Have you noticed how many “blueprints” are sprouting out there recently? As soon as I wrote that I realized readers might accuse me of opening like Andy Rooney, but, really, there are a lot of blueprints lately. The president refers to his blueprint for America. There’s a blueprint for improving health care. And the Stern Center and collaborators recently crafted the Vermont Blueprint to Close the Achievement Gap for Vermont learners. The appeal of the metaphor, and it is a metaphor since none includes digital schematics of any kind, seems to be the confidence imbued in the word. Blueprints make dreams and visions practical. Blueprints define and specify what goes where. Blueprints convey a professional language and imagery that confronts “What we want” with “What will it take?”
In the case of the Blueprint to Close the Achievement Gap, the blueprint is based on decades of ever evolving research about the brain, language, learning, and how best to ensure that all learners learn. What we all (a wide range of collaborators across education, business, public policy makers, legislators, the governor) want is a Vermont where all learners achieve, where the present gaps framed by poverty, disability, and learning differences disappear in the wake of effective instruction and intervention. What it will take is sustained focus, intentional momentum, mutual and collective accountability, and financial support for the essential training, tooling, and restructuring needed to do what we know how to do. The trick is to make sure that this Blueprint doesn’t end up simply one of those charming artifacts someone dusts off when exploring the attic of reform. This time, we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen!

When is the last time you moved into a new house, condo or apartment? Even if it was years ago, I bet that question caused some involuntary reflex about the stresses, challenges, and ultimate pleasures that the process brought you. It’s not for nothing that psychologists include moving to a new home on lists of most stressful events. We at the Stern Center have just completed a move to a new building, consolidating from two into one which will save us in operating expenses and bring all local programs and services under one roof. Six years ago Jill and I moved to a new home after 30 years in the first one, so I’m familiar with the dynamics of planning, implementing, celebrating, and boxes, boxes, boxes. This move for the Stern Center was similar in all dimensions. Thanks to excellent leadership for the move, we had a great system of communication, packing, mapping, labeling, and working together to make it all successful. After one full week in our new home, we’re fully engaged, working on small adjustments such as “which way to turn once I step out of my office to visit colleague X?”, or “which still unpacked box contains that set of reports from the archives?” or “where did I put my new scan-card key?” We still have boxes, and I’m still not able to get from room A to room X every time without a sidetrack, but we’re here, and it’s fabulous! The Stern Center for Language and Learning, 183 Talcott Road, Suite 101, Williston, Vermont.

Motivation sneaks up us sometimes. Today’s my workout rotation for the elliptical, and I’ve been negotiating with myself that I might just skip tonight. Jill’s out until 9:30 for Parent Conferences at school. The cat won’t tell. No one but me will know if I miss a workout tonight. And then I was walking through our Waiting Room and greeted a lady with a simply, “Hi; how are you?” Unlike most folks, she replied that she was fine except for her allergies. I wished her well with that, and she further explained that her swimming always bothered her. Meaning to show interest, I suggested she simply stop swimming. “Oh, I can’t do that! I’m always in training for my next Iron Man.” At first I thought she was jesting, but no, she’s done three and is preparing for the fourth. As I left the building I decided that after all, I can handle 30 minutes on the elliptical.

I hadn’t noticed until I was reviewing the video tape and the photographs that John sat with his arm around his mother throughout the ceremony. We held a “Virtual Ribbon Cutting” to celebrate the new home of the Stern Center and to honor the woman who’s spirit, commitment and generosity made it all possible. Three generations of Cynthia’s family gathered in what John jokingly referred to as “my family reunion” for the Stern Center. Any family reunion brings with it joy, spontaneity, celebration, warmth, and a touch of poignancy for those not present. This event carried all that and more as it gave us all the opportunity to thank the family members for their humbling generosity as enduring benefactors of the Stern Center and its mission supporting all learners. In a most fitting culmination to the more formal ceremonial ribbon cutting, we all enjoyed a housewarming potluck of fabulous food. And in final tribute to the shared warmth and affection of the day, folks lingered to chat in the hallway, the parking lot and even as they walked together to their cars. This is event reminded us all of the importance of family and relationships in all that we do.

When is a stalemate as good as a win? In my case, after six months of weekly chess matches with my father when my typical performance is met with, “That was a great game…you had me on the ropes for a while, but then things turned around.” Or something like that. A couple of weeks ago Dad and I altered our weekly ritual of Als for burgers and fries followed by chess and instead we played at the Friends of the Stern Center Annual Card Party. This was the first year they chose to add chess to the festivities. And we replace fast food with delectable desserts. Early on into our match I became aware that I was controlling the action, and as things progressed and the board thinned out, I could actually feel my heart beating a bit faster recognizing, “I’m actually going to win this, and with an audience no less.” Alas, you know from my opening sentence that I did not. At the moment when he successfully dodged the loss, I was so disappointed that I left my chair and clapped my hands, much to the dismay of the ladies still quietly bidding at nearby tables. In short order, however, I rationalized that finally I hadn’t lost. Maybe I just need dessert and an audience!

My morning commute was nearly 10 minutes longer today thanks to all the yellow busses stopping every 200 yards or so. I’d gotten very frustrated by the time I approached a gentle hill and saw yet another set of red flashing lights just on the other side. I was sure my distance promised that I wouldn’t have to stop AGAIN, but as I down-shifted the MG I realized the driver was still waiting patiently for the family vignette on my left to unfold. A little blonde girl with a pink backpack was just then kissing each of two golden retrievers on the tops of their heads, high-fiving Dad and waving broadly to Mom who stood back a bit with her hands clenched at her chest. The girl finally nearly pranced across the road to board the bus and the row behind me finally got back into commute mode, but I at least was no longer irritated, frustrated, or fed up. I was warmed nearly to the point of tears. Happy New Year!

My office window is ground level and a mere 15 feet from the parking lot. As such it gives me a clear view of arrivals and departures, especially in the summer when I forego the AC preferring fresh air early in the morning. This morning while working at the computer, I noticed two sets of arrivals which both illustrate the impact of our work here at the Stern Center. First, a young mother arrived and as she helped her son out of his car seat they were talking excitedly about the fun he was going to have with his teacher. Before they were fully assembled out of the car his instructor greeted them, and the little guy clapped his hands in reply. An hour or so later another vehicle arrived, this one driven by a woman appearing to be in her 80s who had a front seat passenger also in her 80s and a back seat passenger of about 6 or 7. As the grandmother (?) and her grandson made their way to the building, his primary colored backpack bounced on his shoulders as he skipped to the door. Pretty cool. It’s summer. This is not the beach or the playground, and yet both kids and their adults showed excitement and enthusiasm for being here. That’s what personal, genuine, effective instruction will do!