In our family
it is a tradition
to head out in the late afternoon of New Years Eve,
to shoot the sun setting on the old year.

It is a cleansing,
a celebration,
a ritual of immense calm.

This year,
a chorus of frogs began chirping the minute the sun went down,
backed by a rising orchestra of birdsong.
Bats danced against the orange sky,
as Venus grew brighter and brighter,
conducting from the west.

On New Years morning,
I rose to shoot the sunrise.
I faced not east, but west,
as that is where I can watch the sun
as it paints my neighbor's tree to life,
beginning at the crown,
dripping the trunk in gold,
until finally, the whole tree is awash in light.

Thank you for everything, 2011.
It was a wonderful party.
And 2012 is going to be
simply incredible.

 

The world needs a truly progressive political party. 

Not a party in just one country, but a global party, focused on the collective potential of every being that inhabits this planet.

The world does not need a radical party, but a pragmatic one, rooted in a platform of logic and fairness, a platform of rational discourse and civility.

The world needs a party rooted in our interconnectedness as a global people and as a planet; rooted in the collective wisdom of humanity (rather than tethering ourselves to the history of our wars and the fear and scarcity that have created them). 

The world needs a party rooted in our strength as a people and as a planet, not one that reacts over and again to what is weak and wrong.

Right now, with not a moment to lose, the world needs a party rooted in the pragmatic realization that we are creating the future every minute of every day, with everything we do, whether we do so consciously or not.

It is time for the sane, logical, rational, and yes, compassionate and humane people of the world to take power from those whose extremes of belief are rooted in bigotry, fear and greed.  It is time for those of us with families to support, with lives to lead, with work to do, who care less about money and power than about ensuring our neighborhoods and communities are strong, vibrant, healthy, engaged, humane, thriving places to live - it is time for all of us to lead.

Not just in one country, but in all countries. We need a humane party, a progressive party, a global party everywhere. And we need it right now.

Photo credit: Kashfi Halford from London, United Kingdom via Wikimedia commons. "Part of the crowd at the G20 Meltdown protest in London on 1 April 2009"

Just one fact
stands between all humanity
and the world we all want:

There is no me;
there is only all of us.

(Photo taken from Griffith Park Observatory, Los Angeles 2010)

So much on my mind this morning
that I wandered farther than my usual morning walk.

Heading back,
at the precise moment I was wondering
what time it was,
I encountered a rabbit.

He looked at me,
looked away,
looked at me
and ran off.

Finding myself wishing he had a pocket watch
to tell me the time,
I smiled to think that
he ran off
because he was,
like me,
late...

It's 3 weeks into my 6 week writing sabbatical  - a time for writing and reading and exploring and thinking and then some more writing.  Normally, when I'm starting a new book, I head out of town for 2 weeks, to be away from everything and everybody.  This year that just wasn't possible. And so I am taking my writing time at home - an adventure that has me reminding myself that I don't need to leave town to find wonder in every bit of life.

My morning started as most of my mornings start since the new owners bought Crave, the café about ½ mile from my house.  I head out on foot, reading and writing stuff in hand, sometimes taking a detour and getting a bit of a walk in beforehand, other times just heading straight to Crave. I spend an hour or so sitting on the couch in the corner, reading and thinking and writing and sipping Fatmir’s delicious coffee. It is the best start to my day.

On the way out through the neighborhood at 6:30 in the morning, Dan is already heading into Earl’s house.  Dan was our mailman for decades - the Norman Rockwell sort of mailman you’re convinced doesn’t exist until - well - until you meet Dan.  Every day as he delivered the mail, Dan would stop to check on all the old people on the block.  I can’t imagine how he managed it and still stayed on schedule, but he did.  Stopped and rang the bell and visited, every day, with every single elderly person on our street.

Dan and Earl, though - there was always something special there. And if you know Earl, it’s not surprising. Earl is 101½ (Dan mentioned this morning) - the sweetest, kindest man.  When he was a bit more spry, he’d go for a walk every night, and he’d keep peanut M&M’s in his pocket, to share with people he met along the way.  He would offer me a candy as if I was 7, with a huge smile, so excited to share it with me - like feeding the birds, feeding us neighborhood kids, never mind that this kid was pushing 50 at the time.  I would take the candy, making an excuse about saving it till later; I didn’t have the heart to tell Earl I can’t eat chocolate.

Earl is the one who stopped by maybe a decade ago, to introduce himself and share the sunflower seeds that had been his wife’s, telling me “She always loved your garden. I want you to have these.”  Earl and his wife are the reason I plant the sunflower wall out front every year.  And Earl is the one who, at about age 90, began painting beautiful birds made of Devil’s Claw.

So it’s no surprise that Dan checking on Earl during his postal rounds became Dan inviting Earl to his home for Thanksgiving, and then Earl spending every holiday with Dan and his family.

And now here it is 6:30 in the morning, and Dan, having retired from the post office at least 5 years ago, is there at Earl’s house, to get Earl out of bed.  “I’ve been getting him up every morning, and getting him to bed every night. I'm just afraid he'll fall, and the caregiver doesn't get here till 8...” I'm almost in tears. It’s not the first time the relationship between Dan and Earl has done that to me - and I’m sure it won’t be the last...

I decide to go the long way to Crave - to add about a mile to the trip by heading north to head south, walking along the lush green of the wash to Fifth Street and then looping back to Broadway.  Everyone in the neighborhood circles the wash on their walk - our green space during this rainy season.  Dragonflies dart about, their wings shining in the morning light.  Last week, a coyote wandered down from the foothills, following that wash, but on this day, the most exotic canine is our neighborhood Corgi walking his mom - a sweet, sweet dog that looks like the love child of a Husky and a Basset Hound, complete with the blue eyes that are just so cool in a dog.

I know if I keep walking, I will continue to encounter people and critters, but it’s getting hot and sticky. Or maybe the hot flashes have skewed my perception. I know people back east would kill for 75 degrees and 45% humidity, but I’m feeling so sticky and gross I just want to get to Crave before I leave huge sweaty handprints on the books I’m carrying.

It’s hard to describe Crave. Its appearance is nothing special - a simple place with really good coffee.  But it is owned by the kind of darling young couple who should live on the top of a wedding cake.  I’m not sure Fatmir is even 30, and I’m pretty sure Njomza is my daughter's age - 25 or so.  They are newly from Kosovo, not barely a year here in the US. And I am convinced the sun comes up every morning just so it can shine on the two of them.

Fatmir and Njomza are there from 6am open to 11pm close, every single day.  They have an employee who helps out mid-day, but otherwise, it is Fatmir and Njomza all day, every day.  Tireless, always happy - even when, this week, we worried that Njomza might have broken her arm (it was just banged up - nothing broken).  They engage everyone.  Fatmir remembers the drinks of people who came in only once before, 4 months ago - something that is downright spooky to experience. And Njomza is warm and eager and simply darling.

Every single person who comes in for coffee, all morning long, is happy. Every single one.  At 6am and 6:30am and 7am, on their way to work, every single person at Crave is openly and obviously happy.  Two guys in a City Transportation van are regulars. This morning, as they leave, one calls out, "I hope you make a million dollars today, Fatmir!"

Fatmir calls back "Thank you!" as the guy from the city calls back, "Ska perse" - Albanian for "you're welcome."  Yes, pretty much all of us regulars are learning at least the niceties in the language of these two people who make us smile every day.

Both Fatmir’s and Njomza’s moms arrived from Kosovo this week, to stay for a month.  Each day they take turns baking pastries for the bakery counter.  And who would I be to say no to their moms?  Sweet, dripping in honey and nuts - I have been taking home a different pastry, made by a different mom, each day, eating them after dinner with ouzo poured on top...

Arriving there this morning, Njomza and her mom are at a table, sipping coffee. I know how Njomza loves this, like a little treat - not just having her mom here, which is actually a huge treat for her, but sitting on the cafe side of the counter.  "It's nice to sometimes just sit in a cafe," she has told me, and I know that when she leaves the counter and sits to look out the window or read the paper, she is pretending that is just what she is doing - just sitting in a cafe.

“Miremengjes” I say to mother and daughter as I arrive; Good Morning.  They beam at my progress.  I stumble on thank you - faleminderit - as her mom, Ermina, tells me she is trying to learn 2 words of English every day.  “At the rate we are going, perhaps by the time you leave, we can talk to each other without Njomza having to interpret!"  We are two mothers of daughters we love.  We've already found common language in that.

It’s not even 7am and I’ve already seen Dan caring for Earl, gone for a short walk, had my first sip of delicious coffee, practiced wrapping my tongue around a few words in Albanian, and had Njomza wrap up a mom-made pastry for my dessert after dinner.  From there, I nestle into my couch in the corner, to read for an hour or so...

As I'm leaving, I ask Ermina how to say goodbye.  She tells me - it’s another long word.  “Or,” she says,  “Tong.”

“Tong?” I asked her.

“Tong. Like - um (thinking of the word in English) bye. So long.”

“What are you telling her?” Njomza hollers from the cash register.

“Tong,” says her mom.  

“Oh yes! Tong!” she says, smiling and waving goodbye to me.

And then I’m off, crossing Broadway in the 8:30 rush hour traffic, heading home under the clear blue sky, to feed Nina and water the garden and begin the rest of this writing day.  I've been to the wetlands that are Fifth Street west of Swan and I've been to a cafe in Kosovo. Now I'm heading home to my house surrounded by sunflowers, all offspring from those original seeds from Earl's wife.

It is a lovely writing time.  No beach walks at the end of the day, but sequestered time away in a beautiful place all the same.  It just happens this beautiful place is right here at home.

Just when doubt begins to creep in, 

I am reminded of how blessed I am.  

And each time that happens,

it is the first time.

Photo: Coronado National Forest north of Tucson, January 2011 - a week of meditating in the desert every evening as the earth spun to night.

Someone is going to have an amazing lunch today.

I camped out last night. Not with a tent or (heaven forbid) outside where it was cold. On the couch, with a glass of wine and candles and the electric space heater.

It’s been an intense month. Yes, they’re all intense as we build Creating the Future. Sometimes, though, intense begets just plain tired. After 3 weeks of barely any sleep, with a project done enough to breathe for a moment, last night was crash night.

Getting home from the office at 11:30pm, then quickly posting the Rock Out for Monday morning, by 1am the thought of getting off the couch and going to bed was just too much.

You know you’ve hit the "tired" wall when “I’m too tired to go to bed” is only the beginning of silly. From there, “I should just camp out here, and spend the night on the couch” seemed perfectly logical.

It wasn't a far stretch, then, for this, too, to seem obvious and rational: “Oh I could gather candles and the space heater and wine and have a grown-up camp-out!”

Never mind that I was too tired to go to bed, but not too tired to gather equipment to NOT go to bed. I even went into the bedroom to get the book I’ve been reading, so I could fall asleep happily on the couch.

Tired makes us do silly things.

The dog would have none of it. She marched into her bed in my bedroom, leaving me alone in my silliness - alone to re-read Colette’s memoir, “My Mother’s House.”

Each and every February since moving to Tucson over 30 years ago, the same three thoughts occur to me, year after year.

1) The reason I left NY and never looked back was February in NY - dark and long and cold and enough already!
2) One of the many reasons I stay in Tucson is February - light and blue sky and springlike and birds excited to be starting again
3) In February, I read Colette.

Over the years, I have read everything Colette wrote, many times. It’s not so much her stories that capture me, but, being a writer, it is her way with words, her way with forms, her way with twists and turns of a sentence. Her description of laying on the couch beside a “pile of cats” has stayed with me for decades.

And so, last night, the last full night of February, sleepy to the point of silly, I camped out on my couch, surrounded by the comforts of wine and candles and a fuzzy chenille throw.

I believe Colette would have approved.

(This is a continuing story of our adventures driving from Tucson, Arizona through the US heartland. To start at the beginning of the saga,click here.)

Showtime at Parents as Teachers’s annual conference. I am so excited about the work Parents as Teachers does that I have been on pins and needles waiting for this day.  

The assumption behind Parents as Teachers’ work is simple: If parents are a child’s first and most influential teachers, imagine what would be possible if parents had training in how to educate their children!  
    
And that is what Parents as Teachers does.  They teach parents to teach their babies and toddlers and preschoolers.  Is that not brilliant?

As I approach this day, the juxtaposition of my work the past week is striking.  In my ear, I’ve been listening to the podcast interview we’ve been trying to get done and sent to the Chronicle of Philanthropy - the interview wherein Margaret Martin talks about public schools systematically beating the desire to learn out of a child.

    At the same time, I am working with an organization that helps parents instill that very desire to learn. The drumbeat gets louder as I approach the room.

Showtime
Parents as Teachers has added my session as something new this year - a full day of sessions focused on building strong, thriving programs (vs. topics on early childhood education). In the morning, I will do a keynote-style presentation, then a how-to workshop. In the afternoon, I will repeat the sessions.

But attendees do not pre-register for their conference sessions.  With no idea how many attendees they expect, we are guessing when it comes to simple logistical questions like, “How many handouts should we print?” The answer we’ve received is tentative. “Well the room sits 200, so let’s go with 100 and see what happens...”

It’s almost showtime.  Up on the stage preparing, I have no idea that they have already run out of handouts, and have had to run and print more.  I have no idea that they have reached the room’s capacity for 200 and have been turning people away at the door.

I just know there is a ton of energy in the room. And I can’t wait to dive in.

I talk about what engagement looks like when organizations build programs side-by-side with community members, rather than the organization as “expert” building programs for those who will receive that service.
    
I talk about building engagement into a program’s infrastructure - building programs upon a core of shared community resources.  I compare stand-alone programs to a single thread that is easily blown away, vs. the strength of a tightly interwoven blanket of many threads.  
    
And I talk about what it looks like to build support by engaging real friends who care about our mission (vs. using “friendraising” simply as a path to raising money).  I share that just as friends in real life will do anything in the world for us, real friends of an  organization will volunteer and advocate, introduce and recommend - and yes, give money.  That when all we ask for is their money, we leave all the rest of the great parts of real friendship on the table.

A Twitter Moment
During the break, an attractive young woman approaches me with a huge smile.  “I’m a friend of John Haydon’s,” she tells me, and Ria Sharon and I hug.

John is a friend from Twitter (@JohnHaydon) who has become a friend in real life. By day, John specializes in social media for Community Benefit Organizations (he has volunteered countless hours helping us with things like Creating the Future’s Facebook page).  But that’s not anywhere near the whole story.

The larger part of the story is that John is one of the most playful, sincere, delightful beings I have had the pleasure to know.  Like a joyful secret handshake, the mere mention of John’s name is all Ria or I need to know we will like each other. 

“I’m doing a session on Social Media,” Ria tells me.  “I showed the hashtag for following this conference, and your tweets from this morning popped up. I just wanted to introduce myself - I hope to be in your session this afternoon.”

I later learn that it is Ria who suggested me to Parents as Teachers. All from Twitter. Man oh man this world is an amazing place!

Back in Session
The break is over, and the room is once again packed.  People are engaged enough from the “teaching” portion to stay for the how-to portion!

This is the part of the session I love.  Not that I don’t love speaking, but here is where folks get to talk with each other!  We do a vision exercise.  We do a getting-to-know you exercise.  We create flow-charts of their programs, so they can find the resources they need.

And we spend some time in observation and reflection. Yes, even in a room of 200 people. If it is important to reinforce learning out loud together, does it matter how many people are there, trying to learn?  I ask the group to remember to use not only the exercises we did together, but to remember to take time in their own organizations to reflect as well - that we all need time to think.

And I’m done.  Dimitri approaches me. “The bookstore is sold out of one of your books already - the Community Engagement Action Kit.  And they are running out of FriendRaising....”  Clearly people are engaged.

Grab a bite to eat, and head back to the afternoon sessions.  So many people attended in the morning that I anticipate a dead afternoon.  And I’m wrong again.  Perhaps 75 people are in the room, almost all of them staying for Part 2 as well.

And while normally I expect an afternoon session to be post-lunch sleepy, this group is on fire. When it’s time to move on from the vision exercise they are doing around their tables, someone calls out, “Can we please just have a few more minutes!?” They want to continue creating the future of their communities.  I am touched to the core.

At the end of the program, a woman approaches with a thick Eastern European accent.  She is crying as she reaches out to hug me.  “Thank you,” is all she can get out.

(A month later, Pat sends me a sampling of answers she received to the question, "What was the single best session at the conference?"  Some of the answers include, I will do a better job because of having attended this session and It will have an impact on how I view our community and our place in it.  Being in the room, that is the energy I am feeling as well.)

The Day is Just Beginning
It’s been a long, exciting day. Anyone who has seen me on stage knows I expend a ton of energy. At day’s end after a full day like this has been, I just want to curl up with a mindless movie, sipping a fine tequila.

But the day is not done. First, there is the banquet - a sit down affair for 900.  And then - I can’t believe I am still talking about this - there is my final piece of the podcast interview that has accompanied us every day of this trip so far.

Listening to Margaret Martin talk about her work with kids in the worst of the worst of neighborhoods in Los Angeles, the balance with the work of Parents as Teachers weighs heavily on my mind.  

Parents as Teachers is dedicated to instilling a spirit of learning into wee children.  Harmony Project is dedicated to RE-instilling that sense of wonder after failing education systems destroy it.

After a day filled with energized leaders from Parents as Teachers chapters all around the world, listening to Margaret’s interview brings the message home to me, loud and clear.

We cannot keep focusing on small, narrow pieces of the puzzle. The systems that force each of those pieces to compete rather than work together must be changed.  If we continue to believe the myth that big picture / big context visionary change is impossible, we will never create the communities we all know in our bones are indeed possible.

That is all running through my mind as I record my wrap-up to the interview so Dimitri can splice it in.

In a keynote in New Zealand earlier this year, I repeated over and over the absolute truth that we can create the world we want.  Working simultaneously with Parents as Teachers and Margaret from Harmony Project, I am more convinced than ever of the simple truth that is the name of our organization:

We can indeed create the future. And we are doing so right now.

(This is a continuing story of our adventures driving from Tucson, Arizona through the US heartland. To start at the beginning of the saga,click here.)

Saturday.  Leaving Indiana for the work that led to this trip in the first place - the Parents as Teachers conference in St. Louis.

The sky is a sunny blue again.  After a brief hiccup of rain, the forecast for the next few days is unseasonably mild for November.

The sun is setting as we arrive at the St. Louis Hilton Ballpark, aptly named for its location across the street from Busch Stadium, home of the Cardinals. Parents as Teachers has arranged for 15th floor rooms in this beautiful hotel, and the views are as breathtaking as a 15th floor can be.  A sliver of the arch shines golden in the sunset.  In the foreground sits the courthouse at the heart of one of the most embarrassing moments in U.S. history - the Dred Scott case that determined slaves and their descendants were not protected by the Constitution and could never be U.S. citizens.

After shooting a million photos out the window, we head out to find the ballroom where I will be presenting on Monday, and, more importantly, the two people with whom I have been working for almost a year - Erin Vonder Bruegge and Pat Simpson of Parents as Teachers.

The conference set-up is world class. We tour the main hall that will feed 900 participants before being broken down for the 200 my session will accommodate. I walk to the podium to review the set-up for my session when...

It is love at first sight, and a rather geeky love at that. I have fallen head over heels with a machine.

Elmo is an overhead projector that will allow me to write on just plain old paper, and then watch the image appear on screens to my right and left. No transparencies, no special markers, just paper and pen - the next best thing to a flip chart.  I immediately tell everyone present that if Elmo shows up missing, he has decided to come home with me.  (Several days later, a tweet from Pat reads, No @HildyGottlieb! You can’t have our Elmo board!)  

Dinner at the hotel - a surprisingly yummy platter of cheeses and peppers and pita.  By 8pm, Dimitri is editing the podcast for the Chronicle that is due to be delivered in 2 days, and I am catching up on emails and blog posts and...  

Sunday and Stories
I confess it is nice to be settled in for a few days.  After unpacking everything and setting up a work station that will last until we leave on Wednesday, this Sunday will be filled with visiting.

But first, how can I resist taking a moment to shoot the scene out the window, now brilliant in the crisp light of this fall day?  The light seems to be catching everything just right - the spray of the fountain, the color of the newspaper boxes, the still sleepy streets of downtown St. Louis.

 

It is about noon when we head out for our first stop - lunch with Carol Weisman, a colleague we have known for years online but have never met in person.  Meeting online friends is one of life’s rare treats - knowing so much about each other without having met face-to-face, like pen pals in the days of old.  I am excited to finally be face-to-face with Carol!

We meet at Carol’s condo, and it is clear from that first moment that Carol’s day job is “professional speaker and humorist.”  From the moment we leave her condo, we are regaled with stories of the lives behind the other doors on her floor.  The young couple who are both doctors. The single retired guy.  

Over a lunch of rich, delicious crepes, Carol’s stories broaden to include her travels and travails, each more entertaining than the next.  Looking up at the end of lunch, the woman I have known online for 10 years has become a whole, funny, energizing being. What fun!

                                 We wish we could stay, but it’s one of those “if it’s Tuesday it must be Belgium” days.  We are off to meet an old friend, a dear friend - the reason I’ve been tickled ever since Parents as Teachers told me their conference was going to be in St. Louis.

I am trying to find words to describe Jeane Vogel.  Jeane and I met in the late 90's on CharityChannel when Jeane was still a grant-writer.  In 2002, though, everything changed when we finally met in person.  

Like Elmo, it was love at first sight - like sisters separated at birth. Unlike Elmo, the love continued and grew.  For almost 10 years, we have been there for each other over wine and long long phone calls, watching our children grow, sharing everything that matters. And laughing. A lot. Always.

From there, though, Jeane's life becomes one of my favorite stories, as she left fundraising to pursue her true calling as an artist and teacher.  Her media is whatever intrigues her - pastels and photography, jewelry and paper sculpting.  I have never met someone so willing to explore and experiment.  The result is simply beautiful art.  

(Shameless plug for my friend: Jeane’s gift for photographing portraits of people with disabilities is beyond any I can describe.  If you have kids or grandkids with disabilities, having Jeane work with your family is a gift in and of itself. Call her now!) 

I am excited to finally see the space Jeane has been describing across the distance. It is located in what was an old mall and is now an epicenter for artists - a story that is still being written.

Faced with vacant retail space, the mall’s management made the space available to artists for a nominal fee. The idea behind ArtSpace at Crestwood Court is that the mall will help the artists, who in turn will help increase traffic to the remaining stores in the mall. 

And it appears to be working! In our wandering around while Jeane is talking with a customer, Dimitri buys a gift in a gallery for his wife, while I find a shirt at the GAP.

It turns out Jeane and my daughter have been conspiring to get me a pair of the earrings Jeane makes from her photos. Jeane then added a necklace as her own gift.  Suddenly two of my favorite people have given me two of my favorite things - fireworks from my baby, a sunflower from my friend.  

The sky is growing dark. We make plans to see Jeane for a longer visit in the next few days, and head back to the hotel - I have to get ready for my big day tomorrow with Parents as Teachers, and Dimitri is hoping to finish the podcast editing that he has only been able to work on in fits and starts.

On the way out of the mall, though, a different kind of gallery catches our eye. The Hangar is a space dedicated to the artwork of kids from area schools. The synergy is beyond perfect - the podcast Dimitri has been editing is an interview with Margaret Martin of Harmony Project, a program for teaching orchestral music to kids in Los Angeles’s Gang Reduction Zones!!

We wind up in a long conversation with the woman who runs the gallery - artist and public school art teacher Marilyn Callahan. We tell Marilyn of the research Margaret shares in the interview, proving that kids are voracious learners until about age 8, when the effects of our public education system begin to methodically beat that appetite out of them.  “Unless,” Margaret notes, “they are involved in the arts.  Those kids continue to want to learn.”

We’ve been talking for a long while - long enough for me to realize that the hunger that had prompted us to leave the mall in the first place is back.  I take Marilyn’s business card and promise to send her a link to the interview when it airs.  

For dinner, after a week of eating from an ice chest in the car, we decide to splurge, checking out the menu at Mike Shannon’s Steak House next to the hotel. Their list of side dishes is a vegetarian’s dream.  A wide variety of vegies, each prepared in interesting ways.  A mac-and-cheese with truffles.  And while their steaks are obviously the specialty, their herbed chicken catches Dimitri’s eye.  

The vegetable menu sounds so delicious it is truly hard to choose. Dimitri loves green beans (almonds, butter), I love cauliflower (roasted, spices).  But what about the chipotle & maple syrup glazed carrots?  And the mushrooms? And...

Dinner arrives. And we are so disappointed (chicken not fully cooked, cauliflower so tough I had to use a steak knife...) that we return our food not once, but twice.  Needless to say, they don’t charge us for this meal we didn’t eat.  Still, we are disappointed and - well - hungry!

Back in the hotel, we head back to our reliable friend, the ice chest. Nibbling on leftovers from the prior night’s hotel cheese platter, I prepare for the big show that has brought us on this tour in the first place.  

Tomorrow, I will spend the day talking “community” and “potential” and “engagement” and “sustainability” with people who educate parents on how to be their child’s first teachers.  

I could not be more excited.