I Approached Day 6, #VerseLove26, in Anticipation of my Drive Back to Connecticut, Knowing I Wouldn't Have Much Laptop Time

It is obnoxious, but I need to applaud my ability to listen to books in audio form. In fact, I might even say I prefer them this way because I have more passive time while driving than I do while operate a normal day-to-day routine. A 4.5 hour drive seems like 10 minutes (except when following drivers going 20 m.p.h. in the Berkshires of southern Massachusetts. Look in your rearview mirrors people.

I anticipated rearview mirrors in yesterday's Wendy Everard prompt - to write a poem of forgiveness. I was channeling the UGH of leaving my mom and dad in their home on Amalfi Drive, in another transition that they are capable to maintaining a life in their home. It's not easy. Of course the help Cynde secured for yesterday morning never showed, which seems like a pattern in this particular person's life. I ended up staying longer, and left before another potential home assistant was interviewed by my mom and sister.

All the mucky muck world of teaching and scholarship and service and doing professor life is irrelevant when you know the parents who raised you need an extra hand, too. Anyway, I knew I'd have to depart so took a gander on poetically captured what I imagined my drive would be like. 

Vergebung Vagabond

There won’t be a hug, Crandall,

just a right foot on the accelerator

and an Ibram X. Kendi’s cadence

reading Chain of Ideas from

car speakers.

An internal dialogue will begin, too,

I suppose.

You’ll imagine an Alvin Ailey performance

across highway roads as you drive,

recalling his chapter on Colorism

in How to Be an Antiracist,

which caused an email

where you shared

you’re writing needs

to be performed

as a dance.

Only 276 miles to go,

the panting wing-dog

shedding hairs & creating

Rorschach noseprints

on clean windows…

the great reckoning

of guilt

that comes

with departures

journeys

movement

age.

You’ll watch your eyes

for several hours

in the rearview mirror

telling you the same ol’ stories

but always from varied

angles(angels).

A victory over sin & death,

is always a good time

for serenity prayers…

at least the wisdom to know

the difference.

Definitely Hitting the Gas Pedal and Returning to CT this Morning. April & May Responsibilities are Piling Up & I Have to Teach. Meanwhile. Another #VerseLove26 Poem

Hoping all goes well with the home heath-care worker being hired to look after the parental units in their home a few hours a day. Today is the trial run, and I'll need to get Karal out of the way in the best way I can. The folks and the assistant will need to build their own relationships and routines. The major work is making sure food is eaten, pills are taken, and items are picked up that are easily strewn in the paths each takes. It's not supposed to rain, so we'll see if dad will showcase his lawnmower or his snowblower in the driveway for those walking by to see. 

Yesterday's prompt was to take a line from a poet and write its opposite and work from that. I, however, rereading Ruth Stone's Curtains decided I liked the format too much and simply wanted to stick with it in all of its form. 

On a happy, happy note: The WooleyJohnsonSealeys were plane bumped with Easter travel at the same time that Chitunga was bumped too on the way back to Iowa. Somehow they ran into each other at Laguardia exiting and entering terminals as flights were rearranged and travel adjusted. the photo they sent brought joy on a gray, cold Syracuse day. 

And with that, I need to pack up the car.

Curtains 

b.r.crandall

Washing the Pepto Bismol drapes,

dust dinosaurs invade corners

as if it is July in the humidity of Syracuse

when my sisters still lived at home

&, on a lucky night, we’d get corn fritters.

How would this poem be written 20 years from now?

It’s Sunday Morning

&  shit, I blew a circuit

overheating a dryer with Dad’s sneakers.

because Mom screamed, 

“He’s invading my living room

with his dirty-ass shoes.”

She looked around at her own clutter

and had to laugh.

It’s easy to channel Cynde,

frustrated, but calm with her ability to care,

and I remember our Grandma Vera,

& Sherburne molasses slab cookies.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” he tells us.

His departure was prepared an hour ago. 

I already turned his t.v. on so there will be 

no knocking things over….

no excuse for maternal cussing. Christ.

It’s Easter, and none of us know any more. 

I want to walk Cherry Heights, again

imagining what we’d be like as adults,

when CNS girls would flash their bras

at my buddies and me, Labatt’s Blue

bottles lying in the field. 

At least their curtains are washed, right?

It's Important for Everyone Who Has Internet Connection to Cheer on Their Internet Connection for a Second. I'm Just Saying. #VerseLove26

On Friday night, the cable, telephone, and internet went down. 24 hours later it still wasn't up and even after tradition in modems and routers, there wasn't any luck. It turned out that the service was out for the entire neighborhood, but at least now my parent's have updated equipment, even though the 24 hours without service was distressing. When phones, cable, and online activity are zapped from the way one operates, it can be challenging indeed. Some short-circuit rather quickly.

Thankful for me, there was a delicious prompt by Kim Johnson to have a poem begin with a title that leads  to a question from someone into the story for answering such a question. It seems appropriate to go with the guy at Spectrum who, I have to say, was very pleasant...as were the 25 agents I talked with on Saturday to get everything up and running again.

Long story short...life is back in action and I celebrated by not only making the family Easter dinner, but also bringing home ice cream sundaes to put a smile on their face after 24 hours of frustration.

I should say, however, my Dad didn't notice anything was different. He was just confused by why my mother was so upset.

The Guy at Spectrum Asks If I Have Authorization on Their Cable Account 

and I say “no I’m a son of a Butch. Morris Wayne & Sue Crandall are the parental units,”

in which he asks, “Can you show an i.d.?” but winks at me. “Okay, Bryan…Morris,

I understand your modem is down and you’d like a replacement.” Chitunga laughs.

He’s a grand son of a Butch & he spent 2 hours this morning with me hearing my 

mother’s distress because she couldn’t check on Marlena & her friends in Salem. 

How is a woman to live if she can’t go online to watch her shows…God Damn It!? My mother

can’t use her telephone, either. It’s also down. You tell those assholes I have a heart condition.

“I’m sorry, Bryan, I mean Mr. Crandall…I mean, Morris, about your mother’s heart

but all we can do is trade the equipment. Replace it. Take in the old stuff. 80-year olds 

lost in cyberspace are not his business. Distress…naps…connection to the world. 

We get home and try to re-establish a lifeline. Or so we thought. Spectrum is down 

throughout the neighborhood and has been for 24 hours. It’s why we watched the 

coach of UCONN women throw a pre-pubescent temper tantrum on my cellphone 

instead of cable. Her electric recliner still works, though. She’s laid back for a nap again.

And I cooked Easter dinner a day early so they’re fed. The carrots weren’t cooked 

all the way through and dad decided he hated creamed potatoes after 86 years of 

eating them. The deviled eggs, though. He must of ate a carton. The guy at Spectrum 

didn’t need to know all this, I learn, and my sister says I need Dr. Rick from the 

Progressive commercials because I’m turning into my parents. I just want to get on 

the Internet for some #VerseLove. We’re all on the Spectrum, I tell this guy and it’s

Poetry Month. The 4th day of April. I need to get online to write a friggin’ poem…

Let's See If We Wake Up to Restored Internet When We Wake Up. Curious What Went Down with Spectrum. Ick-phrases #VerseLove26

Ate Varsity Pizza again after a long, long while. I'm happy to see it is still open on the hill, and it was nice to meet Melissa and her son, Alex, while he toured Syracuse University. Mike and I also enjoyed cropping the bush out front without any resistance from Butch. 

But then Spectrum went out and that meant the parental phones, cable, and Wi-Fi. This also meant mom short-circuited (I texted Cynde saying we were loading up and coming over to use her system). Ah, but I figured out how to Jimmie my laptop to use cellphone lines to stream the game from the ESPN App. I guess Jordan's furniture won't have to pay all that money back to customers. It would have been great to see, though. 

Yesterday's #VerseLove was to use a piece of art to inspire the language of the day. I had a series of photos from For Which It Stands, the art exhibit on campus this Spring (as we worked with it while reading Victory Stand). I've also been reading another book about the Canterbury School of Connecticut founded by Prudence Crandall, so the national anthem has been on my mind again. That's where I began to doodle.

But this morning, I shall be cooking (well peeling potatoes and carrots, and prepping the ham. It's been a minute since I made creamed potatoes, but I'm excited for a traditional Easter Dinner. 

Here's to another NCAA Final Four game day.

Ick-phrases for Which It Stands

b.r.crandall

I’m thinking about Reuben, again,

Prudence’s brother. The one

arrested for being an abolitionist 

while his sister ran away from 

chopped-up kitty cats meant

to scare Sarah Harris & Mary

Elizabeth Miles.

K-K-Kuz

we’ve always

lived two

interpretations

of our red, white,

& doo-doo…

…these anthems.

the ways they tread

on the rest of us.

land of the free…

home of the brave.

It’s an off-key anthem

after all, Frances Scott,

sung to shackle

human

dignity

at the

core.

O say can we see.

Leilya Petra, a Colleague for Louisianna, Pitched #VerseLove26 Poem #2 Perfectly with a Prompt to Write About Everyday Small Things

Poetry is funny, especially with #VerseLove because you never know what the prompt will be  when you wake up or what you might want to write about. Yesterday, dad slept in and Cynde came by to ready mom for another medical procedure. She brought over goods from Geddes bakery which I instantly used to, perhaps, leverage a bath and episode of shaving. He was hesitant about all of it, but his sweet tooth always gets the better of him. When Cynde brought the goods back to the kitchen, he instantly started underdressing on the couch. I took advantage of the moment and started shaving him right where he was (bringing a vacuum cleaner in to suck it all up...he looks like a vagabond in 18 layers of clothing (including a new jacket I brought up from Connecticut). 

Mom reported she pooped out a little woman (a joke from whatever stupid show she was watching a couple of nights ago) and Cynde moved to get her back to Upstate Hospital. On Daddy duty, I had a poem to write, simply by recording the moments as they are right now.

 Thursday Morning, April 2, 2026 

On his planet of animals,

River Monsters replace the red-head 

reporting from News Channel 12…

…the one who smears her

    eyebrows with red-velvet frosting

and discusses birthright citizenship 

& presidents.

We’re siting by the bay window

waving at people who drive by…

…perhaps those he once knew,

      with busy lives

                     and places to be.

I did not know a Westinghouse t.v.

could reach volume 52…

but I do now,

               as my mother watches the ways Robins build nests

on his once-used fishing poles in the garage

from her Ring-Doorbell camera  on an iPad —

                    the same birds that have been shitting

on my new car…. the wilderness

 trekking across state lines.     

Why do I have to shower,

he complains. No one else does.

Apple fritters and pies

    bought by my sister as a

    bribe to shave him.

A mirror, chapstick, and salt & pepper shakers 

sit on stained napkins besides him -

 - ones with therapeutic 

directions listing all the ways

he’s supposed to get physical…

his warehouse for plucked nose hairs & nail clippings,

a flashlight, an unplugged clock, and the plastic 

bags of pennies, nickels, and dimes he sometimes sorts.

Right now, he’s petting my dog & wondering what day it is…

     wondering if it is time for him to take out the garbage…

or to lick more sugar from his dentures 

he's pulled form his mouth. 

Well, #VerseLove26, We're At It Again. A Poem a Day for 30 Days. Kicking Off This Year in Syracuse, But I'll Return to My Front Porch. Promise.

Meals on Wheels. Price Chopper. Dog walks. Parental Naps. A Cinnamon Cake (Although he much prefers a pie...the kind of pie served at Cynde's house, I suppose). Prompt one was simply to use "Inside Me There Is," which I used as the title. 

Was thinking about Kris & Dave's Ishy and his love of Basquiat-like artwork which seemed to match the idea of flooding yards in Clay...was also channeling my love of Egger's The Eyes & the Impossible. I'm not done with that book yet, nor the John Donne poem. Jen Dail simply need to find a new outlet for our article, since the original seemed to be one of those pipe dream ideas that fizzled out by the dreamers behind it. Okay, April, where we go.

Inside Me There Is

~brcrandall

a poetic landscape

of winding roads

doodled across

Basquiat swamplands…

I am scribbled like a seagull

above dry lakes & empty seas.

a know man,

an eye, land

ing upon

photographs

charting maps

outside

beyond

boundaries

binaries

aviaries

histories

discovering

this poem. 

With the month, comes the showers in hope of the May flowers. Central New York have offered swamplands the last few weeks. 

It's Officially April, #VerseLove, so Today Will End the Last Post Until My Poetic Shenanigans Cease in May. For Today, an Achievement

I have to applaud Meals on Wheels. Daily, they arrive with a warm meal and a cold one every morning...the drivers are kind and gracious, the food preparation greatly appreciated, and the savings of time outstanding. The one gripe Cynde and I have had is with peeling off the plastic wrap on the top because it shreds and turns into a mess. Yesterday, however, I successfully peele the plastic off two meals without any issues. I had to photograph and send her way. Ta-Da! Look at me.

The classes are taught for the week and now for grading and administrative rolls for the rest of the week. I hear it's a holiday, too. Something about resurrections, Cadbury eggs, and bunny rabbits. I just want to maintain peace and tranquility. 

Today, however, I need meal prep for me a little better. Last night's dinner sucked. I ate frost-bit Samosas I bought and stored in the freeze a few trips ago. They tasted alright, but were not the best.

As for the rain...it's welcome to depart at any time, although the forecast is rain, rain, rain. Wednesday and Thursday the temperatures drop, too. It'll warm up, with rain, for the weekend.

In the meantime, I am thrilled to report that my mom made me watch a television show where a man pooped out a little man. 

This is why I don't watch television. 

Poor guy was constipated out of fear he'd poop out another. 

Hello, April. Perhaps this was a poem after all.