Celebrations: Parents’ Banquet 2008

In the evening after Baccalaureate, a dinner is given by the parents (actually cooked by the school – and it was good – but we paid for it) for their graduating children and a small selection of administration and staff.

I enjoyed being emcee for the evening. I didn’t actually do much of the talking myself, but encouraged others to do so, with very pleasing results – if somewhat embarrassing to the kids whose parents got up to speak!

Teeran and Rossella, 2008 Parents' Banquet

^ since Enrico was not present, my classmate Teeran, who supervises Woodstock’s catering, stepped in as surrogate dad

I had been amazed to be told that this was the largest turnout of parents for graduation in recent memory. In my day, it was highly unusual for parents not to attend. I regret that I said as much to the audience during the banquet  – it was an unnecessary reminder for some whose parents were MIA, including Ross (who probably felt over-mothered and under-fathered throughout).

I suppose that for some parents (particularly those of SAGE program students, who had travelled the furthest to attend Woodstock), it was too far and/or expensive to travel. Others whose own cultural background does not include American-style graduation festivities perhaps did not understand the importance of this rite of passage. Perhaps in future the school can try a little harder to explain it to them.

Although having to juggle parents during one’s final, highly emotional, days at school can add its own set of stresses!

Rebecca

The students repaid us with entertainment: some very fine jazz which inspired some (including some staff and parents) to dance.

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And some students got up to respond very eloquently to the statements of their elders.

Alamdar

^ top: souvenir placemats and napkins in the class colors, embroidered with the class word “Renaissance” – one of the mothers supervised this project. The souvenir Kashmiri papier maché boxes also are inscribed with “Renaissance”

Woodstock School Celebrations: Baccalaureate 2008

^ above, foreground: Anja (Netherlands/USA), Jaju (India), Sangi (Nagaland, India), Kayo (Japan)

Graduation from Woodstock is a long series of rites, starting with the Senior Music Recital. Then comes the Baccalaureate service, for which all students are requested to wear the formal costumes of their native countries.

For some students, it can be hard to decide what country they’re natives of. Many Woodstockers are culturally and/or ethnically mixed, and may hold multiple citizenships.

^ Nishant (India), Dzung (Vietnam), Aman (India), Sidhant (India), Shabab (Bangladesh), Tushar (India), Dhruv (India)

^ Benjamin models the traditional costume of his native Bhutan. No, “Benjamin” is not a traditional Bhutanese name; his family is Christian

^ Gonpo (Tibet/Nepal) and Roli (India)

^ Rossella representing for Italy in Dolce & Gabbana, Elisa for Finland

^ Jim Geddes’ advisor group: Kunga (Tibet), Shalvi (India), Shema (Nepal), Alamdar (Afghanistan), Laura (USA), Boris (Russia), Ross (Italy/USA), and Misha (India). Unfortunately, this photo does not do justice to Mr. Geddes’ sexy waxed mustache!

^ the two Japanese girls arrived late, because donning their traditional costumes takes a long time!

Woodstock High School Awards 2008

Woodstock School held its annual high school awards assembly. I didn’t film every moment of it, but got the highlights for the benefit of parents and other relatives who couldn’t be there.

Those of you who have no connection whatsoever with Woodstock may nonetheless be intrigued by the school’s demographics on display in these videos!

  • Scholastic Achievement Awards
  • Music: Aidan Lewis and Band – download for iPod
  • Centennial Shield & Citizenship Awards
  • Community Service & Journalism Awards
  • Drama Awards
  • Writing Awards
  • Cassinath & Music Awards
  • Presentation of Documentary
  • Senior Awards
  • Music: Gonpo & the Rockers

 

India 2008: Delhi > Dehra Dun > Mussoorie

This trip began with a mad rush to the airport. I’ve been booking and taking so many flights lately that, not surprisingly, I got confused over the departure time for this one: thought it was 6:45, but as we got in the car and I did my last-minute paranoia check, I realized the flight would take off at 6:15.

Enrico managed to get me to Malpensa in time for a skidding rush to the counter to check in my enormous pink suitcase – it helped that I had already checked myself in for the flight online. I then proceeded almost directly onto the plane, with only a brief stop for an indispensable espresso and a pastry.

During my three-hour layover in Amsterdam I took advantage of my Platinum-for-life status with KLM (the fruit of six years of four flights a year in business class, back during the dotcom boom) to use their lounge, which was unpleasantly crowded but at least had free WiFi.

I think it was also my Platinum status that got me the best seat in Economy class: aisle seat behind a short row so there was no seat in front of me at all – legroom galore! I could even have worked on my laptop, but I didn’t. I watchedAaja Nachle on the video-on-demand system, and read a Montalbano book that I had somehow previously missed.

KLM Indian meal

“snack” served just before landing. The food wasn’t quite what I was in the mood for at that hour, but the greatly reduced and presumably recycled packaging was interesting

A driver sent by Momotours met me at the airport and took me to the same apartment where Ross and I had stayed in December. I slept fitfully for a few hours. In the dawn I heard a strange bird call. Now that I’ve looked it up, I suspect that identifying it as a koel is probably wrong (though the call sounds like that to me). Can anyone tell me what bird this is (it doesn’t appear in the video – I could only hear it, not see it)?

The driver came back and took me to Old Delhi Railway Station, which was soon bustling with travellers. I chatted with a young American couple who moved from the US to Dehra Dun and are running Himalayan hiking tours from the US – they were escorting a group of people just arrived from Tennessee. Indian tourism is booming in all directions!

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Another ride on the familiar Shatabdi, with the familiar Shatabdi breakfast:

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“Premium white slice” refers to bread. I never butter my bread in Italy, but in India the butter tastes better to me.

The train arrived on time (not always the case), and another taxi picked me up for the ride to Mussoorie. Getting out of the messily booming city of Dehra Dun seemed to take forever; I amused myself taking pictures.

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Indian sign painters never seem to think of checking their spelling. A small panel at the bottom rear of a beautifully-painted truck in Delhi was inscribed: “Pewor Brecks”. I had to think hard about that one.

Nice to Come Home To

Got back to my Broomfield office today, after two weeks in California, and was touched and amused to find that someone had appended a note to the hand-scrawled nameplate on my office (Diana’s been out for a while and hasn’t got around to printing me an official one):

It’s nice to feel appreciated! (No, I don’t know who wrote it.)

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia