AMEX or library? I think it’s telling that in my wallet the card in front is my local library ID card, not my American Express, VISA, or MasterCard. Not to suggest that I’m against spending plastic, but I think if I had to surrender those cards, the last to go would be the cardstock library card with rounded corners and my personal bar code. I suspect that my addiction to print began before I was in elementary school, growing up in a house surrounded by books, bookcases, and magazines. My earliest memories of books bring me back to Dick, Jane, and Spot, but that was not yet a hobby much less a lifestyle. By 5th grade or so, I was stalking the school library reading every one of Walter Farley’s Black Stallion novels, consuming the Hardy Boys series, and devouring even encyclopedias and other nonfiction books about explorers, scientists, soldiers, and dinosaurs. In high school I sought extra English classes where The Bible as Literature offered as much as did Shakespeare and Hemingway. No surprise then that I was a lit major in college and eventually became an English teacher, if only for 5 quick years. Now in my late 50’s and working at the Stern Center for Language and Learning (having been a teacher or principal for most of my career to date,) I stalk the local library for intriguing novels, two at a time, every three weeks yielding to my little bar coded membership card. Reading as both hobby and lifestyle. Priceless!

What is there about the alchemy of sports that can so easily change men into boys? Two weeks ago I was told at work that “The Red Sox have called” and assumed immediately that my brother-in-law was playing a joke of some sort. In one of Life’s magical moments, it turned out that the Red Sox did indeed call…to inform us that they had selected the Stern Center to receive $2,500 as one of their 100 Acts of Kindness celebrating the 100th anniversary of Fenway Park…and, that we would receive 4 tickets to a Friday night game..AND that they would present the check to me on the field between home plate and the pitcher’s mound in a pre-game ceremony. Seriously, does it get any better than that? Maybe meeting the players, or sharing a few minutes with Gerry and Don in the NESN booth, but this was really cool even without those extras! Lots of “Personnel Only” access as we were greeted and toured by a series of marketing staff getting ready for the on-field access time. Chatting with the VP for marketing I asked if I could take some souvenir grass. Tongue only slightly in cheek, he told me I’d probably be tackled by security, but that the infield clay was another matter, so I scooped up Fenway clay into my ticket envelope. Once announced we went out toward the pitcher’s mound (I consciously tried to act like I’d done this before but some of the photos reveal the inner 10-year old’s grin of disbelief as we were displayed on the huge centerfield screen, and the announcer described the Stern Center and introduced me to receive the check. Boston lost to Toronto that night, but for about 30 minutes before the first pitch, I was a kid again, win or lose.

Two funerals in five days. Two lives richly lived, touching others in ways at once whispers of intimacy and splashes of joy. Two funerals that truly were more celebrations than sack cloth. Friends and family felt that warm, inviting embrace of lives so full of love that we blinked in wonder, held the hands closest to us, and committed ourselves to live more like Gracie and Bob had. Gracie was seventeen when she died after a ten-year battle with cancer. Bob was seventy-eight when he died in his sleep after five years of health challenges. I knew them both really only through other members of their families, and it was those connections that brought me to both funerals. Two funerals in five days. We sang hymns and, as Gracie’s father described it, a “goofy” rendition of family memories to the tune of The 12 Days of Christmas. We offered comfort to family and to each other. We chuckled and even laughed occasionally through our tears. And in the end, we all stepped outside to brilliant sun and breathtakingly beautiful blue skies where we felt both Gracie and Bob in the gentle summer breeze.

Two wonderful events. One personal, one professional. A year’s planning for each. Guest list content and chemistry important. Invitations elegant, expressive, artful. Celebration, family, friends, joy. Umbrellas for everyone. My older daughter, Marissa, was married 3 weeks ago on the only rainy Saturday out of the last 7. Not just rain, but 36 hours of incessant rain, wind, mist, fog. For what was to have been an outside wedding with grand views of Vermont hillsides, mountains, and a lake. Instead, we had romantic vistas with swirling mist and fog gathering in soft chignons around the valley, slipping and curling along the lakeshore, and whispering at the feet of the wedding party in photo poses. Black umbrellas and white umbrellas (Marissa and Jackson shared a black and white one, of course) dotted the lawn against the pearl gray of the fog. Despite the rains, we enjoyed a spectacular festival of family, friends, and love. The party stretched over 3 days with a crescendo on Saturday and gentle rising and falling on either side. Marissa and Jackson are perfect for each other and perfect for the rest of us who know and love them; being around them for the weekend, everyone felt the magic of romance and commitment. Even the weather could not contain our collective and personal joy. Last week Tuesday, on the only rainy day in the last 7 we at the Stern Center held our Building Dedication ceremony for the Cynthia K. Hoehl Building, our new Williston facility. Not just rain, but nearly horizontal downpours and wind gusts at nearly 30 mph. The tent had been set up the day before in brilliant sun under azure skies, the quintessential Vermont summer day. But the next day, by one hour before the ceremony began in the tent, we’d been following the Weather Channel for 15 minute updates hoping to avoid electrical storms. We did that, but I sat with Rube Goldberg bungee cords strapped to my hands holding down the north wall, and we turned up the PA system so it could compete successfully with the drumming of the tent fabric. The speakers were brief but personal, touching, and inspirational. We rearranged pedestrian traffic to make the shortest trip under umbrella runners back to the building for tours and refreshments. It was a successful event, celebrating the past, present, and future of the Stern Center. Even the weather could not contain our collective spirit. So, while several people who realized my two major weather challenges wondered aloud if I should step aside from helping plan any major special events the rest of the summer, we all were reminded that it’s not the weather or the venue, or even the food or music that makes events special; it’s the people. “Come rain or come shine!”

Having spent most of my adult life in public schools (in that time, 19 years as a principal), I’ve always appreciated the line from Marian Wright Edelman’s book The Measure of Our Success where she writes in part, “…Remember….that many fruits of your labor won’t become manifest for many, many years.” This past year I’ve seen yet another example of that important perspective. I first met Teddy Kusiak when he was a junior in high school having spent the previous year investing many hours of hard work and discipline to get himself back on track academically, emotionally, and athletically. Ted was one of those student/athletes who’d succeeded initially by his charm and achievements only to hit the academic wall as a high school freshman. Those struggles hamstrung him first in the classroom and then in terms of sports eligibility. That year all but dashed his and his parents’ dreams of athletic scholarship supporting a college career. Upon advice of his school counselor, they sought the Stern Center, and Ted reclaimed his dreams over the next year. I have continued to connect with Ted and his father since that year, and was not surprised therefore to read the lead article in a recent Sunday issue of the Burlington Free Press highlighting Ted’s impressive achievements as an NCAA Division 1 track star at the University of Rhode Island. As startling as his track performances continued to be (with the National NCAA’s in the near future), his academic accomplishments are more so. Since drawing himself up out of the ashes of failure and discouragement, Ted gained honor roll status for the balance of high school and went on to his current status as a Dean’s List Senior at URI. For Ted, the “many fruits of his labor” continue to manifest, and we are proud to call him a Stern Center alum.

At half-time I couldn’t wait to stand up, stretch my back and relieve my knees. Seconds after I stood I realized I was still watching fifteen athletes who couldn’t leave their wheel chairs half-time or not. No standing, no stretching, no relief. And yet they were all smiling and laughing while I grimaced to the left and then to the right. I sat back down. My cousin Scott, his teammates and his opponents are all Power Soccer players participating in a rapidly growing international competitive sport. During the game I was struck by how similar it is to the NCAA basketball tournaments which that day were in the semi-final round. In both cases there were startling offensive plays, brilliant passes, occasional defensive genius, and periodic lapses in the game plans. There were also differences. Wheelchairs don’t move as fast or as instinctively as basketball players. When one or more of your hands is not available you choose to “chair bump” instead of “chest bump” after a great play. The New Orleans Superdome holds 70,000+ and only the Neilsons know how many watched on TV, while approximately 120 friends and family gathered without the glare of klieg lights to watch power soccer. As I remained seated and watched the game unfold, I wondered how long it will be before Scott has an agent, a chair contract, sports drink endorsements, and air time on ESPN.

“Hey, Ed; how old are you, anyway?” Soon after we were introduced as Reading Buddies in the Boys and Girls Club’s new mentoring program through Mobius, Richard asked me that question. At least that day at the Club I was clearly an outlier demographic, and I didn’t need Richard’s reminder! Especially after he pointed out that I’m “two of my friend Tom’s mentor.” Generations aside, we’ve dug in to Charlotte’s Web after he informed me that I was “looking at a boy who’s been to a farm and really likes animals.” Richard is 10, attends the local Integrated Arts Academy Elementary School, and prefers to take notes by drawing creative and expressive sketches rather than writing words. He struggles a bit with reading, but is an enthusiastic and engaged listener with an impressive auditory memory, able to recount nearly every detail of what we read last week. We’ve had only two sessions, but this is clearly fun for both of us. So far the pattern is read, play a game or draw together, read. He enjoys taking me around the Club as he greets the staff and others with a first name familiarity that left me asking him, “Are you the mayor here?” We’re working out the details of our buddy system, but I can see why people have encouraged me to be a mentor.