I Think I Won With Grading, But I Definitely Lost With Horses (Although I Came in Second). #MoreMintJulepsPlease

Leo didn't win either, but he did come in his purple shirt and he wore his purple wrestling mask as we sipped on happy hour cocktails awaiting the Kentucky Derby to run fro the roses. As usual, it was a lot of hype for a fast race, and it's never as much fun as when you have the winning horse, which no one but Derrick and Kaitlyn had. They got the pot.

We simply had the drinks.

And it rained. It rained all day, and even when it finally subsided and I wiped down all the outside furniture, it decided it wanted to rain even more. It needed to be an indoor party, which it was, with gifts for Pammy and a dog who was overwhelmed by the crowd of people. Next year I should charge admission, so that if my horse doesn't win, I still come out a winner in the end.

I have to give a special shout-out to Sharon, though, because she had the foresight to make the syrup for the Juleps. I forgot, and didn't really want them anyway, but they ended up being a huge hit, even though my bourbon supply was drained.

So, it wasn't bad for a spur-of-the-moment, intimate birthday party for Pam with just a couple of people and I'm sort of glad I didn't open up the house to the masses like last year (with all the rain, it would have become real ugly fast).

Yep. Another Derby is over. Fastest 2 minutes of the year, with another 365 days to go.

Technically Its Derby Day, but Yesterday Was My Twin's Birthday @pamelaMarieKell, So The Party Is All About Her

Since leaving Kentucky, it's been my tradition to host a Derby party, simply as a day to enjoy spring and to have an excuse (a much needed excuse) to relax for a little while. Last year, my Derby party - it was pointed out to be - is actually the day after Pamela Kelly's birthday AND the day before mother's day. So, this year, rather than having a Derby party, I am opening my house to friends to have a mint julep before we go out to celebrate Pam's existence on earth.

It's a good existence to celebrate: laughter, love, joy, humor, spontaneity, wisdom, family, foolishness, faith, and togetherness - all qualities that Pam exemplifies to all who know her.

And I've set a goal of finishing one class's papers so I can actually relax when I open my house for the race and a few rounds of birthday songs. I'm also excited about this transition, so I don't have to cook, but there will be a restaurant to find as soon as the two-minute horse race is complete.

Aw, shucks. I hope there's enough people that come with her so that we can throw in cash for the race and actually have a winner. I'll have to work on that, as the crowd will be the loyal, good-times folk that have become a foundation of support for me in Connecticut.

Let there be sun. We have not experienced enough sun in the last week and I'm ready to sit out back before the trumpets sound.

Happy Birthday, Pam - one day late. You are my twin sister separated at birth and a few years older who brings about sanity in an insane world, simply because you're willing to act goofy and be dorky like me. Music. Dance. Sharing strategies for this life thing. And hope.

I love to believe in hope.

That Moment When You Realize You Are a Pic-Head After All: Morning Grooming And Totally Grooving Through Life

After I went for a run, I came home and sat down to writer. Chitunga and I discussed a number of household things and then I said to him, "My hair must look ridiculous. Here I am talking to you and offering my two cents, and you must think I'm a madman."

I went into the bathroom and grabbed a comb and came back to talk with him. "I'm not sure how many households would understand our world," I said to him laughing. "But yes, I use your Pic to comb my hair."

That's the bond.

I also had to laugh because I remember when all my students carried Pics in their back pockets and the Danes came to visit. They wanted to know what they were, and of course my students told them they were Pics. The Danes would then laugh because they said Pic was the name for male genitalia. They coined the term Pic-Head, and I now realize that I was always destined to be an official Pic-Head, too.

It is rare that Chitunga and I are in the same room at the same time, because our schedules are completely opposite. He works as fiendishly as I do and when he's home to study, I'm usually at the University. When he's off to work, I'm usually at home preparing for the next day. He eats dinner at 11 pm or later, too, and I'm always up at my coffee between 6 and 7 before I leave for the day.

I asked him, "Do you say oh, crap when you see my car is in the driveway?" knowing that if we're both home I'll probably want to catch up. He admitted that he does. I told him, "Truth is, I sometimes say that, too...but there are times when I come home and I see your car is there, too, and I simply am happy. Not all the time, because I have work to do and I don't want to talk, but most of the time."

When I sent him this photo he said (with a smily face and cool glasses), "Look at the chin hair!"

Ah, I remember that pride, too, until the shaving ritual gets old and cumbersome.

This May thinks it is February and it doesn't feel quite like Oaks in Connecticut. Even so, I am thinking of my Kentucky friends and wishing all a great Derby.

Channeling Mindfulness and Thoughts of Sand and Waves To Get Me Through The Time of Year of Rain and Grading

I keep looking up to the sky, and it's gray and rain...grayer and more rain. I am underneath the piles of end-of-the-semester grading (it will get one, I know it will because it always does) and the final tug-o-war of committee shenanigans that builds the pain that makes us beautiful.

I'm not fashioned to take vacations, but I do love when I'm able to get my feet in the sand and when I can see the ocean to remind me that the ebbs and flows of waves and the vastness of water will long continue after whatever stress I'm experiencing or fretting is bound to occur.

St. Augustine. Amagansett. Tintagel. The Cliffs of Dover. The Fjords of Denmark.

It is about water and standing by the sea.

I am channeling the feeling of being on a beach, relaxed, without a care in the world to help me to keep focus on what the bigger picture is really about: relationships, love, sincerely, kindness, and removing the ego and selfish hubris as much as I can (which is difficult as a human being because we think our world is the only world that is out there).

Ah, but when I draw lines in the sand (to keep my sanity in tact) it inevitably blows up, causing anger for others. I get angry, but I redirect it Matrix-style, pushing it aside so I can focus on beach scenes like the above photo.

Everything evolves at exactly the right time and I'm slowing down to enjoy the journey (and surrounding myself with people who do the same).

The Ritual For The Dog Is To Pick Up Something On Our Walks and To Carry It Home Proudly. Um. Okay. This Happened.

Glamis loves to walk. I admit, I love walking with her and it has become my favorite 45-minute ritual of the day. I was telling my older sister, Cynde, that she in the last lap of our walk, she always grabs something to carry home with her. Usually it is a stick, or sometimes a water bottle. She's even brought home tennis and soccer balls.

Yesterday, when I looked down to see what she grabbed as we lapped the last street before heading home, I saw she had something purple in her mouth hanging like it was a cigar. "What'd you get," I asked her in my teasing way, "You found something purple. That's new."

It was new. She managed to scrounge up a purple tampon applicator. I said, "Now that is something for the streets of Stratford." I wondered if all the cars passing by were laughing. I could hear them saying, "Honey, I think that dog is carrying a Tampon in her mouth. Is that a Tampon?"

If I could, I would have confirmed their speculation. "Yup."

I let her carry it to our house and then dispensed it in the garbage. She is mighty proud of the bounty she brings to Mt. Pleasant and I like to think that we're doing our part for the environment, too.

I also channeled writer Douglas Coupland who coined the phrase tamponic in relation to whenever a male finds himself in a female-oriented conversation where he is unsure how he is supposed to respond. I knew I had a tamponic moment on yesterday's walk. It's all good. Someone else didn't need it and Glamis rid the earth of another plastic apparatus that was disposed in the wrong location.

And with that, back to grading.

National Teacher Appreciation Week - A Wonderful Surprise of Blooming Gold from a Young Philosopher/Student

I was knee-deep in paperwork when a student from this semester stopped by with a pot of marigolds she brought me to thank me for being her teacher. The flowers reminded me of my mom's garden out front on Amalfi Drive, and how she and my father planted them every spring to landscape our house. I was honored to get a random act of kindness and to have an otherwise dreary day brightened.

So often, we do what we do in the routine of the profession that we forget how closely our students are paying attention. Being a student is often a powerless, exhausting process, where the hard work doesn't seem to have immediate meaning and where the labor is simply nerve-wracking and frustrating. This is why a plant of appreciation is so unexpected...and so very thoughtful.

I told the student, Mindy, that I would definitely transplant the marigolds into my garden when I actually have a few seconds to spend on my own landscaping. Her deed made me think about all the educators, including those in CWP-Fairfield's network, that are very deserving of such kindness, too. I need to get on my game!

In a 14 hour day of meetings, reports, files, grading, and worrying, a small act of kindness enlightens me to pay it forward somehow. Tuesday will be as bad as Monday, but I am thinking Wednesday has amazing promise to share the love with others (somehow, somewhere, with some sort of nicety).

In the meantime, I'm cherishing this golden gesture and ready to be a good man for another day.

This is Not to Make My Sisters Laugh or My Mother to Say, "I'll Be Damned." But I Did Go to Church Yesterday Afternoon.

I needed to repent after trying to cut Glamis's toenails (in which the devil took over her soul and I failed). Actually, I wanted to pray for 2016 to turn around its series of ugliness. Not really. The truth is, my buddy Leo and his son, Kai, were singing in their church choir a series of songs in honor of Mary and the month of May.
I've heard Leo at karaoke and consider him a good Connecticut friend - he's been a mentor for me in my conversations about guiding Chitunga, and I love his spirituality, humor, and faith.

I have to say, too, that the music was truly stupendous. I knew it would be good, but I didn't expect it to be so celestial and harmonious. I said to Leo's wife, Bev, "This might be a world's record for how long I've been able to sit in a church without having to leave, feeling like I'm going to faint, and getting a severe case of the giggles. I did come close, however, when Bev wanted me to pose by Baby Jesus so she could send it to Pam (apparently, this wooden representation cracked her up).

St. Ann's in Milford was gorgeous and the acoustics were wonderful. One of the song's, Prodigal Son by Brian Flynn, was done especially beautiful and Bev leaned over to me to say, "I think this is the real reason you're here today...so you can hear this song. It's like you're the one singing."

She got me there. The last couple of years have totally turned my life around in a positive way and, truth be told, I'm glad the Great Whatever brought me to hear my friends sing on a rainy Sunday day. I was at home finishing a book chapter when I looked at the clock and said, "Crandall, you need to go hear Leo and Kai do what they do in church."

And I did. I am very thankful by the grace of the music and the overall harmony I felt from their collective voices. It will fuel me for the week.