#Writeout2024 - Day 4: Thanks to Amy Hirzel, @writingproject, @writeoutconnect, and the Intersections & Contrasts of the Evening

I’m a Syracuse kid, so the heat doesn’t go on until November 1st, even though the 1st frost is likely to arrive overnight and all my friends already hit the dial. Nope. I’m on my front porch, dog over my shoulders (a 48lb. blanket) and I have a space heater cranking lightly (the one left behind by the kid). And I’m sitting behind the skeleton of a frog and a cranium lit up with grapefruit glaze - Halloween is coming, after all, and yesterday I wrote about aging. But I caught the clouds this evening floating northeast from the Long Island sound, painted with cotton candy above the homes of my neighbors. Perhaps I should paint an exotic bird on the telephone wires. I should be grading, I should be planning, I should be submitting, but I’m reflecting instead. This is the joy of Write Out…getting outdoors to write (but it’s cold and I can’t type with gloves on. I moved inside and found the heater, contradicting myself in the comfort of a home). Write In(side) it must be. I’d love a snack, but ice-cream is probably not a good idea. Is it too early for hot chocolate? If it wasn’t sober October, I’d likely be sipping bourbon & bouncing on these clouds. Alas, I’ll find the calm in the light, rare sight, in these darker days. And I’ll also play with wind-up toys -100 of them that arrived in the mail this afternoon. ~b.r.crandall

#WriteOut2024. Day Three: Chose a Prompt from the Ranger in Massachusetts (an Ode). What Wonderful Gifts They Offer Us

I've been wanting to post on the new I.D. issued me from the University. Odd to see what 13 years brings (especially in the getting-older department). I'm off to a school visit today with my undergraduates (and wishing I had more time this long weekend to finish grading all their great work. Ah, but in the meantime, an Ode from one of the many writing prompts offered by our National Park Rangers.

Ode to Getting Old

b.r. crandall

I’m over myself, under the black clouds,

above where I was yesterday, below where I thought I’d be,

but I just listened to Kate Messner, it seemed the write time,

and I was inspired to write this poem…to set myself free.

My grandmother used to store swatted flies

in the wide mouths of her collected frogs, all ceramic,

It’s destiny, she’d laugh, a glass in her hand, red wine, 

waving branches to clear her air (we kids in a hammock)

next to her, while she talked to the chipmunks, squirrels,

and dam cars over the bridge (red ones worth thirty).

I loved her journals, the pressed clovers and collected leaves, 

& how she described my grandpa (most of his jokes dirty),

and never missed a moment to color her thoughts with ink. 

I wasn’t the first to scribble my days away into odd verse,

I watched her on summer days, breathing in the reservoir, 

stars bathing as they do,. She taught me to rehearse

for the later years (a curse?), how our bodies

remind us, like Shaw, that youth is wasted on the young.

The perennials are still blooming and I’m collecting the seeds.

As for the flower pedals? They’ve sing/sang/sung,

and I’m thinking about writing, the joy I love to teach,

(I used to be younger, too, my eyes on zest & play),

Now I’m aware of bones & the new pills I must swallow…

I’m over myself & under, finding grace while I turn gray.

#WriteOut2024 - Day Two. I Went with Sunset/Sunrises & Remembered an Evening Last May While Walking Towards the Setting Sun

Time is meant to be cherished, especially when you connect with a friend, soul to soul, all because of a memoir he once wrote and the coincidence that sometimes come your way. I am 100% appreciative of Ger Duany and I cherish the friendship, dialogue, problem-solving, and possibilities for a better world. He's off shooting another film and giving papa time to the Universe, himself. Here's to all he brings the world.

May Be The Sun Set, Too 

(with Ger 05/23/24)

~b.r.crandall

we built a fire that night, talking,

remaking ourselves a thousand times over 

within the coincidences & good lies 

that wove these stories together…

i can hear Emmanuel singing now,

our scars are what got us this far.

that night, we walked towards a setting sun,

one worth a million cows, perhaps,

& there were no escalators to lift us up,

just the tide lapping fragility of time.

     Kueth once shot hoops in the Dome,

     Duany badgered cheese in Wisconsin,

& you heard these sounds along this shore.

violence remains a strange monster

cutting into a soul with vivid memories

that need healing, belonging, surviving, 

psychologically striving, & praying

towards each sun while it rises, thriving.

for the journey, the way of way,

in hopes for a better tomorrow.

we remain hybrids of ourselves

within those loops of adolescence -

     the trauma can’t be escaped.

two men walking along childhood, 

manhood, & adulthood,

trying to earn a place in this universe.

Hoaw

focused on the positive -

& an ultimate life still left to be lived.

#WriteOut '24, a @WritingProject Tradition. I Took the First Day to Walk the Dog & Look for Signs to Help Write a Poem (Contemplating Stratford)

I didn't take the street signs as my prompt, but the signs along the sidewalk. It was a great day to be outdoors: crisp air, nice clouds, some sun, and Sunday serenity. 

Signs (Stratford, 2024)

b.r. crandall

The legs tell me I’m old.

They’re splotched and shredding with pink skin,

immuned to a body destined to attack itself.

Like I attack these lawn signs. With each step taken, 

the middle phalange grows more muscular from 

the lazer beams I shoot. It’s my political nature.

The paper said to squash them, the red wings

with polka-dots hidden behind the gray scales.

Yet someone asked me, “What makes them invasive?

Couldn’t the same be said for us?” And somewhere a

lantern manufactured in China went out…

The moths went to find another porch.

I saw this kid, though, wobbling black glasses too

large for his scrawny head. He wore a black cape

and held a wand as he danced macabre in front

of 14-feet skeletons his dad put up. He was happy

in childhood; dogs down the street were leaping in piles 

of maple, oak, and sycamore leaves

awaiting their own signals to go home.

It made me curious how the Paugassuts would see

such surgery, this piece of land north of the Sound

…these current roads and sidewalks 

squashed with bug guts, bubblegum, & cigarette butts.

Splurged: Effie's Oatcake Biscuits and Simply's Cranberry Jalapeño Jam - Perfect with Cheese, Cucumbers, and Slices of Sausage

It took me a minute to locate the items at Big Y (thanks, Joanna), but I got them. I also grilled ribs and met Oona at Pam's for Steak, salad, mashed potatoes and a luxurious Saturday night dinner (after the charcuterie board, of course). There is something about the cranberry jalapeño jam that makes for a spectacular flavor and treat.

The oatcake reminds me of the HobNobs I used to eat in London, dipped in chocolate, as my dessert of choice - a cookie I rarely find in the U.S.. The jam, well, that is simply a heck of a wonderful flavor to go with any cracker, vegetable, cheese, or topping. I don't eat many pork chops (actually, none at all), but I imagine the jam would be awesome on meats, too...the right kind.

I also spent yesterday winterizing the back porch, storing all the tables and chairs for winter, cleaning out all the planters, and finding storage for it all in the shed. It's always a sad day to do that, but knowing the temperatures ahead, I thought it was the right thing to do after a long walk with Karal. I worked on a conference proposal and a book chapter, then decided to take advantage of a 74-degree day. There won't be too many more of them left.

Cloud cover returns this morning, cooler temperatures, and more fall-like weather. The air condition is covered and the shovels are now in the garage with the snowblower that hasn't been used in a couple of years (one that was found on the side of the road in 2008 and a blessing while I was in Syracuse). There is a time coming where a new one will need to be purchased, but I'd much rather have winters where I don't need one at all (one can hope).

Now onto 25 more philosophy papers, as I graded the first one (slowly) during the week when I could find a second or two to concentrate. I did a BJs run, got Karal's dog food, and bought Honey Nut Cheerios which will last me a few weeks - they sell such enormous proportions. 

I might fry up some steak with garlic, honey, and onion cream sauce (saw the recipe online), and I need to ready my soup game for the colder months. Ah, but this is the beauty of a 4-day weekend. There's no rush to any of it...just rolling with the day and accomplishing what can be accomplished. Let today be a day of rest (and reading student work).

Cold Morning Walks, But Still Loving the Bloom of Cosmos All Over My Yard, With Many Plants Well Over 7 Feet...October Surprises

I'm impressed that so much is still blooming around my yard, and thrilled to see so many bees doing all they can to take the nectar to populate their homes and other bees. I forget with Douglas Coupland book from the 90s explored a world without any more bees - a doomsday text pushing against human technology. It always resonated with me...if the bees go, what else goes?

Friday was a productive day...an early morning hike, several hours of NWP site reporting (file caught up on two years), and meeting with students on campus. My goal was to get to BJs for more dog food, but I forgot my walnut, so it will have to wait until the weekend.

Ideally, I should have taken the 4-day weekend as an opportunity to get out of here and put my mind elsewhere, but in truth I like such days to catch up and, if possible, to get ahead on the crazy that is the world I live. There's always more to do, but if I can sleep in a little longer or stay up a little later, then I can chisel away at the piles and do what needs to get done.

I still haven't turned the heat on yet, but with rain and 50-degree temperatures next week, I'm thinking I'll likely convert, although I hate when that season comes upon us. I much prefer fresh air coming in from outdoors...the months without air conditioner or heat. That window is short-lived. And no more northern lights in Connecticut, although the papers said there'd be more. Just a dark sky, which was a sigh for all of heading outdoors to find them.

Here's to an extended weekend...college sports...time to let the day go where it goes. 

Taken the Northern Lights in Connecticut as an Omen for a Wonderful Year of @WriteOutConnect with the @writingproject

Last night, Tanya Baker and I got a glimpse of poet Jermaine Thompson's work as #Poetry4ThePlanet kicks off thematically for this years #WriteOut. The conversation between Dr. Richard Novack and him is a wonderful celebration of each October's spirit. I couldn't share my outside view during the recording, but a neighbor texted me to look up and see the ballet of the sky. Purples, pinks, and greens were spreading fingers across black. Beautiful. The Great Whatever offered a light show for the Write Time Studio.

It was the first time I've seen such a performance during my life in the northeast.

Rich asked numerous questions about place, and I loved the idea that place has so much history, and that history transcends the moment an individuals, such as me, occupies it. Its story goes on, and I was thinking about this from my front porch as the evening sky changed its color. Others have lived in my home. The neighborhood is always changing, as people move in and out. The place stays where it is with its own tales to tell.

I'm lucky. I was in this space and place at at time where I could be witness to Jermaine Thompson's talents as a writer, and a wonderful conversation of teaching poetry, all while colorful images waltzed as they did from window. The stars, too, seemed to love bathing in the opportunity to experience such a sight.

Write Out '24 is celebrated October 13 - 27, with numerous opportunities to applaud our opportunities with a natural world - one that will flourish, struggle, adapt, and move on despite the numerous ways we disrupt it. Yesterday, October 10th, however, is when #Poetry4ThePlanet kicked off for me.

In some ways, Prince's purple presence offered visual music as a background for Jermaine and Rich's conversation. 

Here's to the National Writing Project. Here's to teachers who write, and writers who teach. Here's to learning from one another. And here's to better mutuality with Maude, the fusion of Mother Nature and God.