Commencement

Thank you all so much for the kind comments you have left over the last several days. I think the nicest people in the world must read my blog.

The George Washington University graduation was spectacular on many fronts, but not the least was that 10 members of Sara's family were together in the front two rows of the crowd of 22,000.

The picture on the left is from the school's website

Below is the speech given by Sara Ray on May 18, 2008.

As a junior in high school, my mother told me that my best memories of college would be of staying up late with friends solving the world’s problems over leftover pizza. At the time, I thought that sounded like a pretty dim forecast of college. Now, however, six years later, I will very publicly admit that my mother, on THIS point, was correct. Today, I’d like to talk to you about this sentiment, how it relates to my experience at GW and how it assures me that the real world is nothing for us to fear.

First of all, I’d like to thank the remainder of my class for the faith you’ve given me in our generation. For years, people our age have been typecast as apathetic, selfish, close-minded and lacking a social conscience. Our late night discussions, arguments and strategizing over pizza boxes are what have convinced me unfailingly that this characterization is false. In our lives, we’ve seen our environment fade, politics divide our country and we’ve all seen friends sent overseas to Iraq and Afghanistan. Our generation is not one that can afford to be passive and, over our years at GW, we have learned to incorporate that mindset into our studies, friendships and lives. We argue into the wee hours of the morning about what candidate will save our nation, we learn Arabic and Chinese and we innovate with administrators to make our corner of the earth at GW a more ecologically friendly one. Now, as seniors, I am humbled and amazed at the sheer number of my phenomenally qualified peers foregoing lucrative careers to go into the Peace Corps or Teach for America. Our social conscience is alive, and it’s pulsing.

Each one of us has a unique story, a different path through our university poising us to go different places to do different things. I came to GW wanting to be a physics major, a dream that lasted precisely one calculus class. It wasn’t my crushing failures in calculus that convinced me I wasn’t a physicist. Rather, it was the feeling I got when talking about language and culture and its role in building bridges between cultures with my peers that convinced me I was an anthropologist. Interning full time, unpaid with the State Department gave me a passion for education as a mechanism for foreign relations and a dispassion for office jobs. Working on Colonial Cabinet 2006 showed me how much I loved working as a part of a highly energized team. Those experiences now imprinted in my personal history, they’ve led me to the future of my dreams: going to Macedonia for two years to teach English with the Peace Corps.

Every one of us could tell a similar story. Each one of us has an issue or a cause that, no matter what the hour, ignites the deepest passion within us. And I believe many of us have realized that our true calling in life is to address that issue with action. Some of you are holding the solution to the medical crises that plague the planet. A remarkable number of you have been grabbed by the pressing need to help alleviate inequality in our domestic education system. Over four years, I’ve heard many visions of the ideal president and I am not doubtful that he or she sits somewhere in front of me today.

This is the last time that our paths are convergent. A ten-person trip to a restaurant will never again be as simple as a few phone calls and text messages. To this end, I’d like to give credit to my father on being correct when he told me that I would meet people in college who would remain my friends forever. Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 2008, there’s nothing for us to be afraid of. In the past four years, we have honed in on the passions that drive us and found the people who will always hold us up. No matter where you go or what you do, you have found people, sitting with you somewhere here today, that will be there at your wedding, baby shower, bachelor party, retirement party and, if all goes well, will be there wreaking havoc in the nursing home right by your side.

Today is graduation. We are graduating from sitting with friends talking over pizza about how to make the world a better place. Today, everyone, is commencement. It is the beginning. We are graduating from talk and commencing to action to leave this world a better place than we found it. Take the lessons you’ve learned, the friendships you’ve forged, get out into the world and let’s make it work.

Yellow Car!

I'm driving today to Pennsylvania to spend the night with Ethan and then we are driving down together to Washington, DC for Sara's graduation. The rest of the family is flying in at various times but we will all be in the front row at 10:00 on Sunday.

After the last picture has been snapped, Molly and Sara will pack their dorm rooms into my car and we'll drive back to Maine.

We've done this drive many times since Sara's freshman year and it was nice to add Molly to the mix when she started college last Fall.

As we drive, we play a game called "Yellow Car". I think Sara made it up, but maybe it's a game normal people play, too. It involves shouting "YELLOW CAR" any time we see one--it offers various opportunities to argue about the different shades of yellow and whether a car might actually be green or orange--it also offers the opportunity to argue about whether a yellow Hummer or cadilac should be worth extra points (yes). Obviously, utility vehicles, school buses and taxi cabs don't count. There are more yellow cars than there used to be, so the game isn't quite as much fun but I'm sure we'll play it one last time as we drive back from graduation. Maybe Molly and I will come up with a new game for our future drives.

Here's a link to an article in the local paper about Sara's opportunity to give the student commencement speech.

So, Rach just a warning, I will be adding to the yawning silence of the River Valley Blogging Community for a few days. But a P.S., to the River Valley Blogging Community--the teenager has a school commitment and can't go with us so he will be home alone--if you drive by and the house is rockin', people hanging out of the windows, cars parked on my flower beds--well you get the picture--stop in and do the "It takes a village" thing. Thanks!

May flowers

Spring has sprung!

There is still plenty of work to do in the flower beds, but little pieces of beautiful are popping up.

I bought this house in January, 2004 and had no idea of what laid beneath the snow. That first spring was full of surprises that we still marvel at.

Before me, this house was owned by a pastor and his wife and their 8 adoptive and foster kids. They were going to move to a ministry in another state and offered their house to me knowing that I was a single mom, renting a home and operating a law practice out of my living room. The price was one that we were both comfortable with and they moved out and we moved in in a mind boggling short time frame.

The front yard had pretty flower beds with plants that seem coordinated to bloom one after another through the whole season. The back yard is full of raspberry bushes that yield luscious red raspberries for July.

We spent last weekend cleaning out the raspberry patch and were sad to see so many plants broken from the deep snow that has covered them for five months.

This morning a gray catbird came to our kitchen window suet feeder and a dove, two common grackles and two bluejays discovered the feeders in the yard. In other years a dove has nested in our barn, flying in and out through a broken window. I keep meaning to fix the window but once she starts flying in and out of it, it's too late.

Granddad's Iris

My cousin Louis in Tennessee sent me some pictures of the iris blooming in his garden. These are the descendants of some that his mother dug from my grandfather's garden more than 30 years ago.

In Greek mythology, Iris was the Goddess of the rainbow. That seems like a very appropriate name since the beautiful flowers come in so many colors.


It was a treat to get these pictures--they remind me very much of those happy days in Hopkinsville and after two unexpected days in court--I was ready for a reminder of fragrance and simplicity in my inbox.

Blogger incognito

Yesterday, C and I walked to the Front Porch Cafe for a Mother's Day breakfast. As we walked along down Main Street, we passed a driveway with a sign that indicated a yard sale. I peered up the driveway to check out the sale and saw a nice looking couple walking down the driveway toward the sidewalk. The man gave me a big smile and said "Do I know you?"

People often remember me from court because I'm one of the few attorneys in the county without a receding hairline (oh, I hope they don't read this). But this friendly man looked far too content to be either an attorney or a criminal--so I was at a loss.

I smiled and said, "My name is Beth."

"Oh, yes, I read your blog and recognized you."

We laughed and had a fascinating few moments of acquaintance time. He is a historian with family roots in Dixfield and while he lives in another part of the state, he spends much time at our Historical Society. His companion is researching spool factories. Did you know spools were made entirely of white birch?

Don't you just love the human brain? There are no limits to journeys fueled by curiosity.

So, to new friend Peter--it was very nice to meet you and please stop in for tea sometime and tell me stories of the past.

My Mom

My mother is a Mississippi Girl. She is the baby sister of Texican's daddy and by the time she came along her siblings were already off to war or to marriage.

My mother lives with the glass half full--someone once observed that if she was the director of public relations for the devil his image would be quite different. But, that said, I think her childhood was difficult and when people talk about the hard times of the Depression, she offers that on the farm in Mississippi they never noticed the Depression--they were always just poor.

While still in high school, she was swept off her feet by my dad and in a few weeks they will have been married for 53 years--sweethearts still.

In 1965, my father's job transferred him to Massachusetts--it may as well have been Siberia to all of the family--but move we did. Mom may not have wanted the move, but once it was made, we were going to make the best of it. One thing I remember about that adjustment is something that pretty well capsulizes my mother's personality. She went to a rummage sale and bought ice skates for herself, my brother and me. Then she drove to a pond where people were skating. We weren't even real clear on how to lace up the skates, but we did our best and hobbled on floppy ankles out to where everyone was skating. My sweet mother said with her soft southern accent--"Kids, I can't help you here, just watch what other people are doing and do it." So, we skated--we skiied, we went sliding, but we also planted the most beautiful gardens that Massachusetts had ever seen. We had dinner parties that were renowned throughout the area for the hospitality and the cuisine. We sang Stamps Baxter gospel songs around the piano and ate pralines and divinity at Christmas. In short, Massachusetts knew that a southern magnolia was in its presence.

My father's job took them south again about the time I graduated from high school. They were very happy to be back and I thought they would never leave. But, when life brought me to Maine, they decided that they were right behind me--and they have been in every sense of the phrase.

Something I told my daughters once when one of them said something that could have come out of my mouth--you can't fight it--we are our mother's daughters, so just go with it and be proud.

I love you Mom and Happy Mother's Day

The Deception of the Mountains in Spring

Spring is definitely making itself known in northern New England. The last snow patch beside our driveway should be gone by suppertime.

My urge to be up in the mountains is powerful but it will still be a few more weeks before the trails are ready for visitors.

Last year about this time, Ethan and two of his friends decided that they wanted to backpack during the week prior to their college graduation. Their plan was to hike the Mahoosuc Range. They drove up from Massachusetts late the night before their planned hike and somehow Archie convinced me that he should be able to skip a few days of school and go with them.

The Mahoosuc Range is a 30 mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail from Gorham, New Hampshire to Grafton Notch, Maine and the 1 mile stretch through Mahoosuc Notch is considered the most difficult mile of the entire 2000 mile trail. The boys woke up early and drove themselves to the trailhead with my promise to pick them up 3 days later in Grafton Notch. C had researched the trail conditions on line and warned them that there was still 3 feet of rotten snow, blowdowns across the trail and raging river crossings due to the snow melt. Young men between the ages of 16 and 22 are not easily deterred but I wish that I had exerted parental influence over the one of them that was still a minor.

So, they set off on a Monday morning. I had a busy work week but had my cell phone with me and on all the time. On Tuesday afternoon, it rang as I was in a meeting. I left the room and heard Ethan's crackling voice say "Mom, the trail is really bad and Archie's in trouble."

To understand the impact of those words you would have to know Ethan. He is the oldest of four siblings. He is the most responsible brother in the world and he loves and fiercely protects his mother. He would not have told me something that would scare me to death unless things were really bad. Ethan had little battery on his cell phone and poor reception but he told me that they all had inadequate clothing for the terrible conditions and that they were all experiencing symptoms of hypothermia. He was looking at the map and hoped to be able to get off the ridge before going through the "Notch."

My helplessness and terror in the face of that phone call was only balanced by my belief in Ethan's ability to take care of everyone. They did manage to get off the ridge the next morning and were picked up with warm clothes, blankets and soup by my father while I was in court with a mother who was surrendering her parental rights--there's irony there, I'm sure.

The story of that harrowing experience is for him to tell and I hope he will write about it soon on his new blog.

Small town gossip

Our house is located right on one of the two main streets in town. About 1/4 mile south of our house is the intersection of the two streets and about 1/4 mile north of our house is the high school.

There is a lot of foot traffic by our house--recreational walkers, school age kids on skateboards and teenagers experimenting with their individuality.

Often there is drama accompanying the teenagers, not so much with the recreational walkers and the kids on skateboards. This evening as we were watching the Red Sox, I heard loud sobs and saw two girls embracing and crying on the sidewalk in front of our house. I went out to see if this was something that could be helped with a drink of water or a band aid and was met with one of them saying, "Boy problems." Oh, well, can't help you there.

One night last winter, we were awoken by flashing blue lights coming through the curtains in our room. Ever curious (and nosy) I got out of bed to see that the police had pulled over a truck in front of our house. I kept watching as the police discovered that the driver of the truck had a warrant out for his arrest. At this point I woke C up, this was too good to let him sleep through.

C isn't the experienced snoop that I am, so he wasn't really comfortable peering through the curtain at 2 a.m., but the level of excitement increased to where he couldn't very well go back to bed. There was a passenger in the truck but apparently he didn't have a license so with the driver going off to jail, there was some discussion about what to do with the passenger and the truck.

Soon, another car came along and parked across the street--we gathered that the newcomer was the father of the passenger. We noticed (as did the police) that the newcomer got out of his car somewhat belligerently and definitely holding a beer bottle. The police discovered that the newcomer also had a warrant for his arrest--so out came the handcuffs yet again and he went into the back of the police car, too. So, now we are up to two cars whose drivers are headed to jail and one passenger whose level of anxiety was increasing in volume.

At this point, the policeman called for backup from a neighboring town. Dixfield only has one policeman on duty at night and the situation, while being handled well by the lone officer, was starting to blossom. The policeman warned the passenger several times to get himself under control--at this point I should add that the passenger was, shall we say... very hefty.

The young man did not get himself under control and, in fact, grew more combative and started to threaten the policeman. Fortunately, the other policeman got there about that time, because we were starting to wonder if we should reveal ourselves and come to the policeman's aid. They ended up arresting the young man, too, although Policeman #1 was out of handcuffs and had to borrow some from Policeman #2. The young man's girth was such that he couldn't be handcuffed in the traditional manner and the suspension on the police car was seriously compromised.

Eventually the policeman headed off on the 45 minute drive to the jail, by morning the cars were moved by other family members who presumably did not have pending arrest warrants and we woke up wondering if had all been a very strange dream.

Torch on Everest

The Olympic Torch made it to the top of the world.

My cynical side is disturbed at the exploitation of the mountain.

My curious side wonders about all the details of executing the climb.

My cynical side tell me that there will be a book out very shortly to answer all of my curious side's questions.

Wire Bridge

Somewhere along the road between North New Portland and New Vineyard there is a sign pointing to "Wire Bridge". I've always been curious but never took the time to check it out until today.

It is a wire suspension bridge built in 1864.

As the granddaughter, daughter, niece, sister and mother of engineers, it felt good to pay homage to a Maine Civil Engineering Landmark.

Beyond Reason

The keynote speaker at the seminar yesterday was Daniel Shapiro, the associate director of the Harvard Negotiation Project and the author of Beyond Reason: Using Emotions as you Negotiate.

It's always reassuring when science and research back up common sense, and essentially his message boiled down to the wisdom that I was raised with, "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Most negotiations are on a personal level and although many of the anecdotes that accompanied the lecture were with regard to international border disputes and clashes between historically warring sects, I think the techniques are ones that we should all embrace in our personal relationships--and they really boil down to being polite and genuine and respectful.

The first tool in a successful negotiation is reason--know your position and the purpose for it. But, beyond that there are certain things that can enhance the chance of a successful negotiation and will preserve the relationship.

Appreciation Understand the other person's point of view, find merit in what they think, feel or do and communicate your understanding.
Autonomy When autonomy is impinged, we no longer listen. So always consult before deciding.
Affiliation Find a way to connect on a structural level with the other party. Find common ground not associated with the conflict.
Status We all have areas of particular expertise, acknowledge the other person's status in that regard.
Role Make sure that each person's role is fulfilling.

So, yes, Beckie in answer to your question, here are some ideas that might help. Good luck!

Communication

Today I am going to Freeport for a seminar on mediation.

I loved law school and almost every course that I took has proven valuable to me, but the ones that I took on mediation, negotiation and alternative dispute resolution were among the most useful.

Going to court is a last option and not always a good one for clients. Litigation is expensive and the stakes are high. In many cases, the emotional issues laid out bare in the courtroom are ones that never heal.

Fortunately, for all but the most intractable clients or difficult cases, there are means of settling disputes that do not involve judges, juries or even Judge Alex.

Sara read a book for her senior thesis called You Just Don't Understand by Deborah Tannen. It it she talks about communication methods and how they differ by gender. I haven't read the book yet, but my understanding from her description and from the section that I did read is that women use communication to negotiate intimacy. If you think about how women talk to each other, it's easy to see--we compliment each other, ask for details about life situations and try to leave most conversations feeling closer to one another.

Enjoy this beautiful Spring day.