I’m not often one short of language, but I’ve neglected this blog for months waiting for the right, best words to express my wonder at what a grandchild brings. Still no best words, odd for one others might even call glib. Nevertheless, and, with apologies for my narrative inadequacies in this case, it’s time to try. Avery Anne was born on Veterans’ Day just over three months ago, and I’ve been totally smitten since. Lindsay, my daughter, has been transformed into “Avery’s mother.” Joe, my son-in-law, has been demoted as he put it this weekend to “Avery’s transportation manager.” It’s not that we love Lindsay and Joe any less, it’s simply that we’ve discovered a love so new, so compelling, so full of unlimited promise and unfettered joy, that all else steps back to allow this glow. So now, we have a cradle in one of the guest bedrooms, a growing array of toys, and a soon to be overflowing basket of Good Night, Moon and its family of children’s books. I’m called back to when the cradle was for Marissa and Lindsay, when we built towers of blocks, and when we snuggled with them to read and “find the mouse” on each page. And I’m drawn forward to when Avery will read the books to us, work with me to build the puzzles, and bait her own hook!

Full disclosure: I’m writing this while sipping my second cup of coffee, having been up for several hours this morning. Education Week carries a provocative front page article today ‘Smart Pills’ Promising, Problematic: Brain-enhancing Drugs Stir Safety, Ethics Debates. The article spotlights what it calls an “explosion” in the availability and use of such drugs as Ritalin and commercial drinks like NeuroFuel (called nootropics, and which includes the aforementioned caffeine) and raises predictable questions attendant to such practices. For several years I’ve read occasionally about the potential and actual effects of such drugs to improve concentration, focus, and organizational sense. When I was a school principal (total of 19 years across grades preK-12; four different school systems) I was directly involved with students and families for whom such drugs were a part of their lives helping children cope with the challenges of ADHD, ADD and the like. In many cases parents, educators and the children themselves felt that such drugs were essential to learning and success in school and life. Occasionally I’d find myself engaged in dialogues where either the family or we educators, but not both at the same time, wanted to explore the possible positive effects of such drugs in efforts to “make learning possible.” However, as I read today’s article I cringed a bit. Perhaps it’s that I’m anticipating my first grandchild within the next couple of weeks, or perhaps it’s that my second cup of coffee has become so socialized (in fact, creates social opportunities), or perhaps it’s my sad acceptance that Lance Armstrong used performance enhancing drugs with such utter disregard for “what is right.” So, in briefly trying to unpack my own reactions, a few high points emerged. In a culture where it is increasingly common for parents to “red-shirt” their children from traditional kindergarten entry age in order to ensure little Bobby is actually a little bigger Bobby relative to his school peers, it’s probably not much of a leap for little Bobby to soon be seen needing one of these nootropics, particularly once a critical mass of his peers have also been red-shirted. Even if research convinces us that there are no ill effects (unlikely to be sure, since even my Starbucks will cause tremors and speed-talking if I have a third cup soon), wouldn’t access to such drugs simply expand the existing gap between the haves and the have-nots in terms of educational success and ultimate employability? If we already bemoan that the rich get richer, shouldn’t we be concerned about practices that help the rich get smarter as well if that were to deepen existing gulfs of hope and achievement? No more caffeine for me this morning, though I will have another cup around 3:00. I’ll close hoping that parents, educators, and doctors all will give nootropics for learning enhancement the same wide berth we too slowly deemed appropriate for steroids and athletics.

"Count your blessings." An admonition across generations to the point of cliche. It began simply enough; "Excuse me, sir; I think there's an envelope there with my name on it.". She spoke her name as I turned to help. I turned back, envelope in hand, a split second for memory to spin and stop. I introduced myself and started to ask the, "Are you...?" question when she interrupted with her version. This woman had been an eighth grader when I became the principal of her school---her final year there, my first. Thirty-two years ago. As we spoke past the platitudes, I found the thirteen-year-old in her eyes. She told me in some detail of the layered struggles she has battled on behalf of her son and his myriad physical and cognitive challenges. She conveyed no sadness, no anger; rather a focused acceptance and determination to provide for her son. We nodded and smiled at the perhaps not so random reunion, wished each other well, and I returned to my office counting my blessings.

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!”