Last Day of 2013! Crandall's Annual Video Montage to Capture The Year in Review. Ubuntu!

Yesterday, I set out to teach myself the IMovie upgrades. Where I failed, however, was in exporting it into a sizable file to post onto this site for the last hooray of 2013!

After a few hours of perseverance, I believe I finally managed to figure it out.

The trouble? It took almost an hour to create the file and afterwards I realized I used the same photo with Ishmael Beah twice. That's okay, because I can claim that I did one for both Abu and Lossine- they're twins after all.

Fingers crossed this will work.

And 3....2....1.

Praying to the Great Whatever That Today was Not as Eventful as it Could have Been.

My father warned me not to take 17 home today, but I didn't listen. I needed to stop in the Bricks of Syracuse to play Santa Clause, and the Thruway was on the other side of town. It began to rain as I left, and then it turned into a downpour from Tully on. 17 was rough. The temperature hovered between 36 to 32 degrees and once I was past Binghamton, the rain turned into thick wetness...almost a snow. The roads, too, were thickening like an ICEE. It was gross, and on one curve, I counted 7 cars off the road. Because the temperature was fluctuating, the roads didn't know what they wanted to be. For the vehicles who slid off the slickness, my guess is they timed it when Mother Nature chose to be freezing rain.

I only lost control of the car on one curve. I was thankful that (a) I wasn't too close to the edge (and cliffs) and (b) there were no other cars around. I did, however, pull off at the next exit to reestablish my sanity. I also had to pee.

When I stepped out of the car, it was sludge and rain. I heard something drop and worried, "Was that my cellphone?"

Nope. It was my keys. I checked my pockets, my jeans, and underneath the car. I parked right next to a sewer and I was sure they fell down the drain. I was in Hancock, New York, and I thought, "Damn. I just screwed up BIG time."

Here's where luck stepped in. I ate a chicken sandwich for lunch and had my Burger King bag in my hand to throw away. The keys slid out of my hands into the bag! I was so relieved. That would not have been good. I did not have had an extra set at my parents and it would be a quick second before Weijing could get my spare to me.

I looked up to the sky and said, "Thank you."

I also said, "Thank you," when I finally made it to my driveway. Although I drove into warmer weather, the rain was a torrential downpour. Wet. Yuck. But I have been spared once again.

And with 9 days off, I need to begin thinking about heading home...sigh...never a good feeling

Syracuse win over Villanova - check

Louisville loss to UK - check, although frustrating

Louisville win over Miami - check

Cynderball's 44th birthday - check

Lasagna and Gargonzola Cheese Salad - check

iPhone Upgrade - check

New Samsung Galaxy for dad - check

Mom's wigs discovered - check (wait, Mimi, is that your real hair? pull. Oh, I guess it is)

Bottle of Cabernet finished by the sister - check

My crap all over 5388 Amalfi Drive - check

The temptation of Buckeyes and Magic Layer Bars finally wins - check

A week of mindless meandering in the direction life took me - check

Time to pack for a return - check

Still a few items on my agenda - uncheck (will hopefully get to it on Sunday.

In Celebration of Cynderballs, 2013, and her Prancing Pony - Bella the Wonderdog!

In the holiday traditions of December we, the Crandall/Isgar/Barnwell posse, celebrate the 3rd day after Christmas, in celebration of Cynde's 44th birthday.

Above, Bella the Wonder Dog demonstrates one of many fruitful talents - this one is the "watch me use my lower jaw to capture my collar routine." Notice her horse-like prancing abilities. This display of brilliant talent usually follows the "I can catch the light that glimmers on the wall" bonanza and the "If I run fast enough in a circle, I can catch my tail" cyclone.

Yes, Bella's antics are the greatest gifts for anyone who visits my sister on Pine Grove Road. The brightest, most beautiful, effervescent puppy dog in the universe is a ball of spastic energy that never ceases to amaze.

Here's to you, Sis. You do so much for so many and, once again, you will do it for us today! You even canceled your Dome Dog look (hot stuff) so you can be with your wonderful family for one more event this season so we can sing Happy Birthday to you.

So, Happy Birthday, Cynde! Best you bring a bottle of wine for your party. I'm sure you'll (well, we'll) need it! Cheers!

Sleepover with the Barnwell Boys: Monster University, Popcorn, and afew beers

There's not much more to write. I learned something new, however, about Jake. He likes to narrate exactly what will happen next in a movie about ten seconds before Sean, so Uncle B knows exactly what will happen next. 

We have other roads to walk: Nelson Mandela, education, and global inequities. A post-Christmas thought

Yesterday, Christmas day, the twins, Mustapha and I went to see Long Walk to Freedom, the Nelson Mandela story. Although impossible to capture a life in 2+ hours, we decided that celebrating Mandela's last year of life through viewing a film about him on the largest holiday of the year might be the best way to spend December 25th: three Muslim young men from Liberia and me. When Mustapha planted the idea, I knew it was meant to be so we made it happen. We are in the United States - the land of power - and I would be dishonest if I ignored the parallels between southern Africa and the United States. The few enjoy a lifestyle of excess that the majority will never know - we in America are guilty of this. The great divide of opportunity is not only overseas; my experience in Connecticut schools (and New York/Louisville) demonstrates that what we view elsewhere with disdain we somehow tolerate in our own nation.

For the boys, the movie was a celebration of what is possible for humanity, for African retribution, and with hope for the enormous continent where they once resided. For me, I wondered about pacifying a Western world's interpretation of the Mandela narrative as simply a story line with little regard to colonialism, imperialism, and global history. After all, here were four men enjoying a Hollywood version of the Mandela story in Destiny - a robust mall built to bring customers to Syracuse, New York, to shop - on a day where all the grandiose, extravagant spending of American people is celebrated in a bonanza of commercialism covered up by a Christian story (at this time of the year, I can't help but realize I live with President's Snow's people in the Capitol). It is surreal to watch a film that is meant to capture one man's entire life existence. It can't be done, unless it is created to depict the stories we continue to tell ourselves: a larger narrative.

I can't speak for how the boys interpreted the film, although they were inspired. It's hard to grasp the vastness of Nelson Mandela's leadership because His accomplishments and what he stood for are larger than the life/lives I have known. Still, I can't help but think that his belief system is one I'd like to see carried forward in my own worlds, especially when it comes to equity in education in the United States.

• As long as there are achievement gaps of any kind in America, we should be fighting to close them.
• American educators should be politicizing their work through contacting local officials with the direct intention of educating them on the realities of classroom practices and what it will take to achieve with diverse student bodies. We should continue advocating the counter-narrative currently forced on teachers that they don't matter and they aren't effective. We need to carry the voice of Diane Ravitch into our environments with poise and intelligence.
• We should find inspiration in the achievements of young men like Mustapha, Abu, and Lossine - three individuals that went to the film with me today and who arrived from extreme circumstances, war, poverty, and violence and who found themselves as college-enrolled achievers with eyes set on living the American Dream. How can our schools better support students like them? How do we fight against the institutional decisions made by non-educators about classroom policies that hinder helping young people to learn? 
• When we see wrong, we need to call it out for what it is - WRONG. When we are reprimanded through heavy hands and stubborn minds, we should counter the bureaucracies with kindness, questioning, and intellect - that I learned from Nelson Mandela's example (although he, too, saw the need for violence when no one was paying attention). Learning from Mandela, we cannot be passive but should fight with integrity.
• We should not be settled by the pampered nature of American luxury, especially if it comes at a cost of ignoring the vast inequities across our nation and around the globe. 1% of the world is college educated (31% of the nation) - this, in itself, speaks volumes about power and the access to opportunity. We need to fight harder to bring a better life to more people.

No, a blog post is not the appropriate space to fully articulate thoughts invoked by any story about Nelson Mandela, but it is a good location to start some thinking. I wrote about 46664 on this site before and made connections that other men, like Mandela, are doing international peace work like Emmanuel Jal (currently promoting Peace for Southern Sudan). As I transition out of 2013 and begin thinking about 2014, I'm looking to collect more energy to do the good work of these individuals. We have one life - and we should live it so it has meaning. There are still many roads we must walk.

And then the 25th of December returns. May your day be peaceful and with the joy of family.

And may you have the deliciousness of baked goods like those on my mother's famous cookie trays!

For two days, I'm saying, "the heck with it." 

While in Rome....

Twas the day before Christmas, and all through my house...all I could think about was getting my sisters drunk!

Thanks to Clement Clarke Moore for his classic (as for my sisters....well, we shall see)

A Visit from St. Nicholas.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

The laps I first ran as a high school student always bring me home and make me feel centered

The temperatures are a usually a little rougher at his time of year and the roads are definitely more icy. Yet, this year's CNY weather has been totally cooperative and I've been able to hit the pavement, running my old stomping grounds in Cherry Heights. Every time I do this I think of the years I began running Almalfi Drive, Caughdenoy, Spruce Hill, Fortuna, Bamm Hollow and Evesborough as a junior in high school. 25 years later, and I'm still able to keep the pace - that is a lot of miles, memories, histories, laps, perspiration, pain, and therapy. The temperature drops on Tuesday - I don't know how many more days I will be able to maintain the trek outdoors.

I was also able to get the parental units to pose for a photograph and I captured them both with only one or two shots. I think the photographs inspired me to go through photo albums, so I spent a portion of my afternoon walking down memory lane with snapshots of yesteryear: dad's perm and mustaches, mom's weight watchers years, neighborhood parties, the big hair of Casey and Cynde, elementary school  photographs and, of course, grandparents on both he Ripley and the Crandall side.

My mom often asks, "Wouldn't you like to sit for one dinner with your grandparents if you could?" and I always respond, "Yes." I would love to be able to hang out with them in the ways my sisters and I hang out with our parents today.

As I looked through holiday photos of once-upon-a-time, I couldn't help but notice the ubiquitous trees, presence, and enthusiasm of kids - these were generations before I even arrived. What we will go through in our households this week has been repeated across the U.S. in many homes for the last 100 years. I love the holidays and it is one ritual I would never want to miss.

Hark! The Herald angels are singing during my father's 6 a.m. 'Butch' fest.

6 a.m. - lighter. smoke.

6:02 a.m. - coffee made.

6:10 a.m. - Bryan awakes. Groggy. Not a morning person.

6:20 a.m. - Dad greets Bryan in a talkative mood, drinking coffee. (Does he know his mouth runs like a whipperwill's ass this early in the morning?)

6:30 a.m. - Coffee kicks in. Bryan is more tolerant with listening. Butch complains about all the electronic devices 'beeping' and 'booping' - "It's like a goddamn arcade in this house." He fiddles with the iPad. Sips coffee.

6:31 a.m. - "Bryan, do you hear that? Did your mother leave her cellphone on? There's something singing?

6:32 a.m. - "I don't hear anything dad."

6:33 a.m. - "I've been hearing the songs all morning. It's singing. One of these goddamn machines is making noise. It's driving me nuts" Sips more coffee.

6:34 a.m. - "Dad, I'm not hearing it. Let me drink my coffee and read my paper."

6:35 a.m. - "What are you doing up this early, anyway? Your mother yelled at me in her sleep again last night. She didn't come to bed until 2 a.m. She's impossible....wait, there it is again. It's a phone ringing."

6:36 a.m. - "I don't hear it."

6:37 a.m. - "Seriously. Listen." He sips more coffee. "Let me call you sweetheart" begins chiming out of his songbird coffee mug.

6:38 a.m. - "Dad, that noise is you. It's your musical coffee mug."

6:39 a.m. - "Oh, that's why I've been hearing it all morning." Another sip.

And that was my first 29 minutes after waking up in Syracuse for the holiday break.

And Santa stopped on Nichols Avenue just as I was leaving for Syracuse

The goal was to safely hit the road for a relaxed, chilled-out return to CNY as soon as I finished at the gym.

Yet, yesterday, the temperatures were way too warm so I had to run outside. It felt great.

When I returned home, my roommate, Weijing, was getting ready to shower before her day of medical procedures. For the last year she's had issues with her stomach and this month has been worse than others. She was put on a liquid diet and was scared to death of what they would find today when they looked inside. Her friend spent the night and before I left for Syracuse, I wished them both the best.

Then I thought, "It's Christmas."

They left for the hospital  and I ran to the store to buy puddings, Jello, Ginger ale, fruit, chocolate and cookies (Weijing loves OREOS). I left a card, too, from Santa that told her that now that the procedures were over, it was time for her to snack and be merry. Weijing doesn't celebrate Christmas, but I wanted the holiday cheer to be with her nonetheless.

Before I went to sleep last night I received a text from Weijing saying that her  procedures went well and everything looked good. She also said, "We dug into the food right away. You were right. I was hungry when I got home and this all made me feel better!"

It bothered me that I wouldn't be home after her day being checked out and no one would be 'home' to greet her when she returned. Weijing lived with Lois before she lived with me and I thought to myself, WWLD - What would Lois do? And that's what I did. I brought her family love all the way from Beijing (well, Big Y, and a lot less fish and rice).

It definitely put me in the spirit and I'm glad to say I arrived to Syracuse safely. 

My sleigh bells are jingling...heading out of Connecticut today for a little R&R.

I am unsure if I have had substantial time off since this time last year. As students submitted work this week and I graded, I grew more and more wary of my complete exhaustion. In fact, I felt I was becoming grumpy and miserable, which isn't my usual demeanor.

I've labored all week with one item in mind...hitting the road and embracing family for the holidays and birthdays that surround the end of December. I came home last night and wrapped presents, put away at least six baskets of laundry, and cleaned the kitchen so I can return with it clean.

My goal is to wake up, chill out over coffee, go to the gym to burn calories, pack up, and then hit the road. I'm aiming for a 4 o'clock arrival time and simply want to - as Simon and Garfunkle once sang - slow down because I've been going too fast. I want to make the morning last now.

In short, I'm ready to feel groovy without meetings, agendas, deadlines, presentations, papers, books, office hours, professional development, or grants. I want a beer with whoever will have one with me and to laugh.

I need to laugh and to be absolutely stupid for a short while.

Thinking about digital outcomes in history? 'Why history' as a culminating writing event.

While assessing final projects for my Teaching the Composing Processes course, a graduate student put together a yearlong project that he hopes to set the pace for middle school, social studies work. First, the year will begin with Powerpoint movies showcasing 7th grade geographical terms about location and, second, the end-of-the-year will require a more advanced digital essay that answers the question on "Why History?"

His first model, a Powerpoint story, is showcased above and the the other, larger, was too big to upload to the site tonight. Although we touched upon digital storytelling in class, it was not on my radar as a possible outcome of the graduate student work...for that reason I am thinking 'bonus'.

What I appreciated about this piece was that technological ways of knowing can be elicited in a history classroom, too. Simply by using Powerpoint to frame images and a voiceover tool, students can compose a digital text to extend traditional modes of communication. The graduate student addressed how technology motivates students and how the 'frames' of digital stories are a great way to get middle school students to organize essays while exploring vocabulary important to teaching geography throughout the year. 

The author, Chris, modeled what he wants from his future student early in the year and developed a plan for larger projects after a year of instruction (I wish I could upload the final model he created, too, as it demonstrates historical possibilities for middle school composers in a content area). 

It's the shoveling period of the end-of-the-semester blizzard, and I'm looking to making snow angels.

The tipping point is upon all of us in higher education where culminating 15 weeks of labor, planning, reading, grading, and presenting turns around into projects submitted by undergraduate and graduate students. At the same time, gingerbread cookies are dancing in my head and the latest Peter Jackson Hobbit film is waiting for my viewing in theaters somewhere near my home.

I traveled through Canisius Hall today, handing out 'snowflake' glasses to the individuals who make the work I do at Fairfield University possible. Dawn, pictured to the right, sported the flake specters with cheerleading finesse (she once was a cheerleader for the New England Patriots, after all, so the flare served her right). Really, however, it's the energy of colleagues and staff that keep me spirited between the grading, shoveling, sprinkling of salt, and fret of holiday shopping - a zest that brings the holiday season alive.

I did what I could yesterday and know I have at least two more days of assessing to complete before I can think about heading to the frenzy of holiday stores to finish the purchases before heading to CNY. I look forward to the moments when the pile of student work is no longer on my desk and when I live like a normal human being without the guilt of offering better and more substantial feedback.

You'd think it would get easier, but it remains exhausting - the mental work, however, is what it's all about. At least today, the temperatures are suppose to rise and it shouldn't take 1.5 hours to reach the University. Fingers crossed. 

Dr. Afshar's family - Celebrating Christmas in 'Vein' and so nice to receive a card @VeinConnecticut

I don't usually go to my mailbox with the expectation that  correspondence will greet me. I am used to junk mail, bills, and the books I order.

Yet, yesterday, I received a holiday card from my friends at the Vein Institute of Connecticut. Considering the number of procedures they did for me this year, I couldn't help but post their holiday card on my refrigerator right next to the Barnwell and Isgar cards that also arrived in the mail. Wow, three Christmas cards...I truly scored this year.  The Vein Institute of Connecticut got to know me intimately this summer and fall - some of them more than others - so I thought they deserved magnets and to hang with my nieces and nephews.

It's funny, too. Because I posted about my procedures in 2013 several times on this blog, the world of cyberspace has targeted me as a vein fanatic. Whenever I use Facebook, You Tube, or even Words with Friends, I am bombard with vein commercials, vein creams, vein contacts, and vein articles. It's humorous, actually, that all roads lead to Dr. Afshar's work. That's why I am tweeting out to him, today. I've sent many clients his way and I think he should have included me in his holiday card as the institute's #1 patient. 

Syracuse means many things, but accomplishments, CUSE, and family are high on the list @harlemson

And this, I believe, I share with Dr. Don C. Sawyer III who successfully defended his dissertation earlier this month. He is a diehard fan of the Orange, a dedicated father of four, a devoted scholar to the communities he serves, and a genuine man of integrity. I am a better human being because I know him.

For the last two years, Sawyer and I have tried to find time to get together in Connecticut (he teaches at Quinnipiac University down the road). Yesterday, however, in celebration of his accomplishment, we finally found the chance at a nearby pub in Hamden where I was able to finally deliver bottles of Dinosaur BBQ and Wegmans Asian BBQ as an accolade for his achievement.

I met Don early in my doctoral career and although we didn't have classes together, we bonded over a shared focus with Syracuse youth - an advocacy we both carry in our current work in Connecticut, too. Most recently, Dr. Sawyer has been investing time with young men at Wilbur Cross High School in New Haven where he is advocating for the literacies youth value and the respect they deserve.

Of course, the other reason Don and I met yesterday was for the Syracuse/St. John's game. Originally, we intended to take the train into the city, but circumstances (before the snow and ice arrived) hampered that event.

I grew up north of Syracuse and so the hill where Syracuse University resides represented privilege, sports, and out-of-reach territories to me. Arriving to its academic world in 2007, I was unsure of how I would navigate my roots with the world of a private institute of higher education. Yet, I'm an Orangeman now and will be to the day I die.

I advocated for Syracuse sports teams since I was a little boy, but now I am a proponent of their academics, their dedication to scholarship in action, and their support of a wide variety of people and interests.

Meeting with Dr. Sawyer, yesterday, was like having a piece of Syracuse with me in southern Connecticut - a family reunion of sorts. It's good to have him nearby because most would not understand the pride I have for that place now or the love/hate relationship that results because of the stress and abundance of snow.

Here's to you, Professor. You deserve a Nordic YELP for what you've accomplished.

Without a doubt, I look like Bumble whenever I grade end-of-the-semester projects before the holidays

The truth is, I am in a better place than preparing 12th grade writing portfolios for the State of Kentucky, but grading and feedback is never easy, even when the sheer volume is decreased. Reading and providing final insight is a finesse that takes time, indoor activity that is obnoxiously stationary, and patience that in time it will all get done.

At 11 pm last night, I finally gave into the exhaustion. Yes, I was forced to grade because the weather trapped me in my house, but the aches in my wrist and the delirium in my thoughts are true indicators that the final lap is being sprinted. And I have to thank NBC for airing Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer for giving me last-minute inspiration. As the land of misfit toys sang and the story brought me back to my childhood, I began to see the light that soon I will be in the embrace (and chaos) of my CNY family (is it me or do others see the undertones of this classic story as being hilarious and subversive?).

Either way, I'm getting things done. I'm having trouble putting words together for this post, but I have the pep in my step for the holidays. It is my hope that the words (and grades) I give my students will be like a cup of warm cocoa to carry into their writing lives.

Ho Ho Ho.

Beanie Babies, Graphic Novels, First Graders and a Spectacular Teacher at Multicultural Magnet

Yesterday, I had the privilege of working in a bilingual first grade classroom in Bridgeport where a fabulous group of students shared their writing journals, ongoing graphic novels, new textbook, and digital story they made in honor of Thanksgiving. For the last month, I've had bags of Beanie babies in my house and I donated them to the classroom as additional pets to bring these stellar young writers inspiration and comfort. Each kid was given an animal and asked to draw it in their notebook and to write descriptive sentences about what their creature might be thinking.

The crew have been practicing their writing and when I entered they were armed with questions: Bryan, how tall are you? Bryan, how do you teach Ms. Johnson writing? Bryan, how old are you? Bryan, what do you think the major difference is between a typical book and a graphic novel? Bryan, do you write? Bryan, how often do you write? Bryan, why do you like to write?

Several of the kids used words like BAM! SHAZAM! POP! and KAPOW! and together we learned to spell onomatopoeia (no, it doesn't mean I have to go to the bathroom).

What stood out to me today, however, was the ease and comfort these geniuses had with their teacher. The room was loaded with texts, student-created productions, books, and knowledge. What I loved more was that everything was written in Spanish and English, with an emphasis on Brazil and their fascination with their teacher's home country.

I've forgotten how much youngsters love to share their craft. Several wanted me to sit by them as they wrote every letter of each word wondering, "Am I doing a good job?"

I couldn't help but be proud of these incredible kids and their teachers. They made me feel like a king and I hope they invite me back again and again (Yes, they rejuvenated Mr. Moonbeam and the magic he learned with All Stars in Kentucky). It was remarkable to see scholarship from my graduate course on teaching writing put in action: theory blends nicely with the work in the field: I am inspired to keep up the good work and am DEFINITELY revived because of the love, joy, and intelligence of these young minds. Bravo.

Happy Holidays, Lois. As the December Chill Makes Me Crack My Knuckles, You Are On My Mind @CWPFairfield

A year ago this weekend, Lois, Pam, and I created one of my favorite memories since arriving to Connecticut. We planned to get together, but because of the cold we stayed home. Instead of driving somewhere to be together, we proceeded to sing Christmas carols and to make silly videos that we sent to one another on our phones and iPads. The three of us partied, even though we were in the comforts of our own homes. We laughed hysterically, too, and promised one another we would keep the videos forever.

A few days later, we created this photograph (left) on Lois's desktop in the CWP office - Lois sandwiched by her younger twin siblings separated by birth and seven years apart. I love this photograph because it represents the joy and love we had in one another's company, not only at Fairfield, but in our personal lives as well.

I am thinking about Lois every day: her creativity, humor, zest for life, and irreplaceable ability to keep a positive attitude even in the most difficult times. So much of what I've been able to accomplish in a short period of time in Connecticut is due to the magic that was Lois Minto. This magic is more special at this time of year. Lois is far from forgotten. She is the I's, L's, and Y's I now see everywhere.

Tonight is the annual GSEAP holiday party and it won't be the same without Lois as my date. I am looking at the Duck painting from last year that she convinced me to give away during the holiday swap. Then, two hours later, she chose to swap the gift to take home with her. Why? She was thinking creatively and, in February, she returned it to me as a present that now hangs on my wall.

Happy Holidays, Angel. I continue to buy lottery tickets in your honor. Elephant Shoe. Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me, as it once was modeled through you.

How am I Liking Them Apples? To be honest, I'm not liking them at all.

"Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world" - Nelson Mandela

I've been a fan of the tacky holiday sweater fad ever since the kitschy trend began a decade or so ago. The teacher sweater thing, however, always bothered me, except on days when my colleagues and I came to school as substitute teachers fashioning ourselves in dorky teacher clothing. We did this tongue-in-cheek, making fun of the careers we chose for ourselves and the ways we got positioned by society. We knew we were professionals, so the campiness was sardonic wit meant to celebrate the excellence we chose for our lives.

I am reflecting on 'teacher idenity' because in the classroom I was the sort of teacher who lost sleep over ways to better accomplish the impossible work in America's urban public schools. No matter how many degrees, how many books, how much professional development, and how much luck, I couldn't accomplish everything I hoped to do with a group of students. I feel the same is true, today. If a kid was failing to attend school, didn't turn in homework, grew disgruntled with his peers, or looked at me with sad eyes, I knew I needed to bring my A game to help him. There were no ticker-tape parades for such work - no golden apples - but there was always the thank-you that came at the end of the year. This was what I cherished before top-down management arrived and Sauron-panoptica began its teacher surveillance and scrutiny.

Yesterday, Diane Ravitch wrote on how Teach for America is receiving charity donations this holiday season because of their corporate ties, partnerships, and collaboration: Is TFA Your Favorite Charity? I read her post after spending two days doing professional development in urban school districts: one that was K-8 and another that was a high school. In both locations I witnessed passionate, dedicated, devoted and hardworking teachers doing everything in their power to succeed with students. Both serve nearly 100% free and reduced lunch and repeatedly fall in the bottom percentile of state achievement reports. Their "high needs" stature, which is true, and the faltering literacy and math skills, that are also true, are not an indication of the hard work and perseverance the staff in both locations puts forth every day. They deserve extra funding - not TFA. We should be investing in the professional educators already in these schools and not the experimental silliness of inexperienced do-gooders who are looking for a two-year commitment on their resumes.

I am trying to figure out the logic behind Teach For America. When I first learned about the organization, I thought it was designed to bring highly educated graduates from rigorous, ivy-league institutions into underperforming schools to help close achievement gaps. Now, I reading that TFA is actually a charity for wealthy individuals who want to teach. Let me restate that. TFA is a charity for the wealthy (it is postmodernism and late capitalism at its worst - or best...depending on the angles we look at it).  The design of TFA has the following logic:

• Because some students attend more elite institutes of higher education than others, they are superior to students who do Masters degrees in education (or even doctorates)
• A five-week training program (arguably based on the Amway model) trumps research-based curriculum and practices that are integrated within Graduate Schools of Education that are held accountable to accreditation programs.
• Those accepted to TFA (who often attend schools and universities that cost $30,000 or more a year+) deserve financial handouts.
• Two years of commitment with limited support and training is all it takes to change the nation's schools: experience, commitment, and sustainable investments are unnecessary.
• Young people who arrive to TFA are, by virtue of their birth and privileges, placed in schools where children need the BEST teachers. More likely than not, they are college graduates who have benefited from traditional curricula that upholds the cultural traditions and histories of people just like them. At the same time, they are sent - as missionaries - to work in failing schools with curriculum that traditionally fails to represent the cultural identities of heterogeneous populations.  
• The Federal government supports this.

It is institutional racism gone amok. 

We, as a country, are talking out of both sides of our mouths. Wait. That's not true. National leaders are talking out of both sides of their mouths. How can they claim they are working to fix the disparities in American schools yet send undertrained, naive youngsters to do the professional work that ALL students in the United States need? Would TFA be recruited to affluent school districts? No. Why? Parents would not stand for that. They seek intelligent, seasoned and professional educators in their district. Yet, for the poor, TFA suffices. That's social injustice and simply wrong.  

I have been an urban school educator for over eighteen years. I am man with two Masters degrees, a doctorate, training through the Annenberg Institute, teaching experiences in the U.S., Japan and Denmark, additional coursework from Cambridge University and the Bread Loaf School of English, and 18 years of urban classroom experience. I have benefited from the National Writing Project, the National Council of Teachers of English, the Critical Friends Group, the Literacy Research Association, and several state organizations that support best practices in teaching reading, writing, thinking, and speaking. I feel students deserve all the excellence we can give them. They deserve better than TFA post-bachelor vacationers on holiday for two years before they return to President Snow's Capitol and comforts. I'm thanking Diane Ravitch for acting as Katniss and demonstrating that we can fight with finesse, strength, intelligence, and commitment to exploit the nonsense of our nation's Teaching Games. 

Yes, I've met a few excellent TFA teachers, but they are the exception and far from the norm. They admit they do not receive the support necessary from their organization to sustain them in the profession. So what are we doing? Why is this allowed to happen?

There has never been a post-colonial period in history and the Imperialism of the 18th century continues on the TFA road of good intention. Yet, TFA is a charity and teachers who have dedicated their lives to the youth of America are no longer professionals. Our nation's poor - 'uncivilized' natives in the core of postindustrial cities - need salvation from the TFA elite.

The Gods Must Be Crazy.

Ubuntu, Mandela. Rest In Peace. Look over the foolishness of our species and help us to do what we can to make the world a better, more equitable place. Guide us from above as you did from your days on earth below.

Snow fall, accumulation, and end-of-semester tasks do not mesh well.

The weather report called for the first winter blast and schools around Connecticut closed. I, however, had my last graduate course to teach and a series of important meetings on campus. Truth be told, I wanted a snow day like the kids - I could have benefited from a day on the couch with my laptop and grading. Yet, as the snowflakes began to fall, I headed into campus to accomplish what I'm paid to do.

Trust me, I didn't want to be there. Even so, I'm glad I was.

There's something about the onset of flakes that creates a flaking attitude within me. It came down hard for a while and I sent out an email to students to watch the roads and make a decision that works best for them. Then, it stopped. Holding class was inevitable and another burst of inner arctic energy needed to be found. 120 minutes needed to be covered.

Yet, my mind was on snowplowing, hot cocoa, and getting under a blanket. It wasn't on agendas, planning, curriculum alignment, and conferencing. Yes, I love these, too, but it's harder to love them at the end of 15 weeks when your mind is on family, open days, and the missed opportunity and realization that SO MANY OTHERS were given permission to chill out at home.

Three more days of frantic schedules and then I can work on ME for a couple of weeks: the gym, good books, reunions, and sleep. I have gone far too many nights in a row with horrible sleep. This isn't good. 

And I need to do something about the tooth. It's getting to be a redundant monstrosity in my mouth.

Beginning Digital Acoustics Through Professional Development @writingproject @kwamealexander

Somewhat thawed, but not much, I arrived from Dallas to the ice-covered/school-delayed professional development in New Haven, Connecticut - another phase of the work CWP-Fairfield is doing with a K-8 school. Today, the introduction of school-wide digital storytelling was begun and Eric Komoroff of Community of Unity arrived to provide a courageous conversation about school culture and to establish a foundation for everyone who teaches at Hill Central to find their song.

It needn't be an orchestration of one kind of music, but a cacophony of many genres that makes a harmonic mixed-tape of ideas, ideologies, purposes, content, and communicative needs. Komoroff helped all to think a little deeper about who the WE can be in terms of larger, individual classroom goals that typically occur. His modest, yet astute delivery, made many think about the music that makes them tick - the internal philosophy of the profession and what that 'song' means to the accomplishments of sometimes challenging students. Learning this sound book, however, requires deeper work.

In addition, Kwame Alexander's Acoustic Rooster arrived and the books were quickly wrapped to be used as a touchtone text for writing, thinking, speaking, and reading across the content areas - this before the writer's arrival in the spring of 2014 for National Poetry and Jazz month.

The Rooster in Kwame Alexander's text found his barnyard band by tapping into the originality of his farm friends in a symphony that syncopated larger rhythm to his community - that is the essence that Eric Komoroff, too, introduced to the teachers today.

The next steps are to write around our own songs and, if possible, to incorporate the life skills of Community of Unity: self-awareness, focus, integrity, self-esteem, sense of humor, responsibility, empathy, and self esteem. Today we focused on community and from here we will write the words to make our own digital acoustics in the art form of digital stories. At the heart of it all, however, is our attempt to embrace Ubuntu in the literacy communities we inhabit. The goal is to become more familiar with 21st century tools to best provide instruction to the next generation of writers. As Chris, a middle school student, told Eric and me, "The best thing about Hill Central is the technology." When we asked him what the worst thing was he replied, "Nothing. It's great."

Yet we all agree - great can be greater and greatest! That's the goal!