We are what We are

Oprah Winfrey and Bill Gates both live extraordinary lives but depart on their success at one major crossroads. Oprah feels that her destiny is in her control and that she makes the world she knows what it is. Bill Gates feels his fortune is luck and coincidence. I mention this, because I'm both fortunate and hard working so a little of my happiness comes from both drive and pure coincidence. I think about this because tonight Tricia and I had a conversation like many others where we try to solve the world's problems, while recognizing that chaos is also in the equation. There's something truly unique, however, to our generation of the human species that at least in 2008, one can google the cosmos and instantly get an image that represents all we know and don't know. The bigger picture definitely belongs to something larger than our humanity and the curse of being us is that we can never truly understand the truths for what it actually is. Instead, we're given mortal fears, worries, accomplishments, quests and journeys. I try to be content with this and draw happiness from having hypothetical guesses that are grounded with little validity. I find a calm in knowing that the bigger picture for everything is something I'll never be able to comprehend nor understand.

New York State Af-Fair

In Syracuse, I live at the home of the New York State Fair. The same is true in Louisville, Kentucky. I suppose I was destined to be surrounded by the temptation of Fried Dough at least once a year for my entire life. The odd thing is that although states away, the only difference between the fairs are the license plates in the parking lot. Without a doubt, the State Fairs are a people-watching sort of event and I suppose I get overwhelmed trying to understand the lives of so many people who attend. I did get to witness Sean Spenser on his first Merry-Go-Round while Nikki was at the Jonas Brother concert -- a cacophony of screaming middle school girls with braces that could be heard over the midway, drunks and mooing cows. And I did get to buy Maple Sugar candy for the pops. Even if I did verbalize that there is no hope for humanity while scanning the masses, I know from the way children and adults held the baby chicks that it isn't all that bad. Where else does a congregation of such an eclectic crowd get to meet?

Dreams are Such Tricky Creatures

I do not think there is anything worse than a teaching stress-dream. Towards the end of my time teaching at Brown, I had several awful dreams where I was falling into a pit in the main lobby of the school. In one, Lauri Wade, a veteran and stellar educator, offered me a beer as I tripped into the hole and when I fell, she tried to pull me out. I ended up buried in darkness. She was sad. Our new administrator and her hyenas could be heard laughing.

My dream the other night has me perplexed with a new tizzy, but I smile at this because dreams can be analyzed and insightful. I love to dream and hate when I don't. I wasn't sleeping so well and know it was because my brain is again wrestling with the plethora of academic articles about what truth actually is supposed to be. When I can't sleep, it usually is because my mind is processing new information that isn't making sense to my interpretation of the world.

My sleep that night was short. Even so, it was vivid. The dream I had was of me entering college and unpacking in a dorm. I entered the cubicle room of white with only my pillow and a few clothes. Nothing else. There was a lot of noise as other students were coming in, and that is when it occurred to me I'd probably get a roommate. I though, oh great. This young kid ran in my room and wondered if I'd seen this toy he had stolen from him as a prank. Someone on the floor had taken all of his things and put his property in all the empty rooms. I nodded to a dresser and he said, "Thanks," while grabbing a wind up toy (hmmm). He was such a puppy dog spirit, and I was disillusioned with his presence. I was once there and understood his enthusiastic spazziness, but my way of being was more introverted and reserved.

Then the actual roommate came. He was an every day guy, and the sort you'd expect to join the medieval club and major in engineering. He looked scared to death while his parents were ecstatic about moving him in. His father looked at me but didn't notice I was a good eighteen years older than his son and wondered where all my stuff was. I was thinking to myself, I am in the wrong room. I'm too old for this. Then his mom and brothers began piling the room with all his stuff. He had gadgets galore, boxes of clothes, his own cabinet to store items and lamps. I excused myself and left. All the chaos of jargon, excitement and newness that energized the room didn't make me sad, but made me oddly calm.

I walked out of the dorm that was alive with youth into a large grassy area with no markers or people. I just walked and thought to myself, "I don't need anything in my room. I just want my mind whereever I go." I felt complete, alone, and in silence.

Then my alarm went off. See my Valentine's Day Post, 2008, to hear what this is like.

Thirteen + Years ago

I was working at the Louisville Nature Center where a woman, Sue McV, stopped by to introduce herself. She was walking her dog, Harley, in the Beargrass Creek Nature Preserve and heard there was a student in need of a teaching placement. She invited me to go camping with incoming freshman and the rest was history. I student taught with Sue, leaned on Sue, learned from Sue, and grew by Sue always guiding my path - which she continues to do to this day.

Tonight, I worked with 15 soon-to-be English teachers the week before they go to their student teaching placement. They are nervous, excited, and overwhelmed by what is to come, and I can't help but think that I was there once, with Sue. I also cannot imagine that anyone could have as wonderful as a mentor, colleague and friend as I had. 99.9% of what I know as a teacher came from her and the mere thought of any of her wisdom makes me happy.

My father once said, "If you meet one good friend in life, you are lucky." In reflection, I realize I've been extremely lucky. Not only was a Sue in my life while growing up (thanks Mom), but I had a Sue in my life while continuing to grow up.

Typical Dorky Bryan

Anyone who knows me recognizes I was born meaning well, but I have glimmers of complete stupidity. Although my moronic tendencies are embarrassing, I suppose they also put a smile on my face when I imagine the person I want to be and the man I usually am. This is an example of what a nincompoop I can be. I was asked to water the plants at work and began joking with members of the office, asking, "is this some sort of D.H. Lawrence novel where others get a kick out of me laboring in my chores. Is this like Lady Chatterly's Lover?" I then watered plants like I was a buff gardener being stalked by Lady Chatterly.

Now, use your imagination on this one and see me trying to look Rico Suave with a watering can by a large tree in the corner office. See me flexing and staring at the foliage like I'm Zoolander and then witness as a distinguished scholar and world famous researcher steps out of her office directly into me. Picture her face and my humiliation as she sees me impersonating a super model stud muffin watering plants. That was yesterday for me. I can't make this up. Whap.

Perhaps the dorkiest entry yet

Running last night at 8:30 p.m. (because classes have begun again), my iPod threw Kansas my way and looking at the setting sun, I couldn't help but get cheesy with "Dust in the Wind." God, I love that song. I can only imagine how many pathetic videos have been made to this music, and when I went on You Tube, I found the original, but I wasn't allowed to embed it. There is, though, a really weird British woman singing a version of it in Vegas. She's odd to look at but she sings well. Finally, I found the unplugged version and I load it because as a new semester begins, such a song reminds me not to take any of this crap too seriously (that is, the academic crap).

Two More Summer Reads for a Summer That is Almost Over

Knowing that today I return to the SU grind, I forced myself to read the last two books on my pile before the sunrise hit. The first, THE TIGER RISING, was a fast read and somewhat clever.  I actually enjoyed the little tail that Kate DiCamillo weaved together.  It is a good read for middle schoolers.  The second, A Wolf at the Table by Augusten Burroughs, is a continuation of his memoirs on a not so normal childhood.  This time he focuses on his father -- the silent character of previous tales.  There was more darkness to this story and it seems to go beyond the deranged and odd as a coping mechanism.  Here, wit is replaced with dry truth.  One book, fiction, the other, non-fiction, has me loving great writers still.  That's what it is about -- finding chapters that keep my attention.  Of course, now I go back to academic reading, but I will survive.  

Godzilla, 2008

Dylan Scott Isgar will be muscling up for the 2008 Cicero Falcons football squad in a scrimmage today after grueling practices, fierce exercise regimens, and barbaric drills.  Harnessing all his frustration that comes from enduring the teasing and taunting of an older sister, he is ready to go T-AH on all his competitors as he stains their jerseys and cleats on the greens of yard lines. Here's to his season.  We love you, Dylan!

My Last Day of Liberty Partnerships Program

Yesterday was my last day working with 7th and 8th graders from Syracuse City School District for the LPP Summer Program. The woman I taught with captured our events through pictures and I uploaded her photos.  I made a quick film from them. Working with these middle schoolers is what I've been up to the last few weeks, and her photographs tell the whole story. They were good kids and gave me an opportunity to work with a different period of adolescence than I'm used to.  In many ways, they humbled me, but also made me see the importance of investing patience.  Their prefrontal cortexes are only beginning the journey towards rationality, and working with them, I saw moments when they were sponges and moments when they wanted me dead.  I feel enlightened to the American concept of "tweens."

one of those nights

Today is my last day of working with the Liberty Partnerships Program and my fuel tank is on close to empty. The result of this is a last minute entry into the 366 (it is a leap year) days of what makes me happy. Earlier this week, while shaving, I thought it would be interesting to attempt a "cabbage patch" beard on the bottom of my chin since I can't do a full beard because I have odd places where hair doesn't grow. The task at hand, you see, is to look like my brother-brother-in-law, John Barnwell, by Christmas. It's fueled my morning shower ritual immensely -- all in hope of one day getting an audition with ZZ Top. As you can see, I'm making slow progress, but the feat has made this week fly by harmoniously.

In addition, I recognized how I failed to post two beautiful pictures that came my way a few weeks ago. Because of a mattress swap with my niece, I was reminded of the beautiful coincidence that love brought my sister and her husband together and from this love came two irreplaceable children. Discussing this yesterday, I remembered, that I forgot to share wonderful vogue photographs when they came my way. Beauty has always made me happy.

For the Second Time in My Life.

So, I laced up a pair of skates for the second time in my life and, better than the first time, I learned how to skate. Well, move forward. I tried to do triple lutzes and double sau cows, but really all I could do was move forward and let the ice skating rink sides work as my breaks. Even so, I'm pretty happy about my times and I think I definitely can race Apolo Ohno (is that how he spells it?). I now have a new respect for anyone who can do anything on skates: hockey players, pair skaters, Disney on Ice. Amazing.

Flying like Superman

I was harnessed, placed in a helmet, and adorned with hooks everywhere.  Then I was locked to this giant rope and told to run.  As I ran, a group of students, anchors, pulled in the opposite direction and I was lifted to the sky like Superman.  I'm usually asked to do ground work on a high ropes course, but yesterday, I was a squirrel.  There's something beautiful about having the earth taken from under you.  Totally free.

Happiness is an unexpected dinner gift

Yesterday's happiness is dedicated to Karen Perra and her random act of kindness of making my folks a pan of eggplant parmesan.  I am thankful to this gift because a slice of it was brought to my refrigerator when my father stopped by to let Baby out. When I got home, my mother called me to say, "Hey, there's eggplant parmesan in your fridge."  The moral of the story?  I had an incredible, tasty and truly appreciated plate of eggplant yesterday evening and it was a delicious surprise. Thumbs up to all those who cook for others!  It makes a huge difference when one doesn't have to fend for themselves!

Sunday Comics

A man can pace himself by what he reads on Sunday mornings.  Growing up, I looked forward to the comics, most, until I grew to appreciate the other sections of the newspaper:  editorials, feature articles, Metro, National news, etc..  I'm sort of sad for today's youth because a) they don't have Calvin & Hobbs every Sunday and b) they don't have Gary Larson's The Far Side.  In my classroom of Kentucky, I wallpapered one wall with as many Gary Larson cartoons as I could.  The man is truly a genius and I'd be happy to see him come out of retirement and begin scribbling again.  Either this, or I'd love to see a new comic take on our world with such intelligence, humor, genius and clever wit.  It is good to know, though, that Larson's work continues on calendars, in books and even on the web.  Thinking about him while thumbing through the comic books yesterday, disappointed, I longed for the days where Sunday brought me a profound laugh.  It is good to be alive at the same time as such a brilliant artist.

Stone Quarry Hill Art and BLTs

The hard work of several weeks sculpting cows at St. Vincent dePaul church was sold today at the Stone Quarry Hill Art Park in Cazenovia.  I've heard remarkable things about this park and how spiritual it is, but driving through this town almost every weekend of my childhood, never once introduced us to this park.  Why?  We didn't know it was there.  Stone Quarry Hill Art Park consists of 104 acres of land and four miles of hiking trails.  It also is one of the first outdoor, sculpture gardens in the United States.  What is most beautiful, however, is how high it sits and how nice it makes the sky line of Central New York appear.  Dorothy Riester, the owner of the park, was kind enough to purchase one of the Sudanese cows and at age 92, we were very delighted to make her company.  

Upon returning home, I stopped by my parents to pick up the dog and it was decided to eat BLTs - part two to a great day. I brought smoked turkey and lettuce and they provided bacon, toast, mayonnaise and tomatoes. To describe how awesome these tasted is impossible. The added ST to the BLT (Smoked Turkey) was delicious. I have to admit, yesterday was a perfect day.  It was a day of flavor, blue skies, remarkable cultures, great art and the brand of community I wish on everyone.

Because my brain is wired in a really weird way

Yesterday, I finally took a guided tour of Syracuse University and I learned of the kissing bench outside of the Hall of Languages.  Superstition says that anyone who sits and kisses on this bench will get married and live a complete life of happy togetherness.  Those who sit alone on the bench are destined for a life of solitude and loneliness.  A big part of me wanted to break away from the tour for a solo performance, but I avoided my urge.  Instead, I walked by it thinking that this superstition is optimistically romantic and a good legend to live with and by. Many people who live in Syracuse probably don't know about this love-bench and I'd love to be the one to whisper its secrets into their ears.  For sure, it is a seat that my sisters, Cynde and KC, and their husbands, Mike and Dave, need to visit one day.  Realizing my brain is wired in a really weird way, I now know I have a special gift to give them one day when I take them up to the hill and make them kiss like adolescent dogs in heat upon that Syracuse bench.  Now, I only need to set the date.

Traveling with the Bastardmobile

My first year teaching I ordered the 1998 Best American Short Stories text to use with my seniors. For the next ten years I taught from this text when doing a short story unit and in it are a couple of my favorite stories ever. It's funny to reflect on this now that I don't have a classroom anymore, knowing the ritual of going through the stories with high school seniors is no longer. In some ways, the stories became a part of the atmosphere of my classroom and is something we all felt and lived together -- especially since some of the stories are superb. I was discussing "Welding With Children" by Tim Gatreaux with Tiana French, a librarian, when she said she found it online. I immediately found it myself so I could put a link to it on today's moment of happiness. I'm sure most don't read short stories online, but I highly recommend this one at some point in your day and/or life. I think of this story as a gift to the world. I always taught my students, "when you write a story like this, you've made it."  The story can be reached by clicking the title to get there.

Kickball and youth

Yesterday, I played kickball for the first time in years. I was working with Liberty Partnerships Program and we brought the kids to one of Syracuse University's gyms. Matt, an art teacher, kicked the ball so hard it flew over the curtain that divided our half of the gym with a workout room and we envisioned a man on a treadmill running and getting whacked upside the head as he had a nice cardiovascular jog.

There is something absolutely pure about young people at play. They are enthusiastic, hyper, excited and over ambitious with their every move. The facial expressions move from pure joy to absolute terror as a ball is kicked their way and sometimes their bodies work about ten paces ahead of their minds. It seems to me every adult can learn from dipping back into their childhood to run around and play. Indeed, I feel the more seasoned of our species could use such recreation.

Ah, Pavone's

When I was a kid, it was a special day when mom took us to Penn Can Mall and got us a slice of Pavone's Pizza. Years later, as an employee of KayBee Toy and Hobby, I would treat myself now and again at the same mall. Yet, time works as it does and Penn Can Mall went defunct. It is now a car dealership and Pavone's no longer exists in the immediate area. Oh, but it still exists in other parts of town, and the brother-in-law, Mike, stopped by last night with a pie just as I was heading out with the dog for a walk. We sat out front on concrete and polished it down. There's something about a good pizza that makes it hard not to have one more slice. Last night, I ate in memory and for the moment. For a brief period, my stomach was happy.

Finally, Shiloh

For years, I saw a copy of Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's middle school book, SHILOH, on library shelves, but I never picked it up. I have been in love with Bobbie Anne Mason's short story by the same name and also grew fond of the idea of SHILOH after receiving history lessons from Alice Stevenson on the Civil War. But, finally, SHILOH crossed my path and I read it. I was worried because it has a cover of a beagle pup on the front and I expected the worst. In truth, it is a hopeful story and totally full of an 11 year old's way of seeing the world. The cover says its a classic story of a boy and his dog, and so today I read it for Baby, Juliette, Dusty, Tizzy, Mokie, Jake, Zoie, Rocky, Chip and all canines of the world. And I didn't cry. Instead, I am calling it a happy read.

Challenging Maggots in the Rice; Women Warriors

Finished IN THE YEAR OF THE BOAR AND JACKIE ROBINSON by Bette Lao Lord about a young girl, Shirley Temple Wong, and her arrival into New York City. Geared more towards middle school readers, I loved the way this story was scripted. It made me think of a more accessible WOMAN WARRIOR: MEMOIR OF A GIRL AMONGST GHOSTS by Maxine Hong Kingston (which remains in my top ten reads of all times). In honor of both books, I found a clip from Disney's MULAN which is, of course, the American musical version of a Chinese experience. Even so, there are remnants of the Chinese-American narrative that are unique to our culture. Knowing all of them together makes me smile about the human experience. As Confucius wrote, "Everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it."

Laughing at myself and my Muppet History

I grew up as the first generation of HBO viewers. In my youth, the Muppets put out Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas and it was a mile marker for my holiday season. As summer ends and we begin thinking about the season's changing, I find myself singing songs from this precious story. I like to think of this half hour special as a piece of my history and chuckle that I used to share the VHS video with my students as we headed towards winter. In particular, I loved the harmonzing that occurs at the end, before they get a job at the Toad Mayor's restaurant. To me, Emmet and his mother encompass the spirit of looking out for others and being genuine. Every time I think of this seasonal special I get happy. Why shouldn't I?

08 08 08 + 1

Last night, America got to see the opening of the 2008 Olympic Games, some 12 hours after they actually occurred. It is remarkable to see athletes from around the world congregate under one stadium for a tradition that extends our generation of life. The happiness that comes from such history is always amazing and seeing so many stories unite under three weeks of events is moving. Representing the Syracuse areas are Lopez Lomong, of course, Anthony Carmello, Jim Boeheim and a horse rider from Cazenovia. Excellence prevails and it is humbling. It is my goal to one day attend these festivities live, but in the mean time, will rely on NBC.

A Triple Post

Three things made me happy yesterday. The first was reading RIFKA by Karen Hesse (from OUT OF THE DUST claim to fame). The second was finding the most bizarre mushroom in my front yard and after channeling my inner mycologist, I've decided it is a Mutinus elegans and the final is a fast read of "The Friendship" by Mildred Taylor. As a short read, I didn't expect the intense punch of its story. So, I guess one might say that today's post has me shrooming high on two great books. I am impressed by the middle school texts I've picked up to peruse and go back to the saying, "If you can't teach it to a sixth grader, why bother teaching it?" The goal for all educators should be to make knowledge accessible, including critical thinking skills, to students of every age.

The American Dream

My mother, my sister and I went to the benefit to help Lopez Lomong's family and coach arrive to the Beijing games. It was announced yesterday that Lopez would carry the American flag at the Olympics and it makes me stop to reflect on how unique the American experience is and how, even in 2008, opportunities exist for those who grace this soil to perfect what they wish through hard work and perseverance. Ten years ago, no one in the United States would have known the Sudanese "Lost" Boy experience, but now we have a Sudanese-American representing the country as a runner. It is truly phenomenal. Here's to Lopez!

Sunny Day in August, The Cable Guy, and Traditions

I headed to my folks yesterday afternoon because dad's filter went on his pool and he needed my assistance. It was a sunny, cloudless day and knowing it is already August I came over early tapping into the sun that will soon disappear as winter rounds its head again. After a great shell and sauce dinner (thanks BALLS), the Central New York cable guy walked out back and sold his wears to my folks. See, they changed to satellite dish and have complained about it ever since. Now, knowing my mom's history with service people (in particular beating up the paper girl during our high school years for billing us in sporadic intervals) I highly enjoyed the Cable Guy's visit because it was classic Crandall. He stayed out back while we ate, drank sodas and visited long after his shift ended all to talk politics with my father who kept showing him his new pool filter and the wires that lead up to his satellite dish. Only can Butch and Sue keep a Time Warner, News 10, Road Runner salesman entertained for as long as they did. It was beautiful, and I'm sure he left thinking, "man, I'd be so happy if I lived in a neighborhood with people like this." In fact, at one point, I think he asked if my parent's house was for sale. Unbelievable.

The birds are silent in their nest and I must seek for mine

The gods of the earth and sea
Sought through nature to find this tree,
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the human Brain.

I read Skellig by David Almond yesterday and found a short, beautiful text about how one measures a life. Caught somewhere between imagination and fantasy, I began to wonder why it isn't more real. Throughout the text, a young girl teaches the narrator about William Blake's poetry, but also offers him insight about open school and the free education of the natural world. She doesn't attend structured classrooms and she ridicules those who do. One day the narrator's teachers drops off the work he missed from staying home to learn with his new friend and the little girl points out exactly what is wrong with school. He is to chart the bones and muscles on a worksheet, but she wonders why he's never taught about the soul. I like this kid, and Almond's text is rich for many reasons -- it's one to be read a couple of times. Attached above are images of Blake's with music. Good ol' YouTube, baby.

admirable friendships and life commitments

My older sister's best friend was in town for their high school reunion and lucky for me, at times, they let their little brother tag along. I'm the younger kid, so of course I always look up to my elder sibling and her buddies, so I felt like Peter being invited out on one of Marcia's dates. Cool for me, huh?Cinderballs and Veruka have been great buds since their younger years and they have more memories than I can keep up with. It makes me immensely happy to see them together laughing and being themselves. Although we've all fallen victim to father time, it's been nice going through the transitioning of age with them. Here's to the two of them and friendships, everwhere.

1988, Pee Wee Herman and a Late Post

The Year was 1988. Pee Wee's Playhouse was in full effect, the Dodger's played the A's in the world Series, The Redskins competed with the Bronco's at the Superbowl, Winning Colors won the Kentucky Derby and the Olympic Games occured in Korea. This was also the year that Dustin Hoffman needed to go to KMart in Rainman, and U2's Joshua Tree won best album (and it really, to this day, is a best album). 1988 was also the year that my sister, Balls, and her friends graduated from CNS and this last weekend was their 20th reunion. As the designated driver on one night, I began thinking about time, history, the pace of living one life, and memories. I suppose, Pee Wee, today's magic word of the day is "Yesterday." Whenever we hear this word, we should scream at the top of our heads and be happy that another day belongs to us. It goes by fast.

little symbol(s) of something greater than all of us

In my garage, a pile of dirt and mulch sits in a wheelbarrow awaiting a better gardening day. Today, I noticed a trickled of sunlight gave birth to a little green plant and a mushroom inside my tiny garage. How? Well, it's life. The power of what is natural always trumps the good intentions of humanity. With dirt and sunlight, life always continues on and even with human neglect and stupidity, nature blooms. I like little reminders to keep my anthropocentricity in check : ).

La Mariposa

I read a children's book by Francisco Jimenez which was originally in spanish, but now is in English. It's about a young boy who immigrates to this country and whose parents work the farms in California picking fruit. They boy doesn't speak English and attends school to the harassment of his peers and finds his only friend to be a caterpillar in a jar. He draws a picture of a butterfly in anticipation of it being hatched and ends up winning an art contest. At the end of the book, he gives his drawing to one of the bullies. Nice little story for a multicultural America, eh?