Ani Rocks

Ani

When I was in high school, Ani DiFranco was all the rage. I'd never heard of her before my first day, but it seemed that her songs wafted out of the windows of every girl's dorm room on campus. Her lyrics were plastered all over everyone's online profiles. My friend Meredith did an art project inspired by her song "Little Plastic Castle." Ani was everywhere. Several friends made me mix tapes either featuring Ani or else made up entirely of her songs. I, too, found her melodies infectious and her lyrics thought-provoking. The summer before my senior year, I visited my friend Virginia in San Francisco and we went to Ani's concert at the Berkeley Bowl. For a girl who had grown up in a small, conservative farm town, this was an eye-opener. Ani is a feminist icon. She identifies as bisexual and most of her song lyrics were about relationships with women. Looking around at the other concert-goers, I felt like I was in a movie; one man was wearing a flowing, flowered skirt that matched his girlfriend's. Lesbian couples looped their arms around each other's waists. It's funny to think about now, but my eyes nearly popped out of my head back then. If you'd asked me, I'd have said that I absolutely supported gay rights, but it was sort of like lobbying to save the polar bears when you'd never been to the North Pole or seen one up close. I knew it was the right thing to do by instinct but had no direct experience with homosexuality or anyone more than just a touch liberal. After the opening act, though, I found my eyes glued to Ani, and there they stayed. She was a fantastically magnetic performer, and Virginia and I sang and bobbed along until I didn't feel out of place anymore.

I was excited to get an invitation to attend another of Ani's concerts last night from my friend Lia, a former classmate who also lives in New York. Lia was also an Ani fan during high school, but she's remained much more in the know than I have. She's up to date on Ani's albums and has seen her perform lots of times. One of her friends used to be Ani's drummer, and she knew all about Ani's husband and five-year-old daughter Petah (pronounced "pita"). She told me all this as we leaned against the stage at the Bowery Ballroom and waited for the show to start. I had a dentist appointment after work and so was delayed in meeting Lia, who showed up to wait in line half an hour before the doors even opened. Her patience was rewarded, however; she scored us spots literally against the front of the stage and made some friends, including a friendly guy who spent most of the concert waving at Petah in the wings, and a rather strange guy who had flown all the way from New Mexico just to see this concert. Goodness. 

Melissa Ferrick

Melissa Ferrick opened for Ani. When most people think of feminist musicians they think of hard-faced, angry women who yell their lyrics into the microphone. While this style doesn't describe Ani in the least, it fit Melissa to a T. She crackled with nervous energy, moving continuously in jumpy little jerks. She wore fitted men's pants and a button-down collared shirt topped with a vest and suit jacket. Her hair stuck up in a long, haphazard pompadour that bobbed crazily around her head as she moved. She was funny but bitter at the same time, and even her "happy song" had a melancholy air to it; a girl standing behind us had tears streaming down her cheeks as she sang along about not being afraid to be who you are. Most of her songs were angry though, and she twisted up her face as she sang so much so that several times I thought she'd burst into tears herself. She showered the microphone with spit. Apparently she's had a rough month, and based on her lyrics a lot of it is due to a failed relationship. Poor Melissa. She's a very talented musician, though, and I really enjoyed seeing her.

Then Ani came onto the stage, and the crowd behind us exploded. Although I saw her more than ten years ago, she didn't really look much different. She was wearing a white, ribbed tank top and olive green utility pants over black boots. The only jewelry she wore was a single silver ring on her right pointer finger (if you don't count finger tattoos as jewelry. I don't.) She beamed as she strolled onto the stage with the first of about ten guitars slung over her shoulder, and kept beaming throughout the set. I don't think I've ever been to a show where the audience showered the performer with more adoration. It was several minutes before it was quiet enough for Ani to tell us how happy she was to be there, and then the room exploded with whoops and clapping again. Ani played a mixture of old and new songs, which I appreciated, as I am unfamiliar with her newer material and was pleased to hear songs I knew and loved. The lull between every song was filled with screams of "We love you Ani!" "You rock!" "You're the best!" etc. She somehow left out the third verse of one song, and pointed it out after the song ended and just as one of her fans was pledging her undying admiration. "That's great," Ani beamed. "No third verse? No problem. Keep it up with that unconditional shit." Not only did Ani sing, she couldn't seem to stop chatting with us. Ani loves to talk, and she's a very dynamic talker. She made a comment at the end of one song about the G note, then paused and looked out over our heads. "Did I ever tell you about the time I played on a Prince album?" she asked, just as though she was sitting with each one of us individually over cups of coffee. She launched into a hilarious story (has there ever been a story about Prince that is not hilarious?) that had us all in stitches. She bobbed around, grinning and showering us with her clever, insightful lyrics. She read us a poem she'd written about "the 'p' word" (which turned out to be "patriarchy"). She talked politics, interspersing her sharp observations with tongue-in-cheek commentary that kept me riveted. I think one of the most appealing things about Ani is her ability to be both outspoken and charming at the same time. Instead of coming off as strident and grating, like so many feminists and liberals can, she's just, for lack of a better word, lovable.

Needless to say, I had a great time at the concert and am inspired all over again to listen to more of Ani's quirky, funny, insightful music. I highly recommend that the uninitiated check her out; visit her page at her label Righteous Babe Records (how cool is that??) or YouTube some of her songs for a taste of her style. Some of my favorites are "Virtue," "Little Plastic Castle," "Deep Dish," "Napoleon," "32 Flavors," "Anticipate," "Roll With It," and "Angry Anymore," to name just a few.

Ed's Wild Ride

Last Saturday, Ed met his friend Scott and a group of other cyclists at Penn Station at 5:00 A.M. They spent the next 10 hours riding their bikes to Montauk, a small town 150 miles away from Manhattan. (For the record, Ed thinks he could have done it at least 2-3 hours faster, but he took his time and cruised.) I'll pause for a few seconds to let the sheer lunacy of this sink in.

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Got it? OK, good. I drove out there with Scott's girlfriend Genevieve to pick up the boys and their bikes. Under normal circumstances the drive should be about three hours, but there was stop and go traffic through much of Queens and the Hamptons, meaning that we spent closer to 5 hours getting there; the trip back was much quicker. To make matters worse, Scott's car is a manual, which Genevieve didn't know how to drive, so I ended up spending all of my time behind the wheel. I felt like I used about as much energy pumping the clutch as Ed did pumping his pedals. (This is a ridiculous conclusion.) And while I was grinding my teeth in standstill traffic, Ed and Scott were rolling through lovely, green countryside and enjoying rest stops stocked with water, Gatorade, and PIE. No one offered me any damn pie. But it was very beautiful, and Genevieve was excellent company and a great navigator. The course ended by a lighthouse on a point with lovely ocean views, and the weather couldn't have been more lovely, though I'd have loved about ten more degrees... I also got to ride on a car ferry for the first time, which was quite exciting. At the end of the course, there were trailers with showers in them for the cyclists to use, so Ed was a pleasant dinner and driving companion instead of being a smelly and salty one.


This was my first time at Montauk, and I look forward to going back again and checking it out further. I'll probably take the train next time so that I don't have to worry about traffic. It's lovely in summer, but I'd like to go in winter, too. People think I'm crazy, but I think it would be pretty fantastic to see snow on a beach. And I'll bet there will be virtually no traffic.

Ed Tris and Succeeds

My boyfriend has been relentlessly training for a summer filled with triathlons since... February? March? I can't even remember, but it seems like forever. He does two workouts most days and absolutely thrashes himself, so he was very excited about testing his mettle at Tri #1 last weekend. This was to be a sprint tri, so it seemed like a good way to kick off the season. Olympic distance tris, the longer ones which Ed has been training for, require competitors to swim for almost a mile (1.5k), bike for 25 miles, and run a little over 6 (10k). Sprint triathlons cut most of those distances in half: after a half mile swim, competitors bike 10 miles and then run 3. This one, the Seaside Sprint, was to take place in Connecticut on Sunday morning, so Ed and I drove up Saturday afternoon. I'd gotten up early to run a race of my own that morning, so I napped in the hotel room while Ed fiddled with his bike, drank Gatorade, and lovingly fingered his new wetsuit.


It was a good thing I got that nap in, because we left for the course the following morning a little after 5:00. The gun was scheduled to go off at 6:30, but they were closing the transition area at 6:00 and Ed wanted to be sure to stake out a good spot. Once there, he registered and had his number written on his arm and his age written on his calf in Sharpie. He organized his bike and running stuff in the transition area in such a way that he could get to them quickly, while I busied myself with people watching. This was a fairly small tri, with 270 competitors of both sexes and all ages. The gulf between the different skill/commitment levels was huge. Some people looked horribly out of shape while others seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and sinew. Some had state of the art, aerodynamic bikes and helmets while others strapped running shoes onto their feet and mounted old road bikes that looked like they'd been in the garage for at least 30 years. It was all pretty interesting, though I noted that sophistication of equipment did not always correlate with performance; it turned out that the guy who lined up in nothing but a Speedo finished long before most of his wetsuit-clad contenders.

Ready to go (with his cheerleader)

Start of the swim

Ed finished getting his equipment set up, pulled on his wetsuit, and joined the group on the beach. After instructions about the course, he lined up and then they were off. It was very exciting to watch them go charging into the surf. They ran out a little farther, and then a little farther. And then they kept running. On shore, we spectators began to look quizzically at each other. Was the water ever going to get deeper? After two or three minutes, it did, and the runners-turned-swimmers made it to the first buoy and swam parallel to the shore until they reached a second one and turned for home. I lost Ed pretty much immediately, so I was relieved to see him running out of the water, pulling off his wetsuit and goggles as he went. (Hey, people drown in these things sometimes.) 

Goofy aerodynamic helmet? Check.

The competitors had to run from the water to the transition area, where they stripped off all their swimming things and leapt onto bikes. Ed had his shoes already clipped to the pedals, so he ran with his bike to the exit of the transition area, jumped on, and began to pedal with his feet on top of his shoes. He raced off, and when I saw him again he'd gotten his shoes on. The bike course was made up of 3 laps, and I lost him after the first one as all the other people made it out of transition and joined the laps, too. Of the three sports, swimming is Ed's worst and biking his best, so he was looking forward to making up ground during the bike. He did, too, passing several people who'd swum faster than he did. (I know this because he told me, not because I saw it happen. He was in view for only moments during the whole event.)

Then it was on to the run. Back in transition, Ed racked his bike and pulled on his running shoes, which have cool laces that cinch down instead of tying to save time, and was off again. The running wasn't exactly riveting to watch. The course led the runners away from the transition area to a point 1.5 miles down the shore, at which point they turned back again. It was fun to watch them come in, though. Ed seemed to finish with the front part of the pack. He gave me a sweaty hug, then dashed off to check his results, which were posted quickly. He ended up finishing 15th overall and 2nd in his age group, a result he was very pleased with.

Ed posing with 1st and 3rd place in his age group

The most interesting prize awarded was to a thin man with a thick, gray ponytail. Sunday was his 80th birthday, and so he won the first, and only, prize in his age group. It was pretty impressive. He looked like he was in his 60s, but then everyone there seemed to look younger than the age written on the back of their calves. Apparently competing in tris is the fountain of youth. 

After taking his picture with the other place winners, I escorted Ed to a huge breakfast and we drove back to New York. His next big tri will be in July. I think I am as excited to watch it as he is to run it!

A Midsummer Night's Dream

In seventh grade, my incomparable English teacher guided my class through both a reading and a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. (I played both a fairy and Flute, one of the tradesmen who rehearses and performs "Pyramus and Thisbe" for Duke Theseus and his court.) It's been one of my favorite Shakespearean plays ever since, so when I saw that the New York Ballet Company was going to perform it, I leapt at the chance to buy tickets.

Puck, with the magic flower, watches Helena moon over the sleeping Demitrius.

Ed and I saw it last night, and while it was not what I expected, I was not disappointed. As we waited for the curtain to open, Ed wondered aloud whether someone who didn't know the story would be able to follow it without the words. I wondered the same thing, but by the end I was convinced that the intricate plot, while shortened and simplified, was definitely clear. I was surprised to discover, however, that there were only two acts, and that the entire story is told in the first act! The second act begins at a wedding ceremony for Lysander and Hermia, Demetrius and Helena, and Theseus and Hippolyta, and then continues with plotless dances all glorifying true love. I wouldn't have belived it if you'd told me that the whole plot could be conveyed clearly in a little over an hour through dance, but it certainly was.

I loved the choreography and thought the dancers themselves performed brilliantly. Each managed to make his/her character completely unique by the way they moved their bodies. Both Puck and Titania could perform exactly the same leap, but Puck could use it to convey his barely contained energy and mischievious nature, while the imperious Titania made it look dignified, graceful, and regal. The music was beautiful as well (Mendelssohn is the composer) and while ballets are generally set to purely instrumental music, this one surprised us with a small group of sopranos in the orchestra pit who sang some of the loveliest passages in the play, like the lullaby the fairies sing to Titania as she falls asleep and the benediction Oberon and Titania speak after they have made up at the end.

Enchanted Titiania fawning over enchanged Bottom

A Midsummer Night's Dream is one of the Shakespeare's funniest plays. I'd never seen a funny ballet before, so this was a first for me. Lysander and Demetrius were hilarious as they chased each other through the forest, occasionally spotting each other and engaging in love-addled duels until Puck, with his own sword, pulled them apart and led them in different directions for his own amusement. Even Hermia and Helena had a spat, pulling each other's hair and flailing until Puck separated them, too. And of course Nick Bottom was very funny as a donkey, looking longingly at piles of hay as Titania cuddled him, to his great bemuseument.


This put me in the mood for more Shakespeare. Luckily, there are plenty of opportunities in New York. I'm going to start entering the daily lottery for free Shakespeare in the Park tickets again this summer (not sure what they're performing, but I'm sure it will be good), and, failing that, there's always Shakespeare in the Parking Lot.

Barcelona: Dos

I woke several times during the night to the sound of booming thunder and driving rain. When I finally opened my eyes for good and peered out the window, I saw that heavy rain was still pounding into huge, spreading puddles. I'd slept pretty late, which wasn't really all that surprising given the late night I'd had in a different time zone. After reading for a bit, I wandered downstairs to find Ferran. He poured me a cup of coffee in the kitchen, and I looked out the window as I sipped it to see hail bouncing out of the sky. Ferran said it was a good thing I'd seen all of Barcelona the day before. We foraged in the kitchen for a bit, and then a quick online search told me that the Picasso Museum was not only open on Sundays, but free! Perfect for a rainy/hail-y day. 

As we waited for the train, things were clearing up a little bit, though it would drizzle on and off throughout the day. Because the weather was improving, Ferran decided that we should go to the National Art Museum to check out the view for a bit before going to the Picasso Museum. I was glad we did. The museum itself was beautiful, from the outside, at least; we did not end up going in. The best part, though, was the view. It's on top of a fairly high hill, and after climbing up endless stairs, we had a lovely vista of Barcelona with Mt. Tibidabo in the background. I remembered seeing the museum from Tibidabo the day before, so it was sort of cool to get a perspective of the city from the opposite side.

View from halfway up the museum hill. Mt. Tibidabo is the highest point in the range of hills in the distance.

From there, we headed back into the heart of old Barcelona and toured the Picasso Museum. It was pretty cool. His work was arranged by period, and as this was a guy who went through a LOT of very different periods there were lots of rooms and surprises around every corner. I really liked seeing the chronological progression of his career. Everyone thinks of cubism and "Guernica" when they think of Picasso, but when he began drawing and painting his work was very realistic. He ventured into more experimental art only later, once he had pretty well mastered capturing real life as it actually looked. (Contrast his early painting of the doctor and patient above with his later self-portrait below.) One whole room was filled up with Picasso's reinterpretations of Velazquez's "Las Meninas." I didn't know he'd done these, and they were fascinating. Each one was different, and he must have spent months, or even years, churning these out. Google it if you're bored one day - it's interesting stuff.

We finished the evening with beer and authentic tapas, which meant lots of fried things and bowls of olives at a seedy bar. Then we headed back to Ferran's place, where his father had just returned from hanging out at the family's new vineyard/winery. They've owned it for a few years, and it's only just starting to be productive. He brought me a bottle of their very first red, which survived the trip back to the US and which I am excited to try. The next morning, after picking up some manchego and jamon for Ed and the people back at the office, I boarded a plane and was back home in plenty of time to get a full night's sleep before work on Tuesday.

It was a whirlwind trip to be sure, and much like my trip to Paris in that I got a taste of a country I'd like to explore much more. But it was a great taste, and I can't wait to go back!

Barcelona: Uno

I get more days off than the average nine-to-fiver, for which I am very grateful. My days off do not roll over, however, and so I was bound and determined to use every one of of them before my opportunity to do so expired on May 29th of this year. In late April, I realized that I had one left that I had no plans for, so hastily got in touch with my friend Ferran. Ferran and I met in grad school. We were not in the same program, but we lived on the same hall in the dorm for a while. He became one of my closest friends and we spent lots of time together before last summer, when he finished his coursework and headed back home to Barcelona. He had been bugging me to visit, so I decided to find out if he was serious about hosting me for a few days. He was. Turns out that a weekend trip to Europe is pretty do-able from the east coast, as Ed and I demonstrated with our jaunt to Paris in April. So the weekend before Memorial Day, I hopped a plane for Spain.

After a smooth, Ambien-dominated plane ride, Ferran picked me up at the airport and we headed immediately to Mount Tibidabo to check out the view. The forecast called for rain, but it was mostly just cloudy as we drove up the narrow, winding road. We stopped at a turnout along the way for a view of Barcelona and the ocean spread out below us:

There is a large church on top of Tibidabo and, of all things, a small amusement park. The carousel, mild-looking "roller coaster," plane on a robotic arm, etc. weren't exactly overrun with customers. Perhaps it was the weather. Anyway, Ferran and I drank coffee and he pointed out interesting areas in the panorama at our feet.

Next stop was Parc Güell . I took a Facebook poll about must-see attraction in Barcelona and everybody said this was a key spot to visit. The park was designed by the revered architect Gaudi and was filled with whimsical features inspired by nature. We wandered under a covered area held up by a series of columns rising up at irregular angles which reminded me either of mushroom stalks or tree trunks, then through a sort of tunnel made to look like a cresting wave from the inside. More walking revealed that roof above the covered area was actually the underside of a large, elevated plaza surrounded by a very long, curving bench decorated with mosaic tiles. There were nice views of the park and the surrounding city from the edges. The park was very nice, but quite crowded. I liked it a lot, and I think if I'd just stumbled upon it without warning I'd have been mightily impressed. As it was, the place had been hyped up so much that I was a tiny bit disappointed. Honestly, I don't think the Garden of Eden could have lived up to all the praise my friends heaped upon Parc Güell.

Plaza bordered by a bench in the Parc

After lunch and a much-needed shower at Ferran's parents' house (it is located in a suburb of Barcelona and is beautiful and filled with eastern art), we set off into the city. The clouds had cleared, and it was a good thing, because Ferran had planned a walking route that can most loosely be described as comprehensive. (It ended up lasting about six hours.) We started at the famous Sagrada Familia cathedral, another brainchild of Gaudi's. It is still very much under construction with no end in sight. Many people have said that it looks like it is melting, and I can't disagree. I liked it, but it was hard to label it a "cathedral" in my head, as it was so advante garde. (I went into several other cathedrals later which were beautiful and much more traditional.) The line to go in was enormous, so we didn't even try.

Sagrada Familia, with its ever-present cranes

Next, we walked along a wide, tree-lined avenue between streets for a while. There were benches and playgrounds scattered here and there, and it was all very  nice. Then we turned down a narrower street and Ferran announced that we were in Gracia, a very popular neighborhood of late. Gracia was, for all intents and purposes, a barrio; the buildings were all two or three stories high and left little space between for streets. (The picture to the left isn't really as typical example since there is a sunny cross street so close by. It made this little street seem brighter, whereas most of the rest of the neighborhood was fairly dim.) Still, there were bright murals on the walls and lots of little cafes. Further, the longish stretches of cobblestone were punctuated by open squares in which churches, basketball courts, cafes, and playgrounds drew people to spend the afternoon. Ferran said that the squares were what allowed the barrio to breathe. The place felt very friendly and vibrant. Ferran compared it to Brooklyn; it used to be sort of a dodgy area, but it's becoming increasingly hip.

From humble Gracia, we headed for Passeig de Gracia. This was sort of like a leafier, somewhat less crowded version of 5th Avenue here in New York. There were loads of designer stores, as well as two more buildings designed by Gaudi. Ferran walked up to a tall building and pulled a tricky move by telling a hotel conceierge through an intercom that we were guests in room #2. Fooled, the concierge unlocked the main door of the building. We went inside, giggling, and took the elevator straight to the roof where we gazed down on Plaza Catalunya, a large, fountain-adorned square. 

Next stop: Las Ramblas. This is a very famous shopping street that has turned very touristy, unfortunately. Apparently it used to be really well known for selling pets, and tourists could gawk at iguanas, ferrets, and tropical birds as they strolled between the graceful trees. But there's a law against that now, and most of the little kiosks sell either postcards/keychains/t-shirts or flowers. I had read that this place was a haven for pickpockets, and I could see why: It was packed with people, and I heard more Italian and French than Spanish. Ferran pointed out prostitutes lounging around here and there, too; it's not legal in Spain and they didn't look like prostitutes, but apparently it's a huge problem in this particular district. There was a lovely tile mosaic by Miro in the middle of the street, which we stumbled upon unexpectedly. It sort of reminded me of the way the Gaudi buildings were just scattered throughout this beautiful city, where art is part of the landscape instead of being consigned only to museums. We turned into a covered market called La Boqueria, where wares from fruit to chocolate to hocks of smoked ham were piled everywhere, but it was so crowded we didn't spend much time. This was too bad, as I'd have liked to wander around for a bit. I love that kind of thing. Ferran says that very few locals shop there anymore, as the crowds have gotten too bad.

Giant Miro mosaic on Las Ramblas

Hanging pig parts in La Boqueria

Rambla del Born at night

We walked through the Gothic section of town next. It reminded me of a rabbit warren, with dark, narrow streets that all seemed to smell like urine. Somehow, it managed to be both pleasant and spooky at the same time. Interesting as it all was, I was pleased, to emerge on the beach, an area called Barceloneta, after about 20 minutes of tortuous meandering. The sun was just beginning to think about setting, and so I was very surprised to see a clock showing that it was almost 9:00! Ferran confirmed that this was correct; it stays light very late in Barcelona in summer. We walked along a stretch of beach lined with hotels, sand volleyball courts, and stacks of lounge chairs ready to be rented to patrons the next day. Dinner was at a fantastic seafood restaurant near the harbor with a beautiful view of the water and the city. We ordered a bunch of things to try, but my favorite by far was the paella. I also discovered that a fish called hake a) exists, and b) is delicious. Stuffed, we wandered back through another neighborhood called Rambla del Born, which was only slightly less populated now that it was night. The streetlights, which I had hardly noticed during the day, were beautiful.

Somehow, our route took us back through the Gothic quarter again, where Ferran showed me an eerie reminder the not-so-distant violence in Spain's past. During the Civil War, Spanish and Catalan people fought in this city. During one battle, Spaniards chased a group of Catalans through the narrow corridors of the Gothic quarter. The Catalans raced toward an ancient church, knowing that inside it they would find sanctuary from the Spanish bullets. Most of them were too late. They were gunned down feet away from the doors. The church's facade is still pockmarked with bullet holes. Most other walkers wandered right by the wall, either uninformed or unmoved by its past. I felt lucky to have Ferran as a tour guide.

Bullet holes outside the church door

We had a quick beer, but my long night and longer day were beginning to catch up with me. We caught a train back to Ferran's suburb and I fell into bed a little after 2:00 in the morning (Spanish time), wondering what could possibly be on the agenda for tomorrow since we had seen virtually the whole city already.

Warm and Fuzzy

My boss attended a retirement ceremony for an educator with whom my learning center has worked closely for a long time. She wasn't officially affiliated with us, but she really liked our work and sent a lot of families to us for assessment, then helped them implement our suggestions. The good doctor is sort of a touchy-feely guy, and he wrote us the following email about his experiences at the ceremony. Makes me feel pretty good about the work I do:

Dear Colleagues,

I just wanted to share with you my experience last night attending the reception honoring Laurie Boone Hogen’s retirement from the Resurrection Episcopal Day School (REDS).  First, Laurie publicly acknowledged our work, our influence on her work, and what we have done to help REDS and their families.  We even had reserved seats in the front row at the Church of the Resurrection, which was a wonderful experience and not something that happens to us every day.  By the way, it doesn’t look particularly impressive on the outside, but was magnificent on the inside. 

Over the course of the evening, I was approached by numerous families that we have seen over the years.  The theme was consistent.  They thanked us for helping them recover their hope after it was dashed by their child’s result on the ERB’s.  Next they told me how our profile helped them anticipate and understand what was to come.  One mother in particular told me that when her child’s teacher shares what she is finding out about her abilities, she smiles both because she enjoys hearing it, but also because it confirms what she already knew based on what she learned from us.  Finally, I was approached by the Chair of their Board and the President of the Parent’s Association to make sure that we would still be available to support their staff and families. 

As I reflect on all of the feedback that I received last might, I feel fortunate to be able to do this work, privileged to collaborate with each of you, and grateful to each of your for what you bring to this important work every day.  I also felt that, with Laurie’s retirement, the children of our city will be losing an important advocate for their inherent right to become who they are meant to be and not be defined by labels, scores, or other’s expectations, biases, or needs.  Those of you who know Laurie know that she is irreplaceable.  However, we must all make sure that we don’t ever lose sight of those values and redouble our efforts.

I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, take a deep breath as another academic year is winding down, reflect on your important contributions to this work, and think about the exciting road ahead.

Thank you all for being who you are and for being part of our team.