I'll Always Be Fascinated By the Conversations We Have About Writing, Especially with Professionals in Other Disciplines.

The Core Writing program at Fairfield, under the leadership of Dr. Kim Gunter, invited panelists from across campus to do a reading for faculty and undergraduate students for a dialogue on writing across the disciplines and within a discipline. It's the first I've experienced at Fairfield University and hearing from my colleagues was inspiring and refreshing: pieces on diabetes, breast-feeding, trans-languaging, wearing flannel shirt, mosquitos, and presidential legitimacy were share. I shared work on a  chapter I've written for an upcoming book on literature for relocated-refugee youth and the memoir of actor, UNCHR ambassador, basketball player, and now author, Ger Duany. 

I commented to students that if I was in an audience as a freshman, I'd likely ask, "What are these people talking about," sharing that this is what four years of college is about - to find a voice and passion worthy of writing about, no matter what profession is chosen. You'll always be writing, because that is how we communicate, especially in digital spaces." I shared that I write to process, and named this is the 17th year capturing my thinking in the form of a blog. 

What is interesting to me, though, is the importance of knowing multiple languages and how little are country does to prepare kids for a multilingual world. Traveling, you realize that speaking (and writing) in many languages is empowerment. I was thrilled that Dr. Laura Gasca Jimenez read her work in Spanish and wish I had more ability to translate as she spoke. The program put our words to the screen, and I decoded some of what she was saying, but the intelligence was obvious and I realized I'm missing out (making me thinking of English language learners in our schools). What joy to celebrate the beauty of writing across all languages.

I called yesterday two panels and a funeral, having attended a wake of a friend's brother before I head home for the day.

Always happy to have the work of CWP-Fairfield seen and valued at Fairfield University and was overjoyed to be included in the program (although none of us were prepared for the temperatures rising in rooms where they're already preparing for winter. Phew. It got warm.

Always Channel the Seahorse Energy Once a Semester in YA Literature and Think Through the Many Layers That Make Us Human

Gina, who I called Diana - Sea Goddess, nicknamed me Seahorse when we were just 19-years old. I never understood why until I became a teacher, and realized that teaching K-12 requires much nurturing. I can't say if I'm nurturing or not, but I am observant and although curricular demands were often oriented towards particular variants of people, the reality of a heterogenous society is complexity, diversity, continuums, and fluidity.

Last night we discussed all this while talking about gender and sexuality in the class. Each of the students chose a different book and for most of the night they taught me: how was it dealt with in school (if at all)? What terms are used today to discuss issues in health classes and school? After reading your book, what question would you want to ask of others?

The past few years I've had Uber-progressive students who knew a lot about issues that I did not know about. I believe it is because many were brought up in a world where diversity is accepted and appreciated, including the numerous categories named for describing the preferences of an individual. This year's crew was less vocal about what they read and more curious. I had to bring in sj Miller's framework a little more...

...but I was also thrilled that Fairfield University's Women's Basketball Team won the 2025 Lucy Katz Award, all because of their community advocacy, strong leadership, and willingness to take a stand. This was celebrated in our class, some, but also during Dr. Shannon Kelly's award ceremony later that evening.

My grandma was right when she taught us there's XX and XY, which she'd make with her fingers. But there are so many variations in-between. How true this is, and the best teachers make rooms where individuality is supported and applauded. They make safe spaces for all students, and they teach their students to do the same.

I Know It's Warming Back Up The Next Couple of Days, but This Papa Bear Has Been Feeling Hibernation Mode BIG TIME

I still have resisted turning on the heat. I should be able to make it to November giving the rise in temperatures the next week, but the last two days have my bones yawing. I simply can't wait to get my body under covers for deep sleep. We haven't even turned the clocks back and I awake thinking, "How many woken hours until I can get in sweats again?"

Karal has been extra clingy, craving my body heat, even if she still chooses to sleep downstairs in the evening (which is a blessing). She does, however, drape over my shoulders during writing, planning, responding-to-emails, and computer time. 

The only time I feel energized is when we go for walks, and I'm thankful. I still haven't had to get the winter coats out, although I've been thinking about it.

A class late tonight and a turbo on Wednesday, followed by a panel, will require me to be in beast mode, but really I just want to tuck away in my cave with a bowl of hot soup, some bread, and a blanket. Perhaps I'm a little premature with such desire (or it's another indicator of a post-50 year old life. Another chapter that needs to be written for a middle-aged puberty book.

Yesterday, while flossing, I flipped a crown out of my mouth. Glad I didn't swallow it or lose it down the drain and, lucky for me, my dentist got me in. I'm used to a 14-hour schedule - but not so accustomed to being exhausted. It comes rarely, but it's definitely arrived with the cooler temperatures. This too shall pass - it usually does (and the sun does warm my porch to wonderful temperatures...for now). But those days are dwindling and I suppose I need to get ready for all to come. 

In the meantime, craving comfort foods is on the radar. Hello, November...I see you coming. 

Day 15 - And With That, Another Year of #WriteOut @WriteOutConnect Comes to an End (Back to Regular Scheduled Programs Tomorrow)

Another Glow at It

b.r.crandall

Cosmos is stubborn,

fighting hard for last-minute bees

and butterflies who are looking 

for one more sugar high before 

frost jackhammers at the roots.

I try not to rake too much from it.

There will come a time to mulch

leaf patterns into the ground,

but for today I’m feeding

stray cats living my best life outside

(& inside my head). 

A few of the workers are resting, 

buzzing silently in dreams…

back-petalling & snoring 

from summer hive days (not

sure if they are drunk from nectar or 

happy for one last feast). 

I’m thinking of Jason, too,

the ways he always finds

a way to glow, too..

with his writing project wings.

to fight as they do.

Day 14: @WriteOutConnect #Writeout2024. Haikus from (or for) Last Night's Evening Sky

October 26th - Haikus

b.r.crandall

Darker Saturdays

7 p.m. I’m sitting home…

dog almost asleep

Will not turn on heat…

It’s still not November yet…

my windows open

for the cooling breeze.

better Autumn sleep,

the extra blankets.

A sky is better

than t.v, remote control,

and those commercials.

Miraculous blackness,

starlit possibilities

- this blue marble poem.

Day 13: Inspired by Jermaine Johnson, @TheWritingProject Write Time, #WriteOut2024 Poet Ambassador - "The Writer in Me"

The Writer in Me…

b.r.crandall

…remembers Milford Street, snooping through drawers

for miniature mice, squirrels, and skaters

collected by grandma, knowing a holiday branch hadn’t 

fallen to the ground yet, and the bedazzlement

of silver tinsel was still to come — mirrors tucked away

in tissue paper before they’d freeze into ponds..

we learned nostalgia 

through my mother’s blue eyes,

but we haven’t been back since 2017,

when we shared family history with Chitunga,

and felt the pangs of time while visiting 

their camp on the reservoir.

Nikkie, my niece, married a month ago

tailing new waters up north in Altmer

where the Chinook & Coho were returning 

with generational duties & traditions

(wasn’t she just trying to be Dorothy 

in the Wizard of Oz?)

the writer in me will always hear the Ripleys

singing of birds & chapels, crystallizing harmony,

with my mother sitting at her childhood piano 

with promises we’d never be lonely anymore.

And now it is October again. I believe

the last of the monarchs have headed home,

(where I hope to be for the holidays).

This is the writer in me…

ready for another road trip

with my mom.

Day 12: Sharing Sidewalks @WriteOutConnect #WriteOut2024 - The Ol' Guy I Sometimes Pass on My Daily Hikes

Sharing Sidewalks

b.r.crandall

I saw him, yesterday, walking down his driveway,

& wondered if he was doing exercises assigned 

for post knee/hip/aging surgery. 

I nodded my head his way..

I saw him again today, though, several miles since

yesterday and he teased, “I share the sidewalk,

you know.” 

He was speaking to Karal. We were walking

in the road.

He was a WWII veteran named Carl, or Tim, or Bob - 

I didn’t quite catch it, but thanked him for his service.

“How far do you walk each day?” I asked.

“Oh, up the hill after passing the high school,

onto Nichols, then I lap around back home.”

It’s a hike, I noted, and commended on the trash

bag he was carrying. “Every day,” he responded.

And I remember pictures of my grandfather

when he was in his 20s serving aboard a navy ship 

in the Philippine Sea near Guam -

some stories he refused to tell anyone…

a retired life enjoyed with beer, Camels,  

my grandmother’s love, and a lake.

“It’s something,” I replied. “You’re generation

deserves better than this, and I showed him

the bag of trash I collected, too

Day 11 - @WriteOutConnect: 4-Palette Poem initiated by Dr. Kim Ruffin, Afro leader & Scholar #WriteOut2024

At Marvin Elementary 

b.r.crandall

3rd graders are writing narratives, tales of

Fortnite and going to the mall after a new kitten

is adopted, and once-upon-a-time, I went to Canada.

I remain in Connecticut, though, to learn Adriana

is 4th of July baby, which makes her sister jealous…

because of sparklers, picnics, staying up late, and bombs

bursting in air. It’s sad not to have a party 

in school, so José, who is weaving a story about

waterparks and rollercoasters, might celebrate with her.

I tell them about Kim Ruffin, the Associate Professor

of English at Roosevelt University and how she’s 

writing about 4-leaf palettes, rubbing leaves. Joy..

“The top of your mouth,” asks Ronel (his sister 

has braces and he loves big words). This week he’s working 

on the letter x: foxy, excited, e-x-h-a-u-s-t-e-d.

I explain palette by pointing to a window with the 

trees - what my grandmother called Maude’s magic…

God and Mother Nature doing their thing.

“Adriana,” I noted, “October is like the 4th of 

July for trees, an Autumn palette late to your birthday 

party. Ali wondered if she could wear a hat.

Kids are quite colorful. They help me branch from

a mundane world (I teach college, too, after all).

I tell them, “academics tend to forget about the

flavors of this miraculous world. We get stuck,

contained and constrained by journals and esoteric

shenanigans played by greedy institutions. Ronel

asks me to spell e-s-o-t-e-r-i-c, and reprimands me 

because it doesn’t have the letter ‘x’. I refer back to 

the trees. “You need Xanax,” he says. X-a-n-a-x.

Day 10 - Ada Limon's Invitation #WriteOut2024 @WriteOutConnect - What Would You Write About a Landscape Around You?

 I Am HERE

b.r.crandall

i don’t know what islands sound like. my guess is distance. the cadence of drummers moving marching bands onto the field on a saturday night or the low-hum of fishing boats revving engines while keeping wakes to a minimum. i’m hoping they sound like the buzzing of bees finding restoration from the scientists countering parasites and pesticides with protein possibilities - i welcome such songs for the cosmos still blooming under and october sun (for yourself, Mr. Whitman). 

i don’t smell horizons unless they’re baked with apples, cinnamon, vanilla, & wood barrel bourbon.

i listen to the small-talk at cocktail parties, the positioning of narrative to gas-light green lights and ashes under the eyes of dr. eckleburg (all to avoid t.s. eliot’s wasteland in search of another Schrödinger's cat).

i’m not a painter, but if i was, i’d mimic the changing leaves as they shout their bravado of last hues to the nudity of branches and bark.

i learned to add an ‘o’ to God in my younger years, and now look for good beyond our institutions that force definitions.

there is sky. grass. rock. ocean. forest. desert. mountain. lake. meadow. valley. watershed. wetland. beach. tree. and truth.

meaning escapes me now, standing on land looking at a sunset - we like to box ourselves in with concrete, walls, and boundaries.

i don’t know what islands sound like, but my guess is distance. the way brass instruments make harmony with winds.