Good-Bye, 2010. Hello, 2011

Well, it was a rough end to the year and many of us are looking forward to the next 365 days of 2011. This concludes Karma Crandall.

I welcome you to join the CACOPHONY of my CRANDALL WORLD in the next year if you want. If so, see you there.

Karmic Lasagna

I treated myself to an evening of domesticity and, inspired by a sister who rearranges her furniture every three days (and it still looks good), I decided it was time to pick up my house. I put a tray of Bonnie's mammoth lasagna in the oven and then hit the living room to be Marvin Stewart, kin to Martha. It took me an hour of trying to be like Cynde when I realized I could only have my living room one way and then the buzzer went off. My Chef-Boy-R-Dee was done.

Thankful for a prepared meal, I took a break and grabbed a mitt to go after my grub.

Not that easy. It was hot and the tray burned my hand through the mitt. I dropped the entire pan into the stove: cheese and sauce oozed everywhere, sizzling against the hot iron. I wanted to scream, but I got a giant spoon and began scooping and salvaged 90% of the meal. I looked to my living room and realized I had simply moved all my crap to the kitchen. Now, I had a clean living area but my kitchen was a disaster.

So, I sat in my clean living room and ate a plate of Bonnie's lasagna. It put a smile in my stomach and I realized karma comes from any food prepared by another person. Every holiday, from now on, I will recall 2010 and the world's largest vat of lasagna ever created.

Serendipity

Ode to the NOPL - the library where I frequent my days for peace and quiet and where I can get my writing done.

Yesterday, I noticed a woman who also attends the NOPl and, because I'm there so much, she's become rather familiar. She works at the table next to me and I've become fascinated by her activities. I assume she is working on a project like mine but I have begun to learn otherwise. She grabs giant volumes of the yellow pages that are stashed in the reference sections of the library and reads them with her finger with extreme intent. Every hour or so, she jumps up excitedly and pulls out a camera to photograph particular pages she fancies. She stands on a chair and snaps a shot with her digital camera, and then returns to reading the ads. Sometimes she even pulls out a device that appears to be able scan entire pages. As she does this, she gloats with enormous glee.

I'm unsure what she's doing, but she's ambitious and devoted. She spends just as much time as me at the NOPL , but she has a man who checks on her from time to time to see if she's ready to go. She is always resistant and finds enormous pleasure in the documents she peruses. I don't have anyone checking up on me.

In I HEART HUCKABEES, I was introduced to the concept of coincidences. I can't help but think that this woman is quite the coincidence for me. As I scan my documents to make sense of the data I collected over the last year, I wonder if she thinks I'm as strange as she appears to me. I don't know where her labor is taking her but I feel as though I've found a sister amongst the stacks of books. She takes photographs of bathtubs and phone numbers, while I sort through perspectives taught to me by the young African male English language learners in my study. Each of us are odd birds, I suppose, and I am thankful of the karma she brings. I hope she accomplishes her project faster than I do. Something tells me that her work is tremendously more important to her world than the one I'm envisioning for my own.

for Rocky, from Nikki

This is Nikki's karma. She sent me this video on her iPhone and begged me, pleaded with me, coerced me to post it on my blog. I told her I would, but that her mother would probably will have a problem with it. I don't know why. Cynde does Rocky Balboa pretty well and I think she scored well on her Wii system.

The magic is in the joy of the performance, but you have to tilt your head.

for Mike and Cynde, The Isgars

I found this video when all of us were younger. I post it today so that we have a song in our heart and we can keep karma at the forefront. I post it with respect for my older sister's birthday, too. You are on my mind, Cynderballs.

With love, Bryan

Ode to the Code

It's late December and the fire is aglow,
I'm coding my research data, and going insane, ya know?

I go to bed dreaming of the information I've collected,
and wake up in the morning still analyzing, but resurrected.

I head back to work to make sense of my writing.
My synapses are numb, but my neurons keep fighting

for sanity in this world and for something to make sense...
I keep persevering, but man, I'm rather dense.

What's the point of this Monday hooplah?
Not much, really, just looking for karma!

Tives - SyraDaVille

My mother sent my Aunt and Uncle some new t-shirts, but it is obvious they were more intrigued by the toy truck they received. Although they say everything is beg in Texas, it is obvious that Bobbie and Dick have not fed their toy truck any of Bobbie's ultra-vitamins. Instead, they are playing with their new toy on the floor of their new home and channeling their youth Syracuse-karma style.

I hope they are wearing knee pads and the they have learned to share with one another and are taking turns.

Vrooooom.

21st Century Digital Tale of Season

My aunt Sue sent me this earlier this week and I think it does a marvelous job tapping into our digital reality of modern-day communication. The stories are the same, but the tools we use to share them have drastically changed.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas of Yesteryear

I know that every child under the age of 12 is beyond spastic today with anticipation for new gifts and the excitement of tomorrow morning. It made me think of all the holiday shows that got me into the spirit when I was a kid (before the holiday effects as we've come to know them.

I plant this song in you head for this friday - the eve of the chaos that will ensue.

Sing along kids! Bring out "A Flake Like Mike" !

Bryan is Bryan

One of my favorite books ever is Alan Paton's Cry The Beloved Country. I didn't read it the first time until my early thirties, but when I did, the story spoke to me and I knew I was a changed man forever. I guess, in many ways, Paton's story is a piece of soul-work. Every time I read it, it makes me feel good about the potential for human beings to live a good life and to work towards a better world. In the end, when uJarvis and Kumalo, a white man and a black man, find a way to internal peace within a complicated world of hardship, I am inspired to be a bigger man and human being.

I have been thinking a lot about Paton's book because of my own research, but yesterday it came to the forefront when I learned my brother-in-law's father, Fred, passed away. I began reflecting on the choices we make in life and how, sometimes, extremely influential people are those that we know for only brief moments of time. Yet, in these brief moments, enormous influences are made. Fred Isgar was one such inspiration. He taught me the importance of seeing Mike, as just Mike, Dylan, as just Dylan, and Nikki, as just Nikki.

Why would we want it any other way?

On my own, I've found myself reciting "Butch is just Butch," "Sue is just Sue," "Cynde is just Cynde," and "Casey is just Casey." Each time it's provided a karmic ease to a simple philosophy. I get Zen-like and I have Fred to thank for that...otherwise I might kill them.

I thought about Cry The Beloved Country, though, because I immediately wrote a friend in Africa to let him know that Fred had passed. Lu, who was just Lu, returned to Sudan (to either find a wife or herd cows ...I won't know until he returns in March). When I lived in Kentucky, Fred used to tell me how he worked with a Sudanese man. He told me how this man drove his car into a snow bank and the comedy of training him on furnaces. Fred even borrowed my copy of the P.O.V. film LOST BOYS OF SUDAN when I told him I was working with Sudanese refugees in Kentucky. As stories have it, when I returned to Syracuse and began working with refugees here, I met a Sudanese man who turned out to be the worker Fred always talked about. The Lu who was always just Lu. I made an arrangement for a reunion between the two of them and on the back porch while drinking soda, I will never forget their jokes, laughter and teasing of one another.

I will remember Fred for his warm fires in the winter, his philosophy on everyone else simply being who they are, and the friendship he had with Lueth. More importantly, I will always remember the immense love and respect that my brother-in-law, Mike, had for his father. As Mike and I have bonded over the years, his admiration for Fred was obvious. Mike told me several times that he didn't know what he would do without his father in his life (and on a couple of occasions, Mike even promised Fred that one day he would take him to a taxidermist and have him stuffed so that he would be around forever - note: I can only imagine the ways Cynde would rearrange her furniture to accommodate a stuffed Fred in her home). The point is, Mike's love for his father can only be matched in two other ways: how Mike loves my sister and how I saw that Fred loved his wife, his children and his grandchildren.

Fred was just Fred. That's the way he was meant to be.

My copy of Cry The Beloved Country is so used that it doesn't have a cover any more. In fact, I had to write the name of the book on the margin in pen. As I sit by my own wood-burning stove and begin to think about tomorrow, I pulled my copy off the shelf to reread the last stanza. I write this for Fred and his family (but admit that the African references are over my head, too...perhaps I write them for Lu).

Yes, it is the dawn that has come. The titihoya wakes from sleep, and goes about its work of forlorn crying. The sun tips with light the mountains of Ingeli and East Griqualand. The great valley of the Umzimkulu is still in darkness., but the light will come there. Ndotsheni is still in darkness, but the light will come there also. For it is dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret.

It is a secret that Fred now knows. It is a secret we'll all learn one day because as Fred taught me, life is life.

Rest in peace and continue looking over your family. You are already missed.

Cockle-Doodle, Doobie Doo

You have to picture the fact that we've had 72 inches of snow in December and this previous weekend is the first time the sun has been out all month. Although it was 16 degrees, I wanted to see blue sky and I chose to run six-miles outside instead of going to the gym. Better air.

Here's why I write.

I'm on mile four on loosely-country roads when I see this giant rooster walking along the double-yellow lines ahead. There are no driveways and definitely nowhere for the rooster to go. The snow banks are mighty high and there was this feathered beast strutting like he was The Beatles crossing Abby Road.

I became fearful.

I thought, "what if this cock decides to kill me as I run by?" I envisioned a story in the newspaper of me on the side of the road with pecks all over my body, blood pouring out. How would I explain that?

I kept running.

A car came toward me and saw the rooster, too. It slowed down and looked at the phenomena with the same gaze I did. Basically their "what the fudge" expression was contained within metal and glass, whereas my WTF was in layered clothing and Sauconys completely vulnerable to angst and frustration of a loose chicken.

The car proceeded slowly and created a barrier where I could sprint past the bird, avoiding any attack. The damn thing was huge (it had nice feathers, though - full off colors).

I made it by.

The car got past.

And as I ran away, He cockle-doodled-doo four times, loudly.

I took it as a sign that within everyday, cold, wintry, and unexpected, there's always the awakening call that another day will follow.

Oasis

Perhaps one of my favorite songs for the journey of one lifetime, I post Wonderwall by Oasis as a way to channel a karmic utopia in the last weeks of December before the holiday hooplah goes full force. I was told today by an academic guru at Syracuse University that it is smart to go zen with the world of research and to hold onto the moments for the beauty they provide in the instance it is held - so much of it will not have meaning until later years, or maybe never at all.

I take comfort in such advice and play this song in my head as a way to put groove in my step and to tap into my mojo. That is why it is on my blog today. I am channeling the music that makes the days more meaningful.

Karma is Yummy Cake

Today's footage is a small montage of mom's Sunday birthday, including the cake baked by Bonnie to feed the Crandall crew, the cast of every reality show on television, and every refugee in Kakuma. If any is left over, we may save it for Cynde's birthday.

Although my mind is on writing and organizing my thoughts, I truly appreciate any quality time I can spend with family for special events like my mom's birthday. Family matters most.

If you'd like a piece before it is all gone, I suggest to give my mom a call a.s.a.p..

Cookies Monsters

Tis the season for baked goods coming out of the oven in warm bundles of delight and within the week, many of us will be biting into nuggets of sugar, cocoa, caramel, peanut butter, and frosting. Why? To create guilt so when the new year comes around we will have the added pressure to hit the gym extra hard. We love Betty Crocker, but we also know how bad she is for our well being.

Karma, though, is the warmth of a good cup of coffee and the holiday cookies we will nibble for the holidays. Santa isn't the only one who needs fuel for delivering all the goods. There's nothing like dipping a Snickerdoodle into hot caffeine...especially the sorted piles mom bakes every year.

Happy Birthday, mom! I give you permission to get into your tins earlier than the rest of us.

Baaaaaaaah Humbug

Nikki claims she's not an artist. She wanted her uncle Bryan to draw her a sheep, but then bullied a girl on her bus to draw it for her. This is how karma works. I'm now posting the lesson I sent her for drawing sheep so that everyone who sees her over the next week can sit down with her and make her practice. It is not that difficult. No one is trying to pull the wool over her eyes and none of us are coming at her like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Q: How do sheep greet each other at Christmas?
A: Merry Christmas to Ewe!

We should all get drawn sheeps from Nikki for Christmas...even if she is a baaaaaaaaaaaad artist. Why?

People, like sheep, tend to follow a leader - occasionally in the right direction. Be that leader, Nikki.

Condensing

After three months of coding data, I have condensed the 1,500+ pages of data from interview, observations, and student writing samples to one binder. It is overwhelming, but I have chiseled away a thousand pages so that the material is manageable to write the big D so I can move on with my life. This is a phase, I am hoping, that will make the next round of writing and summative findings a little easier.

In this binder is the material I am hoping will offer the assertions I will make from my research project. May karma be with me as I try to bring language to this study and type it into coherent meaning for others to follow. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

The Effect of Lakes

It is a tremendous pain in the butt, but it does make the holiday season more memorable when there is snow falling (and it looks like snow will fall for the next twelve days or so). Arriving home and being safe is also a blessing. I don't think I'll ever comprehend how so much can fall so quickly.

Happy shoveling. May the karma of a billion flakes me with you as you dig out of whatever wintry mess you find yourself in.

Oh, Little Star of Bethle....ahem, what?

Najm calls while I'm at the gym. He's made a traveling team called the Syracuse Blitz and he needs a ride to practice. I tell him it is okay because they have internet access at the indoor field now and I can continue to work there. I like a change of scenery. The star above is the Somalian flag and Najm means star in the language he speaks.

I pick him up and I notice his house is now for rent. He tells me his mom can't afford it anymore and they currently don't have heat. He tells me his mom is leaving for Africa because there is a land dispute amongst relatives and she needs to go and fight for her aunt. She's been in the U.S. for six years with five children, and was a nurse in Somalia. Her husband had a farm. The war broke out, however, (because of Western interest in oil) and men, like her husband were being killed. The women were being raped. The children were being slaughtered. They ran to survive. They went to Kenya and heard rumors there would be safety in Egypt. They made it to Egypt. They were treated like trash and hid in their one room apartment. Often, the mother would find work and not get paid. The Egyptians laughed at refugees from Somalia because they were seen as pathetic and easy to take advantage of. The family applied to the come to the U.S., and with only two years of education, Najm's family arrived to New York. He is scheduled to graduate this year if he can only pass two more state exams. This is his first year out of ESL.

Najm has learned that his father is alive and in England. He remarried and has kids there - he didn't know his wife survived and so did his kids. He's never sent money to the family in the U.S., and visited once. He chose never to come again. His mother is cleaning hotels for minimum wage and trying to provide for the family the best that she can. Najm's older brother quit school and works at a parking lot. When Najm's mom returns to Africa, he needs to provide for his younger siblings who are still in middle school. He needs to get a job soon.

Najm and I drove to soccer talking about religion. We talked about the Bible, the Koran, the Torah, and the animist traditions of Africa. We talked about Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. We discuss how America has indoor soccer facilities and in Africa they created balls out of taped trash and made goals out of cardboard. The world is so divided, yet our histories are so united. The Gods Must Be Crazy where ever we go.

If I could see the night sky, I'd look for a star for guidance. Seems there has to be hope out there somewhere. Najm tells me he'd like to be an x-ray technician and he wants to go to college. He reads to learn to speak English better. He doesn't talk in his classes because he's afraid of the American-born students and teachers. He loves history and writes about Africa every night on Facebook. He knows he needs to sacrifice real soon so his little brother and sister have a better chance in America, so they can finish their school. The family is looking for an apartment...one with heat...a two room apartment for the six of them. They move over Christmas, God willing. That is their hope.

Muffs for the ears

Walking across campus last night with the temperatures slowly sliding to single digit territory, I thought about the beauty of earmuffs. I didn't have any and currently my earlobes are thawing from the experience. It hurt.

This inspired me to look for odd earmuffs available in the universe and I was somewhat saddened and disappointed that there weren't more models of ridiculous earmuffs. A few cabbage patch dolls, a couple of hamburgers, and furry and polka-dotted examples were prevalent, but nothing that said, "These are just plain insane. I need a pair."

Then I found this ridiculous example and I thought, "Close." They are nerdy and I'm into that, and they're borderline ridiculous. I would like to post to the galaxy that someone should knit me a pair. Regardless, whatever fights Jack Frost nipping at my bling is on my side. That's what I'm talking about. Karma is the fact I lost my ears in last night's winds because I left the office unprotected.

Wait! Wait! They Tell Me!

I am back indoors now that the weather has turned. I go to the gym, run for a half hour, and then lift weights. I also hit my IPod up for news shows I download and I am a huge fan of the downloaded podcast, especially WAIT! WAIT! DON'T TELL ME! when Paula Poundstone is on.

I highly recommend downloading this to your ITunes (for free) so you can listen to it while baking holiday cookies or for ironing. The humor is just what the listener needs as they multi-task and try to kill two birds with one stone (Bawk! Bawk! Plop!).

In a dream life, I am only a radio voice that answers silly questions once a week for millions of listeners. I love that the show pulls in comedians to offer their wit on weekly news and to win, da da daaaaa! a voice message for a random listener from Carl Rove.
If you haven't listened to the show, you should. It's on NPR weekly, but if you're not in the car driving when the show comes on, the chances are slim you'll catch it. Instead, you can nab it for your ITunes without any economical obligations.

This one for Jake - The "Love Bo"

Growing up, Casey made one proclamation loud and clear. She wanted to be a hostess on the Love Boat. Everyday, after school, she'd watch the show right after or before Fantasy Island and she would emulate her favorite shipmates.

Fast forward twenty-five years and, now, she has her little J-Cup singing with her the same theme song...although he says "Love Bo" instead of "Boat."

I post this today, with Sunday karma, in memory of a time that once was and for a time that now is. I am hoping that she will share this video with her youngest son and that the two of them can sing it together, especially while they are both wearing the matching pajamas I bought for her and Sean (when he was smaller and that have been handed to Jacob). That would be a precious morning, indeed. Too cute for words.

Mr. Sean Man

My sister sent me this photo of my nephew yesterday and it made my work-week complete. Who doesn't want to make this face when they roll into a Friday and begin to think about weekend festivities and play? In the gestures of youth are all the truths to living a life to the fullest and I am channeling his mug as "exactly how I feel right now."

So, Sean, thanks for being you and for reminding all of us to be silly in our adult worlds. You're the best and I love the karma that was delivered to me through this photo.

I wish I was there

The SSO mobbed the Carousel Mall this week and took all the manic shoppers by surprise with a chorus of voices heightening the season's festivities with harmony and voice. Bravo to them. I wish that I was in the land of ridiculous consumerism at the time because this surprise was well-planned. They definitely brought spiritual karma to every individual who was present that day. Brilliant.

Growth

In year four of working with student teachers, I am on stronger ground for understanding the metamorphosis of development that occurs as individuals transition from student into educators. To see people grow, passionately, from where they once were to where they are now touches the heart and tantalizes the potential for humans to do great things.

In particular, I had the fortune of watching Jason Wait present his student teaching portfolio after his twelve-week placement and to see him blend his theoretical foundation for learning into active practice that moved student learning to new levels. To hear him tell his story of developing out of his military background, of surviving brain surgery mid-way through his masters degree, and then to demonstrate his talent to reach middle school students as a mentor and coach hit my heart and soul. It was a beautiful transition to witness before my eyes and it made me proud to be along for the journey.

Last night's presenters were all stellar and it brought me great optimism and hope for the future. Each and every soon-to-be graduate of the Syracuse University English Education program were remarkable: confident, mature, poised, and intelligent. A thousand standing ovations are deserved.

cooked

Karma is having to interview for twelve hours because I've never had to interview, really, before.

Being on the spot for twelve hours and then driving in the snow has me cooked in a way I've never felt before. I think the travel of the last few weeks has caught up to me. My brain is sizzled.

Zonk.

Zooted.

Bonk.

pbbbblllllttt.

Roch cha cha

Growing up, I knew Rochester as the city of my father's bowling tournaments. Once a year he would enter to knock down pins and I came to support him and to get out of Syracuse.

I am out of Syracuse again, truly appreciating the cold winds and snow of a neighboring city. It is good to know that winter's karma doesn't dump on CNY alone and that it spreads its wealth to a larger city with equal force. I had dinner on the Genesee River and enjoyed my scallops browned in maple syrup and clam cakes.

Today will be an exhausting whirlwind tour and I look forward to the adventure. In the meantime, I'm exhausted!

ba rum ba rum dum

I have been listening to holiday music since Thanksgiving and it is doubtful that my radio will change channels any time soon. Instead, as the snow falls, the streets get slicker with ice and shoppers, and Mondays seem to become a barrier to what families really want to do (WE DON'T WANT TO WORK), I find myself listening to more and more Xmas music to make me happy. It brings calm to the chaos of December.

With this said, I post Bing Crosby and David Bowie in their old-skool duet. I've never seen the video, but I do like the harmonizing they bring to the song. I will listen to it today as I try to kick everything into gear for another crazy week.

It's always beautiful the first few times

Waking up, sipping coffee, catching up on the news, and watching snow flakes falling steadily in lake-effect squalls is always a strong way to begin a Sunday in December. It makes couch-marinating that much more enjoyable. The white coat creates a beautiful blanket over the fallen leaves, hardened soils, and gray everything.

Karma is the return of winter: scraping windows, snow blowing, shoveling, sliding, freezing, and complaining.

3-6 inches this morning and 3-6 inches overnight. It makes me want to build a fire and wrap presents (but with no presents purchased at this point, there's nothing to wrap). It looks to be a day of testing out my snow blower and warm socks.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere we go. La la la la la, la la la la la la la.

Stockyards with the Cos...

My last night in Ft. Worth, Texas, I was picked up so I could get a burger. Truth is, there were burgers everywhere because the Stockyards are nothing but bovines. The smell of beef could be detected for many miles. Definitely cattle and cowboy country. Beer on the streets and Marlboros in the bars.

I wish I had an opportunity to see my aunt and uncle, but they were driving in from Vegas and our paths wouldn't cross. Next time, for sure.

Texas has a charm and I will miss it. There is a lot of life in these parts of fourteen million people. I'm glad, however, I learned it in December and not the summer when it is 117 degrees.

In the meantime, I head back to the karma of lake effect and wind chills.

zoom

As I texted KC, this is an intellectual nerd fest and it's like being in a college bar, but there's not alcohol. Everyone is looking over everyone's shoulder for the more popular nerd. Well, college wasn't like that. It was like looking for the most interesting alcoholic to get crazy with...but you know what I mean.

Elizabeth Stevens and I were looking for lunch when we came across this painted marker on the sidewalks. The city is preparing for the Super Bowl and it would explain the construction that began outside my hotel room at 4 a.m.. They've got a paradise to build for football fans.

My hotel changed my room to the other side so I can get better sleep tomorrow.

In the mean time, I continue with the festival of geekdom. It's somewhat fun.

Year three

For the last four years I've lived my life in theory and books. I attend these conferences envisioning the names I read as mythological creatures and sprites. Last night, however, I felt like a part of something that is bigger. Meeting with and dining with people who I only know as names has been a fascinating process. Karma is knowing that the communities I live with in my head, are actually people who are willing to break bread and open a bottle of wine. It's hard to describe, but it is a family of sorts...a small world...and I am slowly becoming a part of it. I feel blessed indeed.

Deep in the Heart of Texas

Although it's colder than I expected, I do like the Ft. Worth area a lot. It seems very alive, and when I found this sculpture of cowboy hats in the shape of a star, I had to photograph it. Yee Haw!

And, I have internet! And it's free! Bite your nose, Mickey. Turn over in your grave, Walt!

But I'm posting this a day early and going to bed. I need sleep bad. Karma comes with travel, especially when you need to be at the airport by 5 a.m.. You don't sleep.

I did, however, remember to pack underwear at 3:00 a.m.. It would have been interesting if I failed to do that.