The Graduate As I sat through two graduations during these past few weeks when so many of our children were graduating, the strangest word popped into my brain: Plastics. You may remember the 1967 film, The Graduate. Dustin Hoffman plays a recent college graduate who was unsure of what to do with his life. At his graduation party a well meaning family friend pulls him aside and tells him he has one word for him, “Plastics.” Evidently that’s where he felt the future lay for the very confused lad. Thankfully, unlike Dustin, both my girls have a good idea of what they where they’re heading. We began our celebrations with Mariel, who was graduating from the University of Arizona with a Masters in GeoSciences. As many of you know, my youngest is madly in love with rocks and the earth that they come from. Her interest was ignited by a fantastic Canton Middle School science teacher, ¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬Ms. Birtwell, a father who loves science, and a family trip to a Hawaiian volcanic caldera. The only thing that I can say is that I bought her a bag of pretty rocks when she was eight. We set off for a long week-end in Tucson, excited, yet a bit apprehensive. I no longer love flying the way I used to thanks to all the rules and regulations involving liquids, shoes and clothing removal. On this trip Steve and I were introduced to body scanners. We could have chosen to be frisked but I had heard from friends how “intimate” that could get, so I opted for the scanner. It was strange. Not only do you remove every extraneous article of anything on your body, but you stand spread-eagled with your hands above your head while the scanner finds out if you intend to blow up the eastern hemisphere. Just my luck I was also randomly chosen for a body pat down. “Why me?” I wailed uselessly since random is random, yes? I like to think that it wasn’t random at all—that I was chosen for my great beauty. We flew to Houston without incident where we were scheduled for a four hour layover. However the gods were not smiling on us. Due to mechanical malfunctions and Texan storms we ended up waiting for eight hours till we were finally allowed to board our plane. Half of us on that plane were scheduled to attend graduation at the U of A the next day but we were the only ones whose ceremony was at 8:00 in the very early morning. After landing, figuring out the time change (Arizona does not change its clocks) and picking up our rental car, we were blitzed. Thank goodness our hotel was across the street from the rental place. After four hours of sleep we groggily set out. At 7:15 am Steve and I shook hands congratulating each other that we had made it. Now all we had to do was stay awake. The ceremony, which was only for the school of science, was held in a sports arena so there was a jumbo-tron hanging from the ceiling. Instead of the usual pictures of people going nuts when they saw themselves up there, the names of the graduates, their degrees and parting comments were shown. These ran the gamut of, “I love you mom!” to various existential quotes, to “Meet you on the unemployment line!” It was hilarious. When it was Mariel’s turn to be “hooded” for her masters, I tried in vain to get a picture while enjoying the moment in real time. It went by so quickly I didn’t even have time to cry. I took a few deep breaths and tried to get used to the fact that I was old enough to have a daughter with a master’s degree. Thank goodness for Lisa’s graduation we did not have to separate fluids or be body scanned. All we had to do was drive into Boston on a beautiful summer’s day. Lisa was also graduating in an intimate venue, Boston University’s Agganis Arena. She was getting her master’s degree from the School of Public Health. Unfortunately it was as cold in there as it is when the hockey team is playing--I could have sworn I still saw ice on the arena floor. And because everyone there was getting a masters or PhD, everybody was being hooded, which meant that we had plenty of time to enjoy not only every second of our daughter’s moment, but of everyone else’s child’s as well. And that was actually wonderful. Sitting there in the midst of hundreds of proud parents, knowing that our children were part of the lucky few who were beginning their professional lives with degrees; knowing that there were doors that would open for them because of their education, was at once gratifying and humbling. As I knew so well there were countless others who would not even finish High School, whose futures were mortgaged before they even began. Lisa and I have often joked that we want to try and save the world. I have since narrowed that down to my local world and then even further to one person at a time in my neighborhood. One by one, step by step. And hopefully all of our graduates will go out into the world and save a bit of it too. It all adds up.

The Jewel of Beacon Street My husband, Steve runs a business from our house which means I never get to see him anymore. Well, okay I do pass him in the hall or the kitchen but lately we’ve become ships in the night. When he used to work a typical nine-to-five job, our week-ends were reserved for family and chores. But when you work from home, work-time and home-time blur together. Add my hectic job schedule to the mix and it’s a wonder that we still recognize each other without a pink carnation stuck in our lapels. So whenever I have a day off I ask my husband out on a day-long date. We always look for something to do in Boston since we never tire of walking around the city enjoying the sights like any other tourist. If it’s cold it’s a bit harder to find an activity since I love museums but Steve only likes the smaller, quirkier ones. Last Presidents’ Day we arrived at the Isabella Gardiner Art Museum only to see a line weaving down the street and around the block. We sighed then drove off to find an adventure in a less crowded venue. It was then that I remembered another place that fellow library trustee and friend, George Comeau, had recommended a while back. George’s face glows when he speaks about the Boston Athenaeum. He’s been a member there for years. When he heard that I had never visited he was horrified. I kept promising him that I would eventually, but somehow eventually never came. As it turned out that February day was not the day, but another April day was. We hoped that the weather would cooperate so that we could squeeze in our usual walk around Boston before we visited the Athenaeum. Happily it was gloriously perfect. The sun was out and even the wind decided not to appear that day. We parked our car in the South End where we planned to have lunch and walked over to Beacon Street. We stopped to admire old buildings, spring flowers, cute dogs and Boston skylines. We waved at the tourists on the Duck Boats, bumped into hordes of them peering at maps, and felt infinitely superior to the bunch excitedly gathering at Cheers. Approaching the Common we finally found 10 ½ Beacon Street. I gaped at the two large red doors flanked by heavy carved ones. We entered silently and were welcomed by the receptionist who told us that we were welcome to visit the first floor reading rooms and art gallery but the rest of the building was for members only. We hadn’t even been there for five minutes and already I wanted desperately to be a member. This place has that kind of affect on you. Free and open to the public, the Boston Athenaeum, was founded in 1807 by members of the Anthology Society, who began with a plan to have a reading room but then expanded their vision to include a library encompassing books in all subjects in English and foreign languages, a gallery of sculptures and paintings, collections of coins and natural curiosities, and even a laboratory……. in 1809 (they) bought a small house adjacent to the King’s Chapel Burial Ground, and in 1822 moved into a mansion on Pearl Street. In 1849 the current location at 10 ½ Beacon Street opened We tiptoed in, barely breathing at the sheer loveliness of the space. High vaulted ceilings, graceful moldings, huge windows, sculpture and paintings everywhere. Books filled the central room and the art gallery led to small niches where people could rest and read. I was standing in the central room when I saw a dignified gentleman waiting for the elevator. I couldn’t resist asking him, “Are you lucky enough to work here?” “I am,” he answered, and something in my wistful expression must have urged him to say, “Would you like to see the most beautiful room in the building on the fifth floor?” “Oh yes!” I said, “Could I really?” And so Robert took us up to the fifth floor reading room reserved for members. It was a jewel, echoing the design of the rest of the building, with tall windows, private research nooks, paintings, sculpture, and peace. Again we tiptoed, (this was definitely a tiptoeing space) as he took down several first editions to show us. A Labrador slept peacefully beneath the desk of a researcher. Even dogs were respectful of this place. Robert took us out to a small terrace overlooking the city and we chatted about Boston, books and life. After thanking him for the unique gift that he had given us, we returned to the first floor. As I wandered I discovered yet another treasure adjacent to the children’s room, a small children’s reading room named, Chris’ library. The room was covered in soft, starry-night-blue carpeting whose theme was reflected in the overhead light which was designed as the earth revolving around the sun. There were two spacious yet cozy, cushioned benches opposite large windows overlooking the Granary burial ground. Tourists milled around the tombstones while I sat peacefully longing for a child to bring here. When we came home we looked up the Athenaeum staff to find that our wonderful tour guide had been Robert R. Ashton, Director of Development. Thank you Robert for turning a simple visit into a joy. And thank you George. I owe you one.