Why Do You Keep Writer's Notebooks? Because When You Move Them, Several Items Fall Out & Suddenly You're Filled with Joy, Memories, and Hope

Last summer, as always, I had a brilliant crew of self-selected educators looking to be classroom leaders through the commitment of the National Writing Project. It was a  grant awarded in November of 2022 for the 2023 summer institute that still hasn't arrived. So, what does Crandall do? He writes another grant which came in fast to cover the costs. The other grant is still on its way, but not here yet...stay tuned on that one.

Ah, this spectacular group of K-16 teachers will be compensated for all the leadership work they participated with last summer and in the Fall (excellent, brilliant, stellar teachers who do the great work) in support of what they were promised.

We are focused on the joy of teaching, rejuvenating why we entered the career, and bringing happiness back to the profession that lured us in the first place: love, laughter, intellect, criticality, planning, writing, dreaming, and leading was the result. The best way we can invest in the quality of education in our schools is to show support for the people committed to educating them. 

When the photograph fell out of my notebook, I had to pause, because the beauty of this crew is exactly why all of us in the National Writing Project do what we do. Teachers teaching teachers. Listening to kids and families to enhance skills for all students. And more importantly, fighting to make sure curriculum represents the beautiful heterogeneity of our schools. 

It helped me (made me, built me, supported me, uplifted me) when I was teaching in Louisville, Kentucky, and it makes me proud to invest the mission in the same way now in Connecticut. 

Here's to the teachers and all the labor they tirelessly do. And here's to those organizations and institutions that support teacher expertise, creativity, knowledge, and commitment. May more and more of them return to this nation. I'm lucky to know a better word in K-12 education and resist the world being built by many to work against teachers and curriculum. Our intention is to leave their ignorance, stupidity, profit, and hatred behind.

Threw It Back to a Loch Lebanon Classic Last Night, Dorethea Warren Fox, & Reflecting How Instrumental The Book Is To My Adult Being

I often refer to Miss Twiggley's Tree as a go-to literacy memory from childhood. It was at my Grannie Annie's camp and I loved reading it whenever I visited. In short, it's about a woman who lives in a tree with bears, dogs, and cats, because she can't stand people. Everyone in town makes fun of her and other dogs bully her dogs (because they do her shopping for her). She's an eccentric and a metaphor for anyone who is creative, cleaver, well-read, empathetic, and loving. Ah, but she's harassed, especially by the Mayor's wife.

Then the hurricane comes. They're all drowned from their homes and her tree is the only safe space. She saves them all and gives them warmth and comfort...even the Mayor's wife and bullying pups from around town. But she takes of everyone. She shares her goodness and grace. 

It's written in rhyming couplets and always was a treasure for my ears. Little did I know she was my first introduction to eccentricity and being a good person (in spite of all the ugly creatures out there). I know that I'd much rather spend time with a Miss Twiggly than a Mayor's Wife. There are way too many of them, actually. 

I'm requiring one class to finish the semester with a story of their own (which they have to create via Bear Books or Canvas). Tonight was an introduction, well a continuation to build for a creative project in the class. Miss Twiggly didn't fail. And I realized that in my elementary years she really was planting a role of the type of person I always wanted to be (although I don't sleep in a hat, invite bears, live in a tree, or have cats (I would sneeze). 

Be well, Wednesday. Halfway through another week of insanity.

Please Tell Me I'm Not the Only One Called to Be a Body Guard for Shenanigans on Facebook Marketplace

I saw this meme and instantly noted, "I feel seen." Been there, done that...perhaps the creepiest of them was to sell off miniature perfume sets a friend collected and, hauntingly, knowing that there are others that collect such things...especially older been from Bangladesh with an irritable disposition. In that scenario, three male friends were hired to make the transition. 

To each their own. 

Finished teaching late last night, came home to make stir fry (delicious), and then to unwind for a horrific Tuesday, but dedicated to the work, nonetheless. 

Oddly, the man in the photo looks like me if you really zoom in, but I don't recognize the scene, the blender, or the car, so it isn't me. I swear. 

Back to my dinner. Phew. Rice, grilled chicken, vegetables, and much, much flavor. I overate, but I was hungry and it was so, so good. Not sure I'll be able to match that in this evening's meal. I'm getting home much too late and will be absolutely exhausted. I might need to improvise to break the fast. 

We've always been a garage sale species and there's always someone willing to buy our discarded junk. And some people go crazy for it, too. 

Ah, consumers. Bless all our hearts. 

And Breathe. Going Into Monday Knowing that Weekend 14-Hour Days are Not Enough to Get All the Work Done. And Here We Are Again. Monday.

My optimism for the week is that I soaked chicken in barbecue and grilled at 6:30 p.m. so it was ready for 7:04 p.m. breaking of the fast. I told Abu and Lossine, it is always easier to fast during the week because you're on the road, moving, and distracted from thinking about being hungry. The weekends, spent grading and planning, is a little more intense. You're home and around the kitchen. Ah, but I knew the breaking would arrive at sundown, so I focused on my classes.

By six p.m., I was in the kitchen fixing lettuce in a bowl dreaming of the apple and tangerine I would cut up. By 6:15 I went pack and lined everything up in the kitchen so it was ready. That last hour was all in anticipation that the food would eventually come.

And it did. And I ate. 

And I'll do the same tomorrow. 

Ah, but back to grading. I'm trying to figure out what a better way there is to do what I do, but I can attest that this generation is not as prepared as previous generations have been. There's that, and there's also a different work ethic and unwillingness to put forward the effort. It's tricky when training teachers because, well, there's certification and then there's the actual job (which requires the best at all times and is difficult on all days). Those of us who work with pre-service teachers are not doing any good by passing students along who aren't meeting the standard of what they need to do. 

Sadly, these are the kids who turn in work. Many don't turn in anything at all. Yes, they pay the large sums to get a degree, but don't do the work. Then they get everyone involved to protect them from turning in the work. It's the behavior one gets used to with 9th and 10th graders, but that has crept into higher education. I'm definitely seeing this in the past two years, and now I'm wondering if it is just the students at my current University or if others are experiencing, too. I have had some conversations with mentors who have noted the same thing.

Alas, giving critical feedback to help a student to grow takes many more hours than simply praising a student for doing a good job right away. And this is where we are. It's a bit overwhelming when you find yourself scratching your head and thinking, "What am I doing wrong? How are the readings not reach them? How have the class lessons and models totally missed their mark?" 

But I believe it is simply a generation of 'can't be bothered.' We have the Covid kids now who learned during Covid. It might be a generational thing.  I've never been one to name negative characteristics of my students, but phew. This is something else. 

Slim Pickings. It Was a Saturday and Without Christmas Tree Shop or Pier One, Open Any More, I Was Talked Into World Market in West Haven

I'm good. I don't have to return any time soon, although I did like the excitement of possibility finding a golden egg near an item that begins with "C". Alas, it was all crap, so fair game, and not one of us found it. I was given a tranquilizer for the journey because Leo bailed out and that meant it was me with all the ladies. I wanted to turn around and go home, but I endured as the man who guided directions. 

I did get clearance rack items: a couple of soup bowls and dish towels, but that was the extent of the adventure. Well, that, and the humor of talk a little, pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, cheep cheep cheep, talk a lot, pick a little more. That was my day, and the cheeping is actually hysterical. They were quite the comedy team. 

It'll be interesting in the future - those of us in the Western world used to our quick road trips to stores having limited selection because soon there will be no stores left. 

Favorite quote of the day...two husbands dragged to the store like me, "This is like a basement of shit we'll never need." 

Yup. 

I did get maple sugar candy, too. Not sure why, but it was inexpensive and been a while.

Today, I grade. I grade, and grade, and grade. I won't feel good about myself until I've graded. That is the goal. That and to get materials that were not properly placed with the boxes after the debacle of others on campus. They are now in my office. I will get them. 

And I will ride Sunday slowly....because I need to.

Friday Nights Are Meant for Pizza: Unwinding, Friendship, Easiness, Weekend Vision, and a Middle Finger to the Work Week

I definitely was hungry by the time it was ready to break fast at sundown last night. This week, like most weeks, bit gigantic weenies: 14-hour days with minimal to no support for the work one is hired to do. Instead, it is putting fingers in all the leaking holes of the system that is ready to burst at any moment. I made it to Friday, but I definitely ended with frustration, aggravation, and a white towel waved to say, "This is no sustainable. It's all about to collapse."

With that noted, friends ordered pizza, invited me over, and said, "Let's just unwind. Next week is another week," and they were right. 

Karal got an early walk and an afternoon one. I still haven't graded, but the house is clean and laundry was put away. The peepers are out very early, singing their April songs in March. They are ready for spring and summer, and so am I. Bring on the joy of CWP work. 

I'm not quite sure where my heart is right now, but I'm trying to work through my frustration and irritation...to make good out of so much awful, but my optimism is turning to pessimism. This is not the way one is supposed to carry out a life mission. 

But the pizza was good and I'm hanging onto that. Friday nights with friends who see it all the same way I see it. There has to be a better way.

Haircut Day. Facial Hair Growing Back (I Know Abu...I Hear You Thanking Allah). TGIF. Payday. And Spring Temperatures.

Alright, hiking with the dog until 9:30 and then heading to the office for a day of organizing, observing colleagues, grading, and enjoying the peace and quiet of a hallway with empty offices. Hoping, too, to find a graduate student or two to help me assemble the Writer's Notebooks for the New ERA Writers grant. They're ready.

It's simply frustrating, though, that every step of the way is met with obstacles. Most of this remains because there aren't enough staff and support for such work. The few who do help me grow more and more frustrated at the lack of others to move the materials forward. I'm hoping to be phone-heavy with many today simply to say, "Come on, now? You know I work with K-12 schools and I have success with grants. Let me get these teachers paid. It's cruel."

I'm also happy that I visited Fade Factory, and lucked out. I thought I made an appointment with Jerry for yesterday, but in truth I made it for today. There's no way I'd make it today, and he just happened to have space. Wola! Hairs cut. And the goatee is back. I shaved it in Syracuse and Abu has been harassing me for a week. I know you want to shave it, but the rest of you have to look at you. You need to stop shaving it off.

I get it. But every once in a while it just feels good to completely clean the face. Alright Friday. Let's get this day going.