Potatoes were buy one get two free. I need to cook and whereas I wanted this year to be about soups, today seems like a perfect opportunity to give it a shot.
First I will peel. Then I will get my crock pot out. Then I will put potatoes in it. Later I will add milk, butter, and leeks. I think I shall add some garlic, too, and maybe, just maybe, some Italian sausage. I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm looking forward to making the mess (and depleting the lifetime supply of potatoes on my kitchen floor).
Wola! I will also have dinner for the week before I leave for Dallas and because I fixed it and forgot about it on Saturday. Smot, as they say in Maine. Very very smot.
I should point out that the recipe I'm following is also in the Swanson cookbook that Cynderballs got me last year for Christmas. I wonder what she'll get me this year.
I love having an extended weekend. It frees me up just enough to conquer my other yearlong goals. I know it is ridiculous, but cooking is not a top priority for me unless it's summer and I can barbecue or if I am having guests, which is rare.
I didn't benefit from leftovers on Thursday, so that is my goal for today.
Foreshadowing: The soup will more than likely turn out to be mashed potatoes.
Stuffing with sausage. Yum. I could get used that Italian dish. Scalloped potatoes and turkey. Pie. All added together = coma. I'm so glad I got a four mile run in before hand.
Then completed a Modern Family marathon. I never saw the show, but fell in love with Sofia Vergara. Actually, the writing kept me hooked as I spent the majority of my day in the coma and couldn't move out of my seat.
Also learned that the Ibuprofin is a must. I skipped it this morning and my tooth went haywire again. That is on the agenda post Dallas and pre-Santa Clause...that's for sure.
No green bean casserole or squash, but I can't complain. I ate at two and it's still sitting in my stomach 14 hours later.
And I think I need to double my run today to get back on track of burning more than I ingest. As for Black friday. Nope. I don't even want to take my car out of the driveway. Let it sit and be.
It is also a day to cherish the bonds we have in this miraculous, but complicated world.
I learned over the weekend of the passing of Kelsey Chanei Hogarth. My heart has been in my stomach ever since.
When I returned to CNY from Louisville, Kentucky, in 2007, the first year was rough. Yet, during my second summer, two special individuals graced my life and quickly became friends. One was Tracy Hogarth, the stellar educator and believer in all children of Syracuse, and the other was Kelsey Chanei, her daughter...a beautiful spirit with soul, energy, and karma who radiated joy everywhere she went.
Kelsey and I worked together at the Roberts School with our colleague, Jessica Earley. Jessica and I knew really quick how fortunate we were to have this young woman on our team. She was organized, enthusiastic, committed, and hardworking. More accurately, she was simply precious - the rare blend of intellect, beauty, integrity, and leadership. In reflection of knowing both Tracy and Kelsey, I can say they have always been winged individuals with a flare for happiness.
I remember a day when I was called to sit at the pool in Corcoran High School to work with a young man who Kelsey reprimanded with a time out on the bleachers. He was a tough cookie (a biter, a kicker, and a puncher), and the two of them did not see eye to eye. At the pool, however, wrapped in a towel and sporting a pouting lip, he lamented, "I'm angry because I disappointed her. I told her I didn't like her, but I really do. Kelsey is doing so much for us and I'm mean to her. I don't know why. I shouldn't be and I keep trying to change, but it's hard." Kelsey didn't give up on him; instead, she came over to offer tough love and guidance. The young man, Rudy, benefited from her patience and generosity.
I'm unable to travel to Syracuse this Thanksgiving to be with my friends and family and I'm sad I won't be able to be with Tracy this Sunday to share love for Kelsey. The two of them are VIPs in my world. While I was finishing my doctorate at Syracuse University, I loved the days when I ran into Kelsey on campus because it was like seeing a unicorn or meeting a woodland faerie. Her spirit surpassed the mundane...there was always a glow around her. I knew when we bumped into one another, my mood would instantly get better. She made me feel that all of us earning degrees were working on something bigger...something more special. With a glance of her eyes she could center my universe and put me back on track for what I set out to accomplish. That was her power.
And that is also why I'm using today to post how thankful I am for having the opportunity to have had at least one summer working with her. I am a better man because of her and am thankful our journeys crossed for a short while. Syracuse has lost a piece of its magic, indeed.
Kelsey, you will be missed. Your mother did a spectacular job raising you. Please, watch over all of us. We will need your embrace.
Services for Kelsey Chanei Hogarth will be on Sunday, December 1st, 2013 at 1:30 (Repast immediately following at the same location) at May Memorial Unitarian Universalist Society: 3800 East Genesee Street, Syracuse, NY 13214, Phone: (315) 446-8920, e-mail: office@mmuus.org Today, the voice of Eva Cassidy seems to resonate as I reflect on time, appreciation, and what matters most.
Hands down, I much preferred Catching Fire to the first film in The Hunger Games trilogy. Of course, it was also my favorite book, too - before the third in the series, when everything becomes excessive and over the top.
Still, at this point, I remain a fan and I loved the choices made in the second film, especially with the fierce vengeance that is created for Katniss Everdeen as she learns more about President Coriolanus Snow (I also love that his middle name ends with an ass reference - that is how such scrupulous power should be viewed).
I took this photo in the theater, however, because every time Donald Sutherland appeared, I couldn't help but think of Ron Freeman, my Princi-Pal while I taught in Kentucky. In every way, Ron's leadership was the antithesis of Snow's, but the resemblance (must be the white hair and beard) kept cracking me up.
The film did its job and left me ready for the third. I'm excited to see how the Capitol - The Official Government of Panem is portrayed. I am keeping my fingers crossed that Joan Rivers is casted as one of the most prosthetic residents to live there...she epitomizes how I view the city. We shall see.
In the meantime, I can't help but look at the story as a metaphor for our own culture. I contend that Democracy and Rule by the People is a global quest, but I can't help but note that the inequities teased out in the trilogy are relevant to our culture today. We are the 'entertained' - those who are captivated and enthralled by voyeurism, violence, and the fear that we might one day live in such an oppressed state. We live in a material, abundant, and sometimes ridiculous culture. Perhaps toning our economic power in the name of democracy might be a vision for future global affairs. That's idealistic, though.
Does any one population deserve such capital and power? Isn't there a way for more equity amongst districts? How do we keep those of us in the Capitol aware of the conditions in other lands held in tragic states as we reap and benefit from their resources?
These are the questions I left with. I ask them because I am fortunate to live in the land where privileges afford me time and energy to wonder.
It took me a couple of days, but I found the video I was shown at the MIT media lab last week in Boston. I don't have a lot to write. Instead, the video says it all. Here is a story of how studying the nature of blind silk worms and their quest to silk cocoons builds knowledge. When artists and engineers pay attention to the natural world and manipulate instinct, new creations are discovered.
I was talking with artists recently about the difference between utility and aesthetics. I pointed to a chalk board and said, this is utility - it hangs in a room and helps us to communicate information to students. Yet, artists who work with chalk make aesthetic brilliance for observers; they manipulate nature (improvise with it). Some are able to take a chalkboard and turn it into a cultural statement of profound creativity. I see the same with this video. The silkworm threads a cocoon because it is a utility for the silkworm. That is what a silkworm does. Yet, the ingenious mind sees more potential within the silk worm's nature. He or she studies it, understands it, and thinks deeply about it. From what they know of the silkworm's nature, new ideas are born. Innovation occurs. The paths for 'making' change.
This, in my opinion, has much to add to the field of teaching. The teacher who finds a way to look at the nature of school, its utility, and unravel the possibility for art (the art of learning and teaching) has the greatest potential to weave magic in the darkest time of educational reform. It is not a test. It is not a measurement. It is not a statistic. Instead, it is the ability to think critically about everything, together, with the mission to do better for the world.
Teaching and learning are natural to our species. Creating a memorable piece of art, however, requires innovation, improvisation, imagination, and play! These are locations the best teachers inhabit despite the national trend to limit what 'is to be done' in America's classrooms.
Silkworms are sages for the 21st century. I say, "Let the kids invent. Let them play with words to discover what can be done with them. Let them do what is instinctive and show them the art of being alive that already exists within."
As your Uncle and your Godfather, I totally understand this face you're making. I also like the threads...I see you got the looks from me (as your mom has no taste - see last year's orange sweatshirt fiasco).
Anyway, I'm posting this because I've been waiting by my mailbox for a letter from you and Sean-Man detailing the items you're hoping for this holiday season. I've been rather busy, but this week my mind is transitioning to December and the hectic shopping world ahead.
Yes, I'm writing in a disappointed mood from U of L and Fairfield's losses yesterday, but I remain joyed by the presence of friends and the energy of NCAA basketball.
Even so, it's time to get my priorities straight and because I won't make it home for turkey (I need to write and focus in Connecticut for a while, AND the weather doesn't look to inviting in CNY). I will have time, however, to read a letter from you and your brother so I can begin thinking about spending quality time with you when I return. If you are like me, you're beginning to count down to the big day ahead. From the rumors I hear in the North Pole, it's going to be extra incredible this year. The elves are learning from Walmart employees about unionizing and this can only mean great things in the toy department.
It is your mother's job to read this to you. If she won't, call Mimi. She will. Write me a letter. Deal?
And I have a question for you. What do elves learn in school?
Give up.
My cousin and I were talking about athletes at lunch, the international celebrity they quickly gain, the false promises many make them, and the industry that often uses them for their own financial gain. It isn't only in the U.S. - it is in Africa, too.
I told him about the research of Damien Quinn, one of my freshmen this year, who unraveled in his research on athlete fanaticism that during early Olympics, athletes were given these tools to scrape their perspiration into jars. The sweat was sold in markets for others to bathe in. It was considered magic. I could make millions with the amount I sweat.
Then we talked about an incident, a speeding ticket, that was issued to Kevin Ware in Kentucky 4 days ago and the controversy it caused on whether he was given a car or loaned a car to see a friend in Bowling Green. Two hours later, who do we walk into? Kevin Ware. His claim to fame arrived last year with the grotesque leg injury during the elite 8 game against Duke (his bone broke through the skin - one of the most memorable breaks of all time).
What a great kid! Super friendly.
I feel fortunate to have bumped into him and get this photo, too. What is even crazier, however, is when he went back to his room to watch tapes with the coaches a kid walks up to Mark and asks, 'Are you Mark Crandall?' It turned out this kid was here supporting UNC and has been working with Mark's Hoops4Hope program from down south. Mark never met the kid, didn't know he would be at the tournament, and only had an email relationship. Recently, the kid spent time in Zimbabwe with Hoops. The kid said, "I saw the picture of you on Facebook...the both of you, and I said to my friends, I think that Mark Crandall guy is here, too." He looked for us and, wusah, we were talking with Kevin.
Let's see. I'm 41. I am able to recap the first half of my life in this post, aren't I? Well, not the whole thing...just a couple of items that are, well, UBUNTU, at this moment in time.
In 1994, I left Binghamton, New York - where I studied with Carol Boyce Davies and was inspired to be an educator who would emphasize multiple forms of communication as a counter story of colonial, social, and racial inequities. I found an early career in Louisville, Kentucky, where I did a masters in teaching, another with the Kentucky Institute of Education and Sustainable Development, some more with Bread Loaf School of English, a stint with Tokyo, Japan and short bit at Cambridge University, too. For a decade, I taught in the one-of-a-kind environment, the J. Graham Brown School. This was, of course, at a time before the state brought forth their tsunami of reform - a reform that is just now reaching the rest of the nation.
And, I moved back home to attend Syracuse University. I continued to work in urban schools and, by the grace of the great whatever, maintained my work within relocated refugee communities - families displaced by civil wars that had deep roots in the soils of imperialism, the Cold War, and 21st century global politics. At Syracuse, I was introduced to many great minds that changed my life for the better including the writing of David E. Kirkland. His scholarship provided part of the frame for working with African young men with limited and interrupted formal education. As Kirkland (2010) wrote,
"English education no longer stands as a monolithic subject upholding the colonial pillars of England and the imperial ambitions of the United States. This new English education acts more holistically and accurately as language education, incorporating a study of the various Englishes of our country" (p. 302).
Completing the big dissertation, I moved to Fairfield University and now am Director of the Connecticut Writing Project where I continue to work in several urban school districts to support young people and their teachers.
Along this entire journey, I've always held my cousin's life mission with Hoops4Hope as an inspiration for my own. Well, today, all culminates in eastern Connecticut. First, David Kirkland's new book arrived in my mailbox when I returned from NCTE in Boston. Second, my cousin confirmed he's crossing the Long Island Sound for the Naismith Memorial Tip Off Tournament. Third, University of Louisville is in this tournament. And fourth, Fairfield University is in the tournament, too (I respect Sydney Johnson, Kyle Konz and their team immensely). I'm packed.
I know storms are brewing for later next week, but for this weekend, everything is forecasted to be simply awesome. I've got my gear, my cousin, and a good book. Even if my iPad went missing at the NWP meeting and it still hasn't shown up, I can't complain. This is a perfect bonanza of coincidences.
Kirkland, D. E. (2010). English(es) in Urban Contexts: Politics, Pluralism, and Possibilities. English Education, 42(3), 293-306.
I couldn't stay long, but I remained long enough for three sessions and a trip to the MIT Media lab through having connections with the Connected Learning crew that have been overly gracious to me. I'm also proud that CWP-Fairfield had something to say in all three of the sessions yesterday and I continue to be inspired my colleague in Bridgeport, Shaun Mitchell. He definitely deserves the title digital guru.
For me, the highlights of this trip are many, including the simple fact that Boston is a wonderful location for any conference. The city is alive and one can't help but feel its magic for intellect, creativity, and innovation from the second you step on the streets. An hour after arriving, the opportunity to see great minds working at MIT dazzled my brain and helped me to realize that playfulness, brilliance, and the challenge to solve tremendous world problems brings the greatest innovations. I remain awe-strong at the silkworm sculpture designed by the ingenuity of nature, human intrigue, art, and problem solving (see photo above).
It was also great to see my many friends from across the US (you go, Kentucky) - individuals who continue to believe in the power of the National Writing Project and who understand the best practices we promote. Investments in teachers pays off.
Alas, I arrived home to Connecticut only to realize that I left my iPad in the room where I presented the last two sessions. If anyone sees an iPad in a black and red case, please find a way to contact me and let me know where it is. I traveled with the iPad alone these two days, trying to lighten my load and, absentmindedly, I left it on a table. I didn't put it with all my other items when I packed up to leave. I was trying something new - a total reliance on iPad communication and look what I did. I left it. Ho. Hum. 21st century drama for sure.
Either way, I am recharged by hanging and geeking out with amazing people once again. Ubuntu. Until the next time we meet...
“HOMAGO”—a new term that refers to Hanging Out, Messing Around, and Geeking Out.
I spent the earlier part of this week preparing for the National Writing Project Annual Meeting in Boston that is held today, and created the handouts for my sessions: one solo and one with Shaun Mitchell from Central High School (featured to the right in a document that was cut onto cards).
This is why I am hanging out, messing around, and geeking out today!
This year, table talks will be the rage and 'shoppers' can move from space to space to hear 35 minute snapshots of the cool things NWP sites are doing. Shaun and I will discuss his digital guru-ness for podcasting (begun with a mini-grant he received and expanded through Connected Learning and his summer work in 2013). Then, I will present the Bank of America grant we received and how it exploded into the Writing Our Lives-Bridgeport event and scholarships for several to attend Young Writers' Institutes.
I'm trying something new this year, too, while traveling - I am not bringing my laptop and work only with lighter fare - my iPad. This makes me nervous, of course, but we'll see how it goes. Can I go 24 hours without a keyboard? (I know I can't - truth be told, that's why I wrote this 24 hours before it was to be posted...I didn't want to take a chance).
Either way,
Good Morning, Good Day, and Good Evening Boston. I'm looking forward to everything we'll discuss in this jam-packed day. I'm all ears (as my fingers will not be tapping across the alphabet this year, recording my thoughts).
While in Kentucky, I often flew to Boston, Massachusetts, to receive training through Annenberg and to find a role as a Critical Friends Coach. Today, however, it won't be airports and taxis. I will drive there because it is only two hours away.
Hello National Writing Project Annual Meeting. Glad to have you in my neck of the woods. Sorry about the temperature. It's a bit nippy out there and I am sorry.
Actually, I'm having a flashback to my long-haired days when were were at a conference center in MIT and I went for a run, but got lost. I ended up 10 miles away from where I was supposed to be and, upon entering a hotel, learned my mistake. I had to take a cab back, run into my room, grab my wallet and show up to my session late. I was drenched, too.
I'm not anticipating such an adventure for this trip. Instead, I'm looking forward to seeing friends from across the nation to gather and to discuss where we stand as an organization.
I sent my paper to my discussant for the Literacy Research Association last night and now I can concentrate on teaching graduate students tomorrow night, observing a colleague teaching a history methods course right after, and preparing for my two presentations at the NWP Annual Meeting on Thursday. Here's a taste of the twenty-page paper written for LRA in Dallas in two weeks - don't call all your publishers at once.
The lack of formal education and
the relocation of my participants are historically connected to colonialism,
the scramble for Africa by European nations during imperialism, and the
economic involvement of the U.S. in African nations after World War II and
throughout the Cold War. The young men had experiences, knowledge, histories,
and insight before arriving to the U.S., but needed a safe space in which to
share what they knew. This space should be classrooms within American schools:
locations that build community, Ubuntu, for all students. They can be who they
are because of the way we are together. For these reasons, teachers need more
professional development to help them learn the history of youth populations they
serve (Roxas, 2008, 2010). My findings concur with Njue and Retish’s (2010)
argument that
to alleviate the challenges that
teachers face when teaching diverse students is to institute an ongoing teacher
training program in order for teachers and administrators to keep abreast of
changes within the student body. (p. 368)
Teachers need more training on the diverse languages used by
youth in the United States and the histories of world cultures that are
changing classroom demographics.
I collapse when I finish items at the bottom of my list and then laugh that in the back of my mind I create even more to do now that this work is complete. But it's Tuesday, tomorrow is Boston, and I am looking forward to learning from many of my friends across the nation. And breathe.
To know me is to know the story of Sisyphus, but it can be expanded to the story of Bella, my older's sister's dog who has many peculiar behaviors including her obsessive quest to capture light in her mouth and stopping all reflections in their place. The dog is perfect in all ways: loving, humorous, beautiful, and friendly. Her flaw: she's absolutely insane and peculiar - words I use to describe myself.
So the video above was sent to me by Cynderballs after she tied a balloon to Bella's collar. It was full of helium and impossible for her to catch, but that didn't stop her. Was Sisyphus ever stopped from the tomfoolery of pushing his boulder up the hill? Have I given up on grading, reading, writing, and getting on top of my academic game?
I think there is something inherent about the mono-mania all species have to conquer that which is impossible to tackle. That is why I post this today. I am Bella. Bella is Sisyphus.
Sisyphus is all of us.
And enough of that. I'm going back to emptying the ocean with my fork. Carry on.
...and I set the agenda to have all the tasks on my Saturday list completed by 5 p.m.. Yet, at 5 p.m. I looked out my front window and realized it was getting dark, the moon was almost full, and I accomplished little. Oh, well. So full was she that I didn't have to have any lights on. I was working by moonlight.
Did I accomplish everything?
Hell, no!
But I did enjoy the 30 minutes where the moon arose from the horizon to the top of my windows. I don't mind either, because on a Saturday, the pace of the day was balanced without the interruption of useless meetings. The work week fails because of those meetings. They're impossible, really. On Saturday, however, the work can get done and I actually ran AND took a walk. In fact, I listened to an episode of Intelligence Squared and the debate of whether it was better to live in a blue state or a red state. I won't tell you who won the debate, but I can say that the east and west coasts, according to the argument that won, are trapped in an old paradigm where there is only a wealthy and impoverished class - nothing in between. It sounds like there's more breathing room outside the blue states....at least that's what I got out of the dialogue: the point: don't live in Connecticut unless your part of the elite. The class divisions of America are at a ridiculous all time high.
And as I looked at the moon, I missed the Brown School and the days of All Atars and Mr. Moonbeam.
Buoyant in the sky, the moon gives the earth meaning until the sun rises again and ruins all our dreams.
My administrative assistant and I began the week by sending off the publication of POW! Prisoner of Words, a collection of writing from this summer's writing institutes. In addition, we polished off a 12-page newsletter and mailed them to the 360+ teachers in our network. On Thursday, I collected first drafts of 19 research papers from my college freshmen - to be graded this weekend - and yesterday, I worked with 44 7th graders on comparing and contrasting with writing.
You'd think I was insane. Oh, I am.
Then, last night, I came home to lock myself in a chair so that I could finish a twenty-page paper due for the Literacy Research Association conference in December. The good news is I accomplished that.
But it's Saturday. Today, I must edit the craziness I wrote last night in my paper, plus chisel away at the student research before Monday. I probably should also read for the week, as I teach Monday and Tuesday.
Another item on my radar is to prepare for two presentations at the Annual National Writing Project meeting in conjunction of the National Council of Teachers of English this Wednesday and Thursday.
It's not just POW! It's BAM! WHAM! ZONK!
The good news is that I remain passionate about what I'm doing so I don't necessarily acknowledge that my life is nothing but teaching, reading, writing, and grading. I will admit, however, that I took myself out for Vietnamese yesterday afternoon as a 'pep talk' before writing. I ate alone, but I fueled up for the writing marathon ahead.
And I'm thinking about distractions. For some reason, I believe the last 20 years of my life have been a laborious distraction from what I really should be doing - writing novels and exploring the world through characters, humor, scenarios, and plot. Nope. Instead I avoid such love to write abundantly in every other way known to man.
Did I mention I also polished off six recommendations this week?
I take comfort in the knowledge that across the country, the majority of English teachers and professors live a life similar to my own.
I think it is because I've been eating healthy for the last three months that Pam's homemade Bailey's cream with Irish whisky tasted perfect to me last night. Perhaps it is because the holidays are coming and this flavor comes across as the nectar of the holiday Gods (well, at least Santa Clause as a God).
All I know is that on a night before Friday, when the brain is fried and one only wants a short moment of solitude, this is the perfect treat. It was like chocolate milk with an adult attribute. It hit the spot perfectly and I'm very thankful that I neglected to bring the bottle home for some time. It would have been perfect with Molasses slabs or ginger snaps.
Yes, it was the perfect treat to unwind the week. If only I could share a glass with everyone I know and love. Seriously, we all deserve more treats like this. It might be the result of neglected tastebuds accustomed to the sweeter flavors of life, but this truly hit the spot.
How old do citizens have to be to vote in the U.S.?
Who vetoes bills?
What are two cabinet-level questions?
What is the Name of the National Anthem?
Name a writer of the Federalist Papers.
What is the capital of the U.S.?
Name the war between the North and South.
Who lives in the U.S. before settlers arrived?
Name a state that borders Mexico
Name three Native American tribes in the U.S.
Name the three branches of government.
Name the two major political parties in the U.S.
What are the first ten amendments called?
What is freedom of religion?
Who leads the executive branch?
What ocean is on the east coast of the U.S.?
How many justices are on the Supreme Court?
What are the primary responsibilities of the States?
What did Susan B. Anthony do?
Who was the President during the Great Depression?
Yesterday, a historic moment occurred in the United States and I imagine that the majority of individuals across the nation missed it. They may have been watching America's Top Model, checking out ESPN for basketball schedules, or waiting for their value meals at some fast-food chain. The reality is, however, that while they were being American (in whatever way that word is defined), Abu and Lossine Bility were taking the examination that can be viewed as tremendous symbol for their lives, what the United States stands for, and how democracy is understood internationally. They took the Naturalization Test given by the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services to officially become members of our nation. They answered questions like those above. Can you?
And they passed. They are officially citizens of the United States.
As juniors at SUNY Brockport, Abu and Lossine have influenced multiple lives, including my own. I've been working with them since they were sophomores in 2008, still enrolled in advanced ESL classes, and confused by all the chaos of American society. Given their impish nature, they convinced my brother-in-law, Mike (whose coaching skills were always in question by them both), that we needed to take them to a Syracuse lacrosse game...which we did. One of the greatest events of that year. Soon after, they convinced me to drive them to club soccer practices, to share books with them, and to, eventually, redirect my life mission through research at Syracuse University.
I could narrate the stories they shared with me of surviving civil conflict in Liberia and the incredible strength, intelligence, and love of their mother who saw that they remained safe, studied in school, and followed the morals of their religion. I could write about the obstacles that occurred in an urban high school while they experienced deplorable conditions and had to high-five and collaborate with wonderful teachers to help them pass state examinations and earn a NYS diploma. I could describe their obsessive fascination with soccer, their total joy of everything in college, and the multiple dreams they share with me for their future.
That, however, is not the purpose of this post. I simply want to write congratulations and to say, "I'm proud of them both."
I am a better man for knowing and learning the world with Abu and Lossine Bility. Ubuntu. They are remarkable human beings.
At 6 a.m., the snow was falling and I was thinking about going for a run or going to a gym. I went to the gym. Upon my return, I decked myself out for the walk across campus and my late evening, graduate class. I put on an argyle sweater (one that was too snug last year), a scarf, and a chummy cap. I felt like I should sweep chimneys in my get-up, but I liked the Target-Ad look.
And, my neck was warm all day.
I had to unpack my winter coat from the closet, too, and thought about unleashing the Butters, but I wore dress shoes instead.
Throughout the day, people addressed me with their best British accents and a few remarked I looked like I was walking in NYC. I actually felt like I was auditioning as a Newsboy delivering papers in the 1920s, but whatever - we are living, breathing, performing discourses and others read their assumptions onto us simply by the attire we adorn.
My one regret? The bow-tie. I had one on, and took it off. I still can get myself used to them, even though that has been my intent all year...I want to rock the nerd all the way. It will happen, but I have to gradually work my way up to it.
Truth is, I've wanted dentures ever since I told my Grannie Annie and Aunt Patty that I could tell they were sisters because they had the same smile. Aunt Patty took out her teeth and that is when I realized 99.9% of everything I knew as truth in the world was a lie....
Pudgy's Pizza. Sundays at Church. The Indian people on the back of my mom's organ. Santa Clause.
Truth is, I have horrible teeth and settled for a lifetime of dentist chairs and their shenanigans. I had two lulls in dental care, too - when I was a graduate student at U of L and when I was a student at Syracuse (although I maintained regular visits). Now, at 41, my teeth continue to decay.
I had a filling last week on a fifth molar - a wisdom tooth that never was pulled - and I thought it was a quick fix. Nope. Whatever was done is resting against a nerve causing an ear ache, headache, and mouth of ridiculous pain. Aspirin takes care of it, but when it wears off, oi vay!
So, I returned to the dentist yesterday and was told, "I was afraid of that." He did a few adjustments and then said, "Let's see if you lose your vision and you can no longer walk two days from now."
Great advice.
I'm hoping the adjustment works, otherwise he must make the decision of removing the tooth or conducting another root canal. Boy, the proposition of either thrills me to death.
At least my vein issues in the legs have temporarily subsided.
It's just a matter of time, however, before I have a smile just like my Grannie Annie's (and her sister).
We are past the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy and the snow storm that followed. We are several years from Katrina and post-recovery of the devastation that tsunamis created a few years back. In a month, we will also be reminded of the tragedy that befell Newtown because of the madness of a lost soul and his violence unleashed on school-aged children and their teachers.
On the phone last night with a colleague I respect, and just a few days after hosting IRIS, a refugee relocation service in Connecticut, I am thinking about the efforts and actions promoted by JUHAN, the Jesuit University Humanitarian Action Network in which Fairfield University takes part. We are unable to stop devastation from occurring, but we can better prepare our responses when they do. At the academic level, we can infuse conversations about global inequities and violence in the curriculum we discuss with students. The United States remains a super force in terms of economic, medical, military, and social aide and with each and every horrific event, the responsibilities we have to the globe grow more profound. The Greeks were right - tragedy is normal. The Buddhists, too, have acknowledged, "all life is suffering." Still, like the residents of Whoville, we must find the ways to triumph and sing - it's the only solution to be had, even when an optimistic viewpoint seems ludicrous and simple.
My section of EN 11 is listed as a JUHAN course because we use Outcasts United as a touchtone text to springboard our own research interests. I encourage my students to seek solutions for the problems they explore in their research. The semester course allows little time to problem solve for immense responses needed in times of tragedy, but it highlights that the one choice we always have in face of difficulties is how we respond. The course is guided by the principals:
Students adhere to he core principles of humanitarian action that all possible steps
should be taken to prevent or alleviate human suffering.
Students demonstrate a commitment to the principle of do no harm in examining the
consequences of their actions on humanitarian crises.
Students show value for the role of mutually empowering action for all the participants.
Students show value for democratic principles of participation.
Students are attuned to the gendered implications of humanitarian action.
Students can communicate their sense of fulfillment and frustration when they take
humanitarian action.
Students are able to reflect on the efficacy of their individual and collective action in a
global social problem.
Students show willingness to view humanitarian crisis from multiple perspectives, and
they are more comfortable with complexity and ambiguity.
Students demonstrate a commitment to address humanitarian crises regardless of where
they occur.
Once again, there are no words to bring serenity to the millions of people suffering right now, especially in southern Asia and with relatives diffused around the globe. Yet, with our everyday decisions and actions, we can respect them by working hard, resisting selfish distractions, and laboring to help out in any and all ways we can.
A dear friend used to say to me on good days, "Well, we should be thankful that nothing horrific happened to us in the immediate today." She was right. When we have happiness and inner peace, we live with tremendous fortunes. This doesn't, however, lighten the responsibilities we have to others who are suffering right now.
The highlight of Saturday, November 9th, is that I went for a run at around noon. That is the only measurement that I existed yesterday in any form.
Corrected.
I talked to both sisters and my mom. They touched based to let me know I have human connections.
Otherwise, yesterday was spent getting ahead for today where I plan to spend the majority of the day in my office writing in preparation of the next month.
But yesterday? Yesterday I read, planned, graded, organized, and coordinated. I did this so I could be productive and free-flowing when writing tomorrow. Depressing.
I did sweep my house (lots of Weijing hairs). I did make Tator Tots for dinner. Sad. I managed to do around 8 loads of laundry (because I only do it every once in a while). And I managed to put my clothes away.
Did I shower? Nope.
Did I have live conversations? Nope.
Did I go to a basketball game? Nope.
I had a pathetic, November Saturday in anticipation that the next few weekends will leave little opportunity for me to chill out.
On an interesting note: someone turned around in my driveway. I thought I had guests and wondered, "Hmmm, who could that be?" It was their mistake, so I went back to work.
...well, I was pushing the class of 2005 out the door and looking forward to the class of 2006 (or vice versa...that is debatable).
This summer, a series of adolescents across Connecticut ran to me with the exuberance to state, "What? You haven't read Looking for Alaska? Oh my god, oh my god oh my god! You, like, totally need to read that book. It is the best book everrrrr!"
Actually, the recommendations didn't come with such a stereotypical flare, but it did arrive with the voice of a new generation of young people. At first, I was skeptical about the suggestion. Then, one night in September, I had a long, intellectual and rewarding conversation with a high school student who convinced me, with absolute sincerity, that I needed to read the book. After this conversation, and with much admiration for her reasoning, insight, curiosity, and zest, I stated, "I will get this book and read it for you."
They say you are forever trapped at the age of the students you love to teach most. This, for me, is the period between sophomore and junior year.
Time has flown forward. The semester has taken off. Then, one day in my college English class, I must have mentioned Looking For Alaska, and asked if anyone had eve read it. One of my students heard me had her mother send her copy from home so she could lend it to me. It's been in my bag all week and, last night, I sat down and read the whole thing while sipping a few glasses of wine. I needed a break from the hectic world and it was the perfect time to explore this coming of age story.
I needed to remember the fledgling flights to everything. When young people come at me full force with recommendations, I always read with a scholarly mind. Yet, at the same time I also talk to my 15-year old self to ask, "Why is this book the one others love? What does it say about a generation?"
The kids claim it is in the spirit of Perks of Being a Wallflower, but I don't agree. I do think, however, it is a text that introduces young, inquisitive minds to some of the deeper questions about life, death, and meaning. During the first half, I kept thinking, "I don't get why this is the book." Then, during the second half, I started to see glimmers of why it resonates with young readers. I have to say, John Green twisted just enough in the end that I now want to read more of what he has written. I know that his book, The Fault In Our Stars, is highly acclaimed and many adults have told me I am a disgrace to the profession for not reading it. I am intrigued.
I will. I will. I will read more of his work. I promise.
But as for Miles "Pudge" Halter and the lessons learned from Alaska Young, I can say thumbs up (although, I am admitting here I am forever amused by Pudge's coming of age with Lara and their awkwardness of adolescence).
And I'm now intrigued by famous last words that intrigue John Green and the character in his book. I know miine won't be famous, but I wonder what I will have to say in the end (and who, if anyone, will hear them).
Earlier this semester, I wrote a small grant to align my freshman English course with research standards at the university and the Jesuit University Humanitarian Action Network's (JUHAN) guiding principals. I used my research with relocated youth as a model for writing about the world and, as we read Outcasts United by Warren St. John together, I shared with my students the ways I use text and contexts to accomplish larger writing projects. The students in the course are now writing from their own passions and, with research of their own, making a case of their findings to an audience of their choosing.
As part of the work, I invited Chris George and Kelly Hebrink of New Haven's Integrated Refugee and Immigrant Services (IRIS) to speak with the class. Both have worked extensively with relocated individuals and families and are strong advocates for the important work in Connecticut. Their international experiences, too, painted a global picture of the inequities that exist and the privileges afforded to those of us living in American society.
I couldn't have been more pleased with the workshop conducted yesterday. George and Hubrick asked my students to think about world realities and histories, to understand how the United States does the work it does, and to appreciate the complexity of working with new American populations. They shared and expressed the complex work of providing support for refugees in a new home.
The freshmen in EN 11 gained insight that most Americans don't have. Our guests offered a rare insider's knowledge of the emotion, politics, mission, and stresses of assisting new Americans in pursuit of dreams. Later this semester, we will continue the partnership with a basketball game at Webster Arena and next year, we will run the 5k race for refugees in New Haven.
This, without a doubt, is a community in action. I couldn't be more proud of the students I teach or the speakers who shared their lives with us. Sometimes...a shining moment.
Yesterday, at Bassick High School in Bridgeport, Connecticut, Ellen Rosoff led freshmen thinkers to view with a lens of empathy, sympathy and/or apathy as she continued her yearlong mission within an iPD model to offer students both counseling and emotional guidance as they work towards self-directed, focused, and intuitive processes. She achieved this through looking at several spoken word pieces including those of Alicia Keys, Taylor Mali, and Denise Frohman (whose poem, "Weapons", can be viewed above). Ms. Rosoff asked students to think about the poet's perspective and whether or not they felt sympathy, empathy, or apathy towards the theme she was communicating.
A young student, Jasmine, raised her hand and said, "I get it. Books are a weapon. The poet's knowledge is her
weapon."
Bingo.
I had the fortune of seeing several classes of students come to the same conclusion, each noticing how few in the poet's address raised their hand, slightly, in an auditorium to say they had dreams, but how quickly they threw both hands high in the air (as if surrendering) when the question of prisons arose. For young people who walk through metal detectors on a daily basis to reach classrooms to learn, Frohman's poem brought forth tremendous empathy. In a mini-lesson, the kids realized they also felt sympathy for their place as students and, often as passive learners, they also responded to a need to push against apathy. They have reasons to care and schools, with teachers like Ellen Rosoff, are giving them tools in which they think, write, speak, and read in school.
Thinking about learning in creative ways
The same was true in another class hosted by Gear Up. There, 9th graders were challenged to build the tallest tower they could with the cardboard, paper, and tape that was available. The goal was to make a tower that stood on its own and didn't need to be taped to the floor. It was a task that required teamwork, ingenuity, perseverance, and creativity. As the students competed in groups, the instructors provided larger lessons to be learned: working together is best and individuals, at times, should think outside the box.
Later in the evening, I had the pleasure of listening to the wisdom of Bob Probst and Kylene Beers, literacy experts in the field, as they talked with pre-service teachers about reading informational texts, supporting reluctant and struggling readers, and flooding classrooms with opportunities for students to work on analytical skills. "A district that pushes a singular curriculum with reading materials that are irrelevant to young people," they both suggested, "is one that has to ask itself, 'is it working?'" Research suggests that a one-size-fits-all mandate for middle and high school educators fails to meet the multi-variant needs of heterogeneous, diverse classrooms.
Lynn Winslow's Developmental Reading Class
Now, I am asking (as Bob Probst helped me to realize) how do stellar educators share what they know about best practices with district leaders, members on the Board of Education, and with one another to counter the top-down management styles enforced on many urban schools during a time of economic struggle? I am hearing Lynn Winslow's remark made to her students after the SKYPE dialogue, that "Teachers have a tendency to circle around one another and shoot in." We need to, instead, celebrate our profession by sharing expertise with what works with others, especially those who have never taught in schools.
Probst worked with a metaphor of hunting and fishing when reading informational texts and insinuated that Beers isn't quite pleased with the analogy just yet. It made me think about a fishing net analogy Sari Biklen's qualitative methods encouraged while conducting research - the idea of casting a large net into the world and pulling in everything one can. Then, with the bounty, to begin to make sense of it all before making a sound judgment and providing assertions. Reading and writing can be a scavenger hunt of what he said, she said, they said, and now, I say. We read (view, listen, feel, smell, taste) so that we can form opinions and understand the world around us. It isn't a hunt...but it is definitely a collecting process.
With three spoken-word YouTube examples, several paper towers, and an evening of listening to the wisdom of Kylene Beers and Bob Probst, I feel rather positive about making the following assertion: Students are MUCH more like to acquire the skills promoted by the Common Core State Standards when they are engaged and invited into the literacy processes adults use to achieve. These, of course, arrive from classrooms that transcend textbooks and provide young people real-world reading, writing, and thinking activities.
