  I want to grow.
a ll of us in this together, Ubuntu, the beauty is in all of us.

xiv.
L ove begins with an image; lust with a sensation
y es! yes! yes! Gallagher is cerebral masturbation
n arrating dirty thoughts inside your head....
n eutralizing spanked monkey brain before you go to bed.

W et. drool-dreams (or at least that’s what
i t seems) when one learns to write like this...
n irvana. heaven. spiritual (or 
s exual) bliss and the 
l ist goes on and on and
o n. Readicide, Spermacide. 
w e ‘ve all tried to get his number for you, but failed to get Lynn the joyride of her life.

xv.
J uly sweats (so does Bryan). The 
u niversal hopes for
l aughter chills any 
i deological regrets that will
e ventually give in to the cicadas.

R emember these weeks are 
o nly sparked catalysts for our
n ew thinking - the thoughts that ought to
e ngage our intellectual rage for yet another year.
s ummer. bummer, again, it has to come to an end.
o rganically, we’ve grown. But we can always use a friend 
n estled in our notebooks on the days when we wrote free.

xvi.
W ell, Bry-Guy, that’s another 16 stanza of your life written away...
r andomly poetic, crazy-word play of another summer
i nstitute (your own horn), tip-toeing through the roses and top- 
t apping a keyboard in the CWP-cacophony of this, that and 
e verything else.

t he moral of the story? I’m not quite sure. Why? I really don’t know. The 
o verature, I suppose, is still being composed with the

R ose-colored glasses you like to wear to make  light of some of the asses 
i ‘ ve (you’ve/we’ve) met along the way (optimism? to chase away the
g ray skies in whimsical child’s play). They once said of me:
h e is such a pessimistic bastard. He’s Charlie Brown. What an Eeyore. He only sees
t he glass as half empty. Why can’t he keep his philosophy full?

t he fool. King Lear’s son (of a Butch) amongst daughters
h aving the last/first laugh --- the
e dmund in an edward  

W orld. But with this poem, he proves anyone can change. And so, 
o ur summer comes to an end, swirled, twirled and 
r andomly whirled in the
l inguistic hooplah of a
d ance with words. Yet, now it’s time for we birds to leave this nest (and rest). & fly! Bry

46664, With Appreciation to Beauty Makinta and Nelson Mandela

Last night after dinner, Beauty and I went through numerous photos that have been taken since her arrival on July 7th from Pretoria, S. Africa. We laughed at all we've accomplished before she went upstairs to bring me a gift. When I pulled the POLO out of the bag, my eyes grew excited. She's been poking fun at my orange sneakers, orange hats, and orange sunglasses. I figured she went out with Weijing to get me an orange shirt as a practical joke (that turned out to be a hit)

Actually, Beauty brought the shirt from S. Africa and 46664 is a clothing line that works politically to carry forth Nelson Mandela's vision and leadership. 466 was the cell number of his prison room and 1964 is the year he was jailed. I asked her, "How did you know I had a thing for orange? Did you know I am a Syracuse University graduate?" She chuckled, "No, I did not." She said it was God's intervention.

The shirt is a tremendous gift - full of UBUNTU - and a perfect way to end the last day of four weeks. I ran into my closet and instantly grabbed the New York cap I bought in the city last weekend. I have a new look: NEW YORK MANDELA.

In creating 46664  initially as a global HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention campaign, Mr Mandela realised that to reach the youth all over the world specifically, he needed to engage the support of the people who most appeal to them. This has been seen most visibly through the high-profile 46664  concerts of the past few years and the appointment of 46664  ambassadors. 

Although these activities remain an important part of its approach, 46664  has revisited its social mobilisation model in recent years. There is now a strong emphasis on the role individuals can play in taking forward Mr Mandela’s humanitarian legacy through activities and projects like Nelson Mandela Day which encourages individuals worldwide to make good on Mr Mandela’s challenge at the 46664  London concert in 2008 for his work to continue and that “new hands be found to lift the burden”.  

In addition, 46664  has expanded its focus from being a global HIV/AIDS awareness and prevention campaign into encompassing all areas of Mr Mandela’s humanitarian legacy as well as confronting issues of social injustice.

Now, if I can only score some S. African soccer jerseys for Abu and Lossine I will be all set.

A Year Later, George Saunders

Last year, my graduation, it was Aaron Sorkin. This year, the 2013 class at Syracuse University, heard the wisdom of writer George Saunders and it was reposted in New York Times magazine. Can't help but feel a small part of this Orange-pride commencement as I read his same words that were heard a year after I graduated in the Carrier Dome. I won't quote the entire piece....but....

Down through the ages, a traditional form has evolved for this type of speech, which is: Some old fart, his best years behind him, who, over the course of his life, has made a series of dreadful mistakes (that would be me), gives heartfelt advice to a group of shining, energetic young people, with all of their best years ahead of them (that would be you). 

And I intend to respect that tradition. 

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you. 

So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that. 

But here’s something I do regret:

To read more, simply hit the link here: George Saunder's Advice to Graduates 

Community to Community to Community: Louisville to Syracuse to Bridgeport #ConnectedLearning

Throughout the summer, I've been helping the Director of Upward Bound, Rony Delva, run a men's group on Wednesday nights to address issues important to the minds of urban males who have an aim for academic achievement with tremendous hopes for college and career success. For several weeks, while listening to their concerns and taking notes, I  designed a workshop for them on the importance of writing.

Earlier this summer, I asked Rony if he'd like to get his students reading Lost Boy, Lost Girl to initiate a conversation about place, relocation, schooling, history, opportunity and the importance of education. This was on the back of their minds.

With knowledge of this, I wanted the young men to meet Werdi Mugaya, a Somali Bantu youth who graduated from Nottingham High School in Syracuse last spring. Working with Bridgeport youth, I channeled my National Writing Project days of working with Omega Psi Phi in Louisville to run a Men of Quality program. I decided that the time has come for the young men in Upward Bound to write an editorial for the paper (which we workshopped last night) that replicated the writing I used to do in Kentucky with students. I contacted Werdi, however, for him to offer insight about relocating to the United States and to discuss his emphasis on education and the hard work he put in to achieve in school. His brother, Haji, was brought to  Bridgeport when he first arrived, but then moved to Syracuse to be with family once they arrived. The connections are everywhere when we open our eyes to them.

I still feel terrible that I was unable to attend Werdi's graduation. I was teaching a content literacy course in Fairfield and missed the ceremony.  It is one of my biggest regrets. For this reason, it was awesome to SKYPE with Werdi last night between the young men of Upward Bound and him. It was connected learning at its best - a fusion of the TRIO program, CWP-Fairfield, research, the NWP model, technology, and the possibilities for bringing communities together.

Pictured above is Werdi wearing my doctoral hood and I am thrilled that I will see him in a couple of weeks to celebrate his graduation. He, too, deserves accolades and applause. I write today's post, though, to emphasize that men of integrity need to meet men of integrity. Hopefully soon, the collaborative writing we've written will be published in the Connecticut post.

I will definitely be sure to let you know if it has.