So I made it through my first big event solo. I wouldn’t call it my “first big event ever” because I had the Annual Meeting back in July that was really a trial by fire. My speech on Thursday went well. I got in to Philly on Wednesday evening and had dinner with the Veterans Committee Chairman and stuffed myself full of fabulous Italian food. Then I went back to my room and read through my speech more times than I can count. I was actually quite glad that there was no way for me to reprint the speech… otherwise I would have kept revising it. As it was, I felt good about what I had written and just decided to keep my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t trip or fall over on the stage.

Everything went well and I was pleased to see the number of people who attended the event. I was sorry that there weren’t more service members but the civilian employees turned out in spades. Here is the end of my speech:

Since accepting the position as National Coordinator of the League I am often asked what relevance the POW/MIA issue has in today’s world. To them, I say that the importance of the issue lies not in any questions of relevance to society at large but rather in the fulfillment of promises made to the men and women who are serving our country that they will not be left behind on the battlefield or in memory; they will not be abandoned. And it is in the demonstration to the world that America will not give up, we will not cut and run, and we do not leave our own behind. Today, in a time when we are looking at budgets, questioning where and how money is being spent, and asking what is a fiscally responsible expenditure, some might be asking as to whether or not this issue is one that still require immediate response. The answer to those questions is if not now, when? Today, more than 83 thousand Americans are still listed as missing from World War II, Korea, Vietnam, the Cold war and the Gulf War. Investigations into the whereabouts of an individual require extensive research and as with any piece of history, as time goes on, avenues of research are beginning to expire. Soil erodes, land is cultivated for industry, memories and those who were witnesses to events are lost to time and age. Today, we will go home and most of us will know what has transpired in the daily lives of those we love – and when the time comes for our loved ones to leave us, we hope to have some sort of knowledge as to how their story ended. But there are others who are not so lucky. Others who have spent years wondering what happened to their son, their father, their husband… asking what were his last moments? There is a basic and fundamental human need to know; to have answers. And it is a small thing we, as a country and a government can to, do provide them to the families of those who lost someone. Three years ago, I visited a former prisoner of war camp in Germany. This place, Colditz Castle, held British, Polish, French, Dutch, and American pilots during World War II. I have read no less than a dozen books about this particular camp and it was the stories of these men, their courage, determination, and utter faith that they would not be left behind by their government that helped me through some of the more challenging experiences of my, so far short, life. I stepped back and time and walked the court yard where they made their plans, said a prayer in their chapel thanking them for their courage, and wondered if I would have had the resilience they had. I visited the beaches of Normandy and walked through the woods of Foy wondering if I could ever have the courage to live those moments like so many had done. At Pegasus Bridge, I turned to one of the veterans who was traveling with us and thanked him for his service. He looked at me and said that it wasn’t him I should be thanking, but rather those who did not come back; those who were lost all over the world. I think it was then when I knew just how important those silent voices were. And how much I, as an individual, and we, as a country owe them. Today, we recognize the men and women who have been held as prisoners of war and those who, sadly, we have yet to lay to rest. Alexis de Tocqueville, a 19th century political scientist wrote that, “the greatness of America lies not in not in being more enlightened than any other nation, but rather in her ability to repair her faults.” The recovery of those who were left behind on foreign battlefields does not “repair” broken hearts or pretend to make whole families that have lost those that they loved. It does however, bring us closer to closing the gap between those that came home and those that did not. It provides an ending to stories, and voices to those who have for so long been without one. It is not an easy ending to create. It requires time and money, but more importantly, it requires commitment. It is not a commitment that our service members ask for, but something that we know they deserve; in response to their commitment to serve and protect us, we commit to their memory and their return. In his fourth sonnet, Rupert Brooke wrote, “These hearts were woven of human joys and cares, Washed marvelously with sorrow, swift to mirth. The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs, And sunset, and the colours of the earth. These had seen movement, and heard music; known Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended; Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone; Touched flowers and furs and cheeks… [They leave] a white Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance, A width, a shining peace, under the night.” It is these hearts that we recognize and remember today, these hearts that we keep in our memory, and these hearts that we are committing to when we commit again and again to the fullest accounting possible.

Friday was the day that I loved. Each year, the Pentagon has a Recognition Day ceremony that they host. This year, the Secretary of Defense was the speaker and I was able to meet him and speak with him for a few moments. I was very impressed with his speech and was excited to have the chance to meet him (I actually sat about four feet away from him during the event). The best part of this ceremony happens at the end, after the speeches are given and the self-congratulatory applause. The joint services are lined up in dress uniforms on the parade grounds in front of you for the entire ceremony. Behind them are the flags of the 50 states and at the end of the ranks is a service band. The ceremony ends with a pass and review parade and a fly-over missing man formation. Throughout the years in my travels, I’ve been lucky to see other countries service members turned out in their uniforms. The Swedes look nice, all dressed in blue and the British are quite dapper in their uniforms. With that said, though, I find it hard to imagine that I will ever find any one as impressive as our military. As they marched past us, it was a fitting reminder of why the issue is still of relevance to today’s society. We are working for them. And we are working to ensure that their families are never left in the same situation and with the same questions that others were in the past.

 

Say a Little Prayer

It’s a big week around here, my dears. This Friday is Nation POW/MIA Recognition Day. Held every year on the third Friday of September, this is a day to honor American prisoners of war and those who are still listed as missing in action. The first one was held in 1979 and if you look closely, you’ll notice that the League’s flag is flying at government buildings across the nation (though, really it should fly everyday there are actually only a handful of days that it is legally required to fly). I remember growing up, I had a lot of questions about what the POW/MIA flag was all about. My parents explained the basics of prisoners of war and what it meant to be listed as “missing in action.” The idea of a prisoner of war was easy enough for me to grasp. I was obsessed with movies like THE GREAT ESCAPE and VON RYANS EXPRESS when I was a kid. I remember doing a book report in 8th grade on ESCAPE FROM COLDITZ and being incredibly surprised that my classmates didn’t crucify me for not doing something more trendy like RL Stein or the like. Growing up in a town where the main attraction was, in fact a prison, I could grasp the concept of being a prisoner. What I could never really wrap my head around was “missing in action.” The idea that you could simply disappear with no one knowing where you were was a challenging concept to understand. To a kid that had parents who always knew where she was, that a person could just go missing and not be found … it just didn’t make sense to me. When I started my internship here my senior year of high school, I think I finally started to get it. As I learned more and more about the League, I began to realize that my earlier, childhood fears that these people who were “missing” would be forgotten was wrong. They had not been forgotten. Not by their families. Not by their friends. And luckily, there were people who were in fact searching for them. Yes, there was for some, a sense that they had simply vanished. But someday, they would be found. Their stories would have an ending. I also learned that the large, black flag with the young man bowing his head was not just a generic symbol but rather the flag of the League. It was created with a direct purpose and every piece of it meant something. Even the silhouette of the man behind the barbed wire was a real person – a returned prisoner – was done with deliberation by the artist. I always knew that I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself. That I wanted to make a difference in some way. A few weeks ago, when I was in Boston, I saw the flag flying in the Commons and the enormity of what the League has done and what the flag means to so many people hit me in a different way than it ever had before. Suddenly, I knew that I was forever linked to this in a way that meant something. I hope that this Friday, when you get ready for work, you remember to say a small prayer for the over 83,000 American men and women who are still listed as missing in action. Say a little prayer for their families who are still waiting for an answer as to what happened to them. And say a little prayer for Bowe, captured in Afghanistan by Taliban forces on 19 June, 2009.

My 16 year old self and I…

are in the market for a new suit.

It’s funny when you look at your life and think, “Is this really it?”  I remember when I was at The Briar, there would be days that I would sit on my porch and think that I had made it to the big time.  Most people would look at an apartment like the one I was living in, situated in the middle of nowhere, and ask themselves what the hell they were doing there in such a sleepy place.  Me?  I reveled in the quiet.

When I was about ten, I told my parents I was going to move to Virginia.  Actually, the plan was to go to W&M, study history, and spend my summers working at Williamsburg so I could dress up and place like I was Felicity every day (I was a HUGE fan of the American Girls series… don’t judge).  I would get my degree and then move home to Yuma and become a teacher at my dad’s old school.  It was just the plan.  At some point that plan shifted to not going to W&M and then it completely derailed when I realized that I did not have the patience that was required to become a teacher.  It wasn’t the students – it was the paperwork.  I would never be allowed to be the kind of teacher I wanted to be, so what was the point? 

A year ago, I remember driving to town and it hit me: this was my life.  I was a grown up, living in Virginia, and I had the start of a career.  I would have killed at that moment to meet up with my 16 year old self and ask her if she had ever thought college admissions was in her future.  The good news is that, while 16 y/o me would not have believed it, there was a 20 y/o me that would have so it didn’t seem so farfetched. 

Last week, I stood in a crowded ballroom, dressed in my nice pencil skirt and pretty black heels, holding a glass of wine as the Ambassador of VN toasted to the 66^th National Day of his country.  I smiled politely and raised my glass, taking a sip and being ever so careful not to spill my drink on the man next to me who kept insisting we toast after each speech that was made.  I shook hands with Ambassadors to the states from LS, CMB, and met the US ambassador to VN.  I watched my boss make her way through the room so sure of herself and her mission for the evening.  And through it all, I held my breath, waiting to wake up and get back to reality. 

I drove home from the hotel and called my grandparents to share the giddy moments of the evening.  I hadn’t tripped.  I hadn’t made inappropriate comments about Jane Fonda or poorly timed jokes about communism.   I’d made it through what my boss told me would be the first of many diplomatic events. 

I checked in with my 16 year old self when I got home.  She said we want a red suit, please.

One Last Day at the Briar

So this weekend, I got to “go home.”  No, I didn’t fly back to my parent’s house … I got to head back to The Briar Friday night for first-year student move in day (I was lucky enough to be able to invite myself back!).  I packed up my car in the morning before I left for work, picked up a college friend at half past six, and we hit the road.  Well, we tried, at least.  Between the traffic that inevitably accompanies a Friday night between Alexandria and Fredericksburg and the downpour of rain, it wasn’t until we’d clocked about two hours in the car that it felt like we were making much progress anywhere!

I was a little nervous about the whole affair, to be quite honest.  Would the girls want to see me?  Had they moved on from our numerous phone calls, emails, and post cards?  I know how silly that sounds – the day wasn’t about me.  But, I’ve looked forward to this one day all summer and it is kind of like when you were a kid and you just prayed that Christmas lived up to your expectations.  Boy did it!  I exceeded my hug quota and getting that one, final chance to say what a joy it was working with them was just perfect. 

In admissions, you always call “move-in day” your “job affirmation day.”  It is that moment when all of the extra hours you spent on the road, the files that you read, and the notes you wrote come into perspective.  You forget the double ear infection that you got in Kansas City, the pink eye you contracted somewhere in Chicago and 12+ hour days spent in the office.  Instead, those moments are supplanted by the hugs, the excited tear and nervous giggles of young women who have the whole world at their feet.  Girls you met almost a year that were unsure of decisions they were facing walk away from you, id cards and orientation packets in hand ready to conquer anything.  And you are left to wonder what next year will look like?

The job that I have moved to could not be further from that of an admissions counselor that I sometimes find myself laughing and asking myself, “how did I get here?”  I work in an office of one or two people (myself and the Chairman of the Board) and am now essentially responsible for the general managerial running of the group.  I’m learning about bookkeeping, how to pay payroll taxes, and there will be more than trivial information about fundraising going through my brain by the end of the year than I thought I’d ever need or want to know.  I’m seeing quickly that my deficiency in technology is not a helpful thing and am wishing that I had learned to build a website at one time or other in my life… or at least learned what one needed to look for in a website builder.  But then again, who thinks they’ll ever need to know that?! 

With that said, I find myself having more of a grasp on things as each day passes.  I’m moving myself away from trying to ask government officials how the weather is and telling them about the trees blowing outside as I used to do in emails to students and counselors.  I’m getting excited about the people that I’ve met, learning new names and aspects of the government that I never paid much attention to before.  And in general am trying to figure out where exactly I’m going to fit in to all of this.  I have such an amazing woman to follow behind in the Chairman of the Board.  She has a massive legacy that I could never come close to replicating but hope that, with a bit of help and guidance, I’ll be able to cover event 1/16 of the ground she has in her lifetime. 

I still have moments, though, when I miss it.  I was visiting a friend in CT a couple of weeks ago and realized in looking through his binder that I had just become comfortable in high school cafeterias.  I never made many friends on the road… to be honest, I didn’t see the point.  Most of the counselors from other schools annoyed me.  But there were a few that I had grown to like – that I looked for when I walked in to a college fair or scanned signatures for when I signed in at a school. I’ll miss the marathons at Panera and collections of water bottles that I developed. 

Mainly, I’ll just miss the girls.  “My” girls.  They weren’t really mine to begin with, I know.  But merely on loan for a few months out of the year to remind me what amazing things the world at large has to look forward to when they stretch their wings and fly.  It really is a sweet future ahead…

25 hours 16 minutes

I remember I used to sit in my office and just itch to write something… anything that could be deemed creative and had nothing to do with the status of an application.  When I was traveling for work, in between school visits when I had no access to the internet and had written all the p-notes and post cards I could think to write, I would sit in my car and just write.  Short stories about the (mis)adventures of Addy, the Admissions Counselor.  Clever, right? 

When I moved this summer, the feeling of just sitting down and putting something onto a blank screen to fill up stopped being appealing.  It used to be a form of stress relief.  But somehow it seemed like if I started to write, then I’d have to explain the new situation and to be honest, I didn’t want to.  It was hard enough to say goodbye that, having to regurgitate it to the public at large was just not something I was quite ready for. 

You see, I have a tendency to get attached to things.  People, places, rubber ducks from junk stores… name me a significant moment in my life and I can probably show you some sort of tschotsky that is attached to it.  When I left for Australia in 2002, I began a pattern of moving – at least every two years… sometimes sooner.  I spent a year over seas, 8 months back home with my parents while I learned to fit the new me in my old life, two years at the best damn little women’s college in the Midwest, a year in Wisco followed by a semester in DC followed by one last semester in Wisco.  I moved on to a year at the MOWC and thought, quite honestly, that my time in Virginia would be another quick blip on the map.  I was terrified when I accepted the position that I was going to find myself so far in over my head that after my three month training period they’d pull me into an office with my stuff boxed up and hand me a pink slip (ironic, huh?).  But that didn’t happen and suddenly, it was three years later.  I’d screwed up, learned from my mistakes, and went on to make some even bigger ones.  It had become home, though.  And the crazy cat ladies, and my odd coworkers had become a second family to me.  So you can imagine that saying good bye to them in May was not high on my list no matter how excited I was about my new job.

And now here I sit, mentally packing my bags for tomorrow’s great adventure back to the Briar to watch “my girls” move in to their residence halls on Saturday one last time.  As much as it pains me to say it, I know this was the right decision but I can’t help but find myself anxiously waiting for it to be six o’clock here so that I can have 24 hours until I leave. 

The new job is great.  I’m slowly taking over more administrative responsibilities and have survived the proverbial lion’s den that was the Annual Meeting.  Actually, that was probably the most fun experience I could have asked for to start this job with.  The opportunity to meet family members and associate members of the organization as well as the various folks who work on the issue on a daily basis was a dream come true.  I got a bit wonder struck every so often and had to catch my “O” shaped mouth a few times.  I learned that I need to “age up” and find some sort of game face… Yeah.  Me with a game face.  My game face typically is that old “Rotary smile” I perfected during my year down under.  But who knows?  Maybe I’ve got a bad-ass lurking inside me somewhere. 

And with that, I’m going to close.  There are articles to read and things to learn… and a cold Diet Coke that is calling my name.  And I only have 25 hours and 16 minutes until I head back to my old home!

Holy cow

… it is COLD here!  And while I freeze my tootsies off in Baltimore, my dad was kind enough to call me about fifteen minutes ago to tell me that it was in the low 80’s in my home town today J  And as I prepare for a snow, ice, and freezing rain tomorrow, he will be enjoying the high 70’s!  To that I say, “BOOOOO!”

Today is day 2 of my trip to Maryland and it has been a lovely one indeed (even with the weather outside being so cold).  Sunday’s SBC Day event was fabulous and between the prospective students and alumnae, we had a full house.  I was especially excited to see two of our more recent alumnae from this past spring who had been student workers for the Admissions Office.  They had fantastic stories about what they are doing now and I’m quite excited to get them talking to some of the local students near them!

Funny story about my hotel: I checked in and got myself settled (for me, that means taking out my toothbrush and putting my bear on the bed).  I was in the process of trying to figure out what I should do for dinner when the door opens and a couple walks through my door.  We stand there looking at each other and the young woman says in a rather matter of fact way, “You aren’t Housekeeping, are you?”  I started laughing and said, “No, I’m sorry I’m not.  Can I help you?”  We were quickly able to discover that we had both been booked into the same room and after some awkward laughing, went downstairs and sorted out the situation.  Now, this even might surprise many people but I’m actually a veteran of the “double booking.”  My first experience with this happened my first year as an Admissions Counselor when I was on a trip to Arizona.  It was late one night, and I was pretty exhausted when I checked into my hotel.  I took my key up to the room and was surprised as I stood outside the door because it sounded as though there was noise coming through the door, as if the television was on.  I figured that the neighbors must have had their tv on quite loudly.  You can imagine, I’m sure, my surprise when I opened the door to find a middle aged man, sitting in his boxers watching tv on the bed.  Talk about awkward!

And with that, my dears, I’m going to bid you good night.  I have a few weather gods to pray to for a reasonably excitement free day tomorrow.

 

p.s. Just a friendly reminder: application deadline is 14 days away!

Let’s get this party started!

I’ve always been the kind of person who likes tradition.  For me, having a big start or finish to something – a tangible sign of a beginning or an end – is very important.  I am not sure why.  No one else in my family could care less.  It is just me.

That is what makes days like today so amazing.

This morning was Sweet Briar’s 2010 Opening Convocation.  Think of it as a giant kick-off to the new year.  The students get dressed up, the staff come out of their offices and the professors put on their fabulous regalia and we all congregate in the performing arts center for a pep rally of sorts.  Not so much the pep rally of high school proportions with cheerleaders and the marching band.  No, this one is only slightly more dignified.

President Parker gave a small speech about the year ahead – goals for the college, where we have been, where we are now, and where we are going.  We mused and reflected on the importance of campus involvement and Dean Green introduced the honors topic of “emerging ethics.”  The best speech (let’s be honest here) always comes from the winner of the outstanding faculty award presented at last spring’s graduation as voted on by the student body.  This year, Dr. Morrisey gave a rousing speech encouraging students to “drink heavily” from the wealth of knowledge provided by faculty members on this campus and, all jokes aside, made it clear some of the ways that students can help themselves along throughout the year.

In short, I’m ready for the year.  I’ve got my charge.  I’ve been reminded of what it is all about.  I’m ready to get this party started.