This. Just This. Milestones and Memories in the Journey. This.

It is not the location I remember, yet it is. The infrastructure is there (sort of) and the landscape looks the same. The color is close, too, but a little more red than maroon than it used to be. Yet the sky...the sky and water, this is the same. This is the memory.

Mom, Chitunga and I took a one-day road trip to Hamilton, Sherburne, and Lebanon Reservoir yesterday to visit locations where my mom and dad grew up (and where my grandparents are buried).

But this was camp. This was our Saturday and Sunday get away: the fishing, the diving board, the walks to the candy store, the flies, the thunderstorms, the fireworks, the dam cars, the fire pit, the neighbors, the water-skier bets, the Pitch tournaments, the two channels that the antennae was able to grab, the allergies and inability to breathe, and the bathing stars that came every morning after a night of twinkling in the skies.

Loch Lebanon.

It's still there. It's just that it isn't. "I see the trees, and the trees see me."

The hardest part of the whole day was standing at the gravesite, however. As mom said, "They're not here, and I never felt they were." Still, it's where their namesakes are buried and, for me, it is a location of centrality. It is a reentering of the universe.

24 Milford Street, too. Such a core. Such a beautiful foundation and center.

And eating at Ozzie's in Sherburne. Okay. It was a great day - one that can only come with the power it had once or twice in a lifetime.

So thankful. So thankful, indeed.

A Little Event, Then a Nice Spring Drive All The Way Home

During the years I lived in Kentucky, American Idol debuted and and for a little while, it became part of the pulse of a nation - the way the country flowed with the rhythm of week to week routines. Years passed, it continued, and in 2015, Nick Fradiani was America's Next American Idol.

Yesterday, he was a colleague and judge for the 6th Annual Voices of Hill Central Poetry Slam. This is the 5th year I've participated as a judge and mentor and each, and every year, it gets bigger, better, and greater.

The success of Hill Central is historical and it has taken the passion of many to make it the special place that it is today: administrators, youth, parents, staff, and a little special sauce (cough cough, Nick Fradiani is really special sauce) has made the location one of a kind in Connecticut Schools. It was a true honor to be part of the program yesterday, before voyaging to Syracuse for a short break before finishing out the semester.

This is a special school - there is no other location quite like it. I feel blessed that I've been able to be part of its journey!

As I Learned In the Hallways of a Bridgeport School. #Promise

Don't tell anyone, but yesterday I was desperate and I stopped at Burger King. I ran from last minute revisions, to meetings, to advising, to meetings, to advising, to another meeting and before I knew it I was at 7 p.m. I was hungry and there was fast food.

I stopped fast. I ordered fast. I waited fast. And I ate fast.

Then the regret came.

Today, however, is full of possibilities. I am picking up Akbar Niyonkuru and meeting Attallah Sheppard at Hill Central Academy for their Annual Poetry Slam. There, 19 middle school poets will compete as they pour their hearts out in verse and performance. Upon my return, I will pack up for a short trip to Syracuse to enjoy spring and the Easter holiday with family (while prepping for frantic days on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday when I return. Actually, the rest of the semester is frantic.

But this, too, will pass, because Today is full of possibilities.

I am reminded of this every time I visit a school and work with youth and their teachers. Whenever I lose hope in the world, I'm reminded by them that everything is possible.

The guilt from the food also plagued my head that my house needed a cleaning. I hate returning to a pig sty, so did my best to make it presentable for my return.

Too much, but I love every second of it.

Weren't We Just Partying Like It Was 1999? @BPEFInc

Every spring break, I have the honor of working with the College Access Program, part of the Bridgeport Public Education Fund led by Executive Director, Marge Hiller. We share many similarities - a zest for Bridgeport youth, Drum Corp International, and a willingness to give up a spring break to advocate for the young people we believe in. Yesterday was no exception, and although the days were cut to an hour workshop, I was still able to entertain/teach/think/explore with 40 Bridgeport Public School Seniors as they embark on last months of their high school careers and their future as college students.

They are the class of 2021. Yes. That is the truth. They were born, too, after I saw my first generation of high school graduates cross the stage in Louisville, Kentucky.

Zip. Zap. Zoom. It's just like that.

It is always amazing to work with the BPEF CAP seniors because they are always the most thirsty, engaged, ready, and willing adolescents in the city. Yes, they are nervous about what is to come, but they are also enthusiastic about their futures, getting away from home, and proving themselves as budding academics.

I realized yesterday while working with them how important programs like BPEF CAP are to young people attending schools like those in Bridgeport. They desire everything that will come their way and I had to laugh that many of them - those at Harding High School - recognize Chitunga as a youth tutor when he spent one semester working with them in their schools.

It's Spring Break, yet these kids got up like it was a regular day and joined presenters at Housatonic Community College for workshops on the college experience. 60-minutes is a tight wad of time, but I packed in as much as I could, dangling the intellectual carrot their way and offering advice on what they need to think about as first-year writers (after they successfully graduate from their schools this spring).

This is a shout out to them, BPEF, and all the youth advocates in their school, who work daily to support their achievement.

I Hate It When I Misplace Items That I Need. Ugh!

I had an extremely productive day yesterday, meeting all of my goals, worked in my office, did yard work, walked the dog, and prepped for the week. That is when I realized I couldn't find my wallet. I have looked everywhere and tore everything apart...my car, my house, my office, everything. I know I had it on Saturday night because I remember it sitting to my left on the couch. Typically, before I go to sleep, I relocate it to a position in the kitchen so I will remember to grab it in the morning.

Nope. No luck.

I could have sworn it was with me in my office today, but when I went back, I didn't find it. I have a bad habit of putting it on this shelf or that ledge, within this pocket or that crevice while I'm doing other things. Usually with a couple swipes around where I've been, I find it.

Not last night, and I'm feeling naked without it.

Yuck on Monday already. Hand to face, indeed. Woke up with zero to no sleep, so I never really woke up at all. I just laid in bed worrying.

Got up at 6 a.m. to drink coffee and head to do presentations at Housatonic. Just as I had my first sip, I get the following text message from Pam. "Look what Jakey brought me this morning. Is it yours?"

Oh. Jake.

You are my hero today.

I feel so much better now.

Thank you for not eating it.

You should be proud.

I see it in your face.

Now I can head out into the world feeling good that life can go on as it should.

I would hate to know that this had to be pumped from your stomach.

So appreciative.

Even Educated Fleas Are Doing This Spring Thing

I'm trying to be ready for a departure to Syracuse mid-week, so I've had myself locked behind the laptop, getting on top of presentations on Monday and Tuesday, the poetry slam on Wednesday, and then the drive to Central New York.

I took Glamis for a walk later in the afternoon yesterday, and although I still had to dress warm, I realized the buds have got it in gear and are popping on the trees. The birds, too, are back at it. They wake me up at 4 a.m. singing outside my window, and even while I went for a walk, I realized, "It's that time of year."

It's bird pornography, actually. They are on the streets, fluttering at my head, and even in the bushes doing what it takes to make eggs before they launch themselves on this or that tree (or in the eaves of my house). They have no shame, as Alice and Charlie used to say about the $#@#*&% doves that used to be on their front porch.

With the longer days and warmer weather, it is also easier to imagine outdoor activities. I was excited that my credit card points were cashed in last week and Home Depot cards arrived yesterday in the mail. My lawn needs work and I want to continue to build an outdoor garden for the bugs and hummingbirds. I may even paint the porch so it is ready for barbecue and cookouts (which will be here before I know it).

They are calling for temperatures in the 80s by Tuesday, and I am hoping to find time to enjoy it, if only slightly given the busy schedule.

I love my walks with Glamis. It is so much better than watching black text fly across the piano keyboard that is typically my life. I need to find a way to type while moving parts other than my fingers.

This Is What Happens When I Procrastinate From Grading

For a few years now, I've wondered how friends quickly made themselves into cartoon emojis that they quickly dashed into a text message or Tweet. I didn't realize it, but at some point I went online looking for a way to replicate such craziness, and when cleaning up my phone yesterday I found the App I downloaded and quickly got distracted making heads (like I was about to play Wii or something - I don't even own a Wii).

I know it is silly to be playing such games given the complex realities of an ever-changing globe,

but that is what I ended up doing in between assessing this or that product from my undergraduate and graduate courses. Yes, cartooning the world is a nice distraction for the end of the week.

Seriously, though, how cool is it that a free download can bring so much entertainment so quickly. Cynde, Casey, Abu, Lossine, Chitunga, and even Mom became fodder for distracting my brain in-between academic meandering and textual readings.

This is us. The world. The crazy reality that has become my life as a mid-life moron teaching courses and looking for a way to relax on a Friday night in Connecticut, while everyone else is in Syracuse (and dealing with snow - ugh).

It's pretty amazing that such play exists technologically, and for a short while, I was entertained. And now it is here to be captured for ever in the Crazy Crandall way that has become my life.