Sweet Caroline

Hi everyone!
This past year, the MIT tennis team adopted an adorable little girl, Caroline, to be our little sister and mascot. Caroline is currently suffering from an incurable brain tumor, but this fall, there is a benefit walk for the organization that is treating her and funding research to find new treatments. I'm walking the route on September 12 and as a walker, I'm also trying to raise money for the Dana Farber organization. The Dana Farber organization has been extraordinarily effective at finding new treatments in the past and it is rated as a four star, highly efficient charity. There are a million charities that you could give to, but I'm writing about this one because Caroline is someone I've really become really attached to. She's a smart, lively, and precocious child who has everything going for her; her parents work as hard as possible to try to give her some semblance of a normal life in between all the doctor's appointments. All the money that we raise goes directly to funding research for childhood brain tumors and there really is hope for finding effective treatments near enough in the future that they would help Caroline. If this isn't convincing, I just want to say that I would consider any donation to the fund as a personal gift (a belated birthday present of sorts) and it would really mean a lot to me. Here is the link to donate to my fund in the Jimmy Fund Walk (you'll have to copy and paste): http://www.jimmyfundwalk.com/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=297511&lis=1&kntae297511=BDE0A434350B4652BF4EA4E7EA5100BC&supId=262750804





Finally, here is a letter that talks a little more about Caroline from Caroline's Parents:

We were devastated to learn that our daughter Caroline (The Chickaroo) had an inoperable and presently incurable brain tumor known as a Pediatric Low Grade Astrocytoma (PLGA). Adding proverbial “insult to injury” was the discovery that the “current” frontline-treatment options for her were brutally toxic, highly ineffective, replete with horrendous side-effects and unacceptably, nearly a quarter-century old. Whether stand alone or in combination, all of these options would have significant impact and horrific side effects on anyone, let alone a child with a developing brain. Despite the name, there is nothing “benign” about these incurable and often inoperable tumors.

We have hope that things will soon change for Caroline and other children with PLGAs (the most common childhood brain tumor). Dana-Farber Cancer Institute established the Low-Grade Astrocytoma Program at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in May 2007. The new concentration of research at Dana-Farber is believed to be the first coordinated research effort committed to this specific type of tumor. Donations to Team Chickaroo will help advance this program and assure a better future for Caroline and other children with PLGAs.

We know that these times are difficult for so many and that there are many worthy causes out there. We sincerely appreciate your support and are confident your donation, large or small, will truly make a difference.

Thank you from the bottom of our most humble hearts!

Sarah and Rick

Bye Bye Paris

I was a bit apprehensive going into my final weekend in Paris, for I was going to be virtually alone most of the time since Abby wasn't able to come visit as had been originally planned. I generally don't mind being alone, but Paris just didn't feel like an alone type of city. In any case, Friday evening was nice and relaxing as Kerry (the friend whose flat I was staying in) and I had a picnic near her dorm. The night went by quickly and after what seemed like a short little chit chat, it was already two in the morning and we were down a bottle of delicious (and deliciously cheap) Sauvignon. Saturday morning, Kerry and I started off by walking through the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens and commenting on how funny the French looked while jogging. We then walked around a bit of the Latin Quarter and saw the Sorbonne and the Pantheon where we were supposed to meet up with some of Kerry's American friends. They were nice enough, but I didn't particularly want to go wine tasting with them, so from there I headed towards the Centre Pompidou. I was strangely tense as I strolled through the beautiful Latin Quarter on my way; that may have been partly due to the fact that I realized I had left virtually all my money in Lille and was left with around 20 euros for two museums and three meals in Paris. Part of my nervousness could also be attributed to the fact that a friend had emailed me telling me not to go to the Pompidou because there was a horrible "angry, feminist, modern for the sake of being modern art exhibit" there (that's one of the least appealing descriptions of an exhibit i've ever heard). On the other hand, I'd heard a few people say it was their favorite museum and I had originally been extremely excited to go, so I dreaded being disappointed. I was also walking around the areas where I had already walked with someone else before, so I was unnecessarily dwelling on that. The moment I saw the Pompidou, though, my mood lifted. The building and the surrounding courtyard were reason enough to come visit, and as the sugar on top, the museum was displaying the biggest exhibit of Kandinsky that had ever been put together. When I first entered the Pompidou, I headed up to the restaurant terrace to have a glass of wine and relax a bit. The view of Paris was unbelievable and in what would seem to be a strange coincidence, every one of the waitresses there looked like a more beautiful version of Penelope Cruz. I couldn't get myself to leave for almost an hour, but when I did, I made a beeline for Kandinsky. The paintings were fantastic, as was to be expected, but what was interesting was that I felt more connected to the art and the spirit of the paintings at the Pompidou than I had ever felt before. The space was made for art and all the people seemed to be thoroughly enjoying their time (the exact opposite of the Louvre). What really played the greatest role, however, was the fact that I was alone; I wanted to be with someone and share my excitement at the priceless collection of Chagall, Matisse, Derain, Braque, and Picasso, more than anything- but I couldn't. I couldn't enjoy someone else's view complementing mine and I couldn't see the art through the excitement, fascination, or confusion in someone else. I also couldn't be distracted by wondering whether someone else was enjoying the art or whether I was going too slow or too fast; I couldn't think about what someone else said to me or what I would reply. I could only enjoy the art as thoroughly as I could for what it was and that was enough. By the time I was forcibly expelled from the Pompidou at 9 PM, I was in a lovely mood and couldn't help but smile at all the wonderful Parisians and tourists I passed as I walked back to meet up with Kerry at the Latin Quarter. From there, we had a magical night listening to street musicians and hanging out with a big group of young Parisians on the Seine. One slightly awkward detail of the night was that I was wearing a new dress that had this wonderful tendency to spontaneously unbutton itself in the front; I had assuaged that problem by wearing a big scarf and surreptitiously rebuttoning the dress behind the scarf as necessary. However, when the street musicians were playing their last song, one of them made me come out and dance with him. At this point, my dress decided to be highly uncooperative, and my dancing technique, which was less than stellar to begin with, turned into a "how do I move around and not flash 100 Parisians?" It was stressful and ungraceful, but successful. After the musicians left at 12:30 because they had a curfew of 12:00, Kerry and I stayed to hang out with some English girls and a bunch of Moroccan engineers. I had one of my best nights in France and I was sad to go when we left to catch the last metro home.
Sunday morning I enjoyed visiting the Rodin Museum and exploring the Invalides Quarter. My first hour in the Rodin Museum when I strolled through the rose garden and saw the Gates of Hell and the Thinker was the best. The museum on the inside was remarkably complete, but after seeing 5 rooms full of Rodin's work, the sculptures started to blend into each other and it was pretty tiring. The museum often had multiple copies of the same sculpture or all the complete studies for the sculpture and the scultpure itself which was definitely overkill. At one point, I crossed the Seine and watched a bit of the Tour de France. I had no idea how it worked and I kept searching for country flags, but some hard core American fans explained to me that there were sponsor teams and not country teams. It was virtually impossible to see anything through all the crowds, but just seeing all the crowds, the fancy sponsoring cars, and a blur of bicyles every now and then was cool. I stayed for about a half hour and then returned to a little garden near the Rodin Museum to paint. I was feeling excited about modern art as I had just seen the Kandinsky exhibit so as I sat down to paint, I tried to channel my inner modern artist: all that came out was muck. I was thinking about the people who go see modern art and say "anyone can do that" and was resentfully thinking that maybe it's just anyone but me. Just as I decided to scrap my pathetic attempt at being Kandinsky, an old French man who lived near the Rodin museum sat down and started talking to me. He asked what I was painting and after I quickly hid my picture and answered a few generic "where are you from" questions, the conversation moved towards the book he was writing and his views on Paris and Parisians. I stopped painting for a little and just talked with him, but then as he was getting ready to leave, I looked at the tree that was right in front of me, and realized that it was an absolutely amazing tree and that it was exactly what I wanted to paint. I did, and it was a bit disappointingly, and as always 100% impressionist, but I was happy with it. When I got kicked out of the garden because it was closing, I headed to Gare du Nord where my adventures for the weekend should have ended. The station is quite sketchy, so I searched around for some non-sketchy looking guys who I could sit next to and who could serve as sketchy-guy repellent. I found two very young, slightly confused-looking, backpacking British boys who were headed in the same direction as me. The two boys, Alastair (known as Ally as in the girl's name) and Dominque (known as Dom as in dumb) explained to me that they had finished a 30 day Eurotrip to Istanbul and back and now they were just headed home and really wanted to sleep in their own comfy beds. Ally was a very rich socialist (aren't they all) and quite talkative economics major from near Nottingham while Dom was a history major and a painter at the same university. Unfortunately for Ally and Dom, the girl cousin who had been traveling with them and who had been meticulously planning their trip, stopped in Avignon, so they were on their own getting back to England. Since she left, the two "grown up" boys had lost part of their sleeping bag and a few other minor belongings and had missed all their trains. From Paris, they were supposed to take a connecting train to Calais to get to England, but they missed their train from Paris (by an hour), so they missed their train to Calais and had no where to stay for the night until their train at 6 in the morning. I told them they could stay at my apartment for the night, so they came over and Ally and I had a long political debate until we realized it was almost 2 in the morning and we should go to sleep. They put out their sleeping bags on my floor and promptly fell asleep. Unfortunately for me, Dom snored a lot and they both also crashed into all my furniture when they woke up at 5 in the morning to catch their train, so I didn't really sleep that much. It was interesting though, and judging from the fact that Alastair has since facebook friended me, I'm guessing that they got home all right.

Bretagne avec Herve

"Yes, I had a fine trip over" I fibbed again and again as I replied to the well intentioned question of "C'etait un bon voyage?". I had just arrived (40 minutes late thanks to my train) at the Brittany home of Herve's grandparents after a 5 hour trip that included 3 hours with a group of unsupervised little French kids who entertained themselves by running around and yelling in the faces of sleeping passengers. In any case, my arrival at the picturesque and overflowing Brittany summer house with Herve, his father, his friend Benois, his stepbrother Daniel, three of his cousins from Strasbourg, his aunt and uncle, and of course his grandparents, was a relief. Friday night was quiet and I did nothing more than eat, play ping pong, and meet the people I had not yet met: Herve's father who was exactly like Herve except he had brown hair, was thirty years older, and had a slightly quieter, gentler, but less exuberant way about him-the profession of minister fit him perfectly; there was Herve's grandfather who reminded me a bit of my own grandpa Yevsey in that he was extremely rational and intelligent and talked for a long time and very slowly; I was lucky enough also to meet Herve's grandmother, Mami Rose, who was one of the most adorable elderly people I've ever met and just being around her made me feel warm, comfy, and welcome; Benois was awesome as well and I think the most accurate way to describe him would be a less silly and more secular version of Herve-if it's true that you can judge a person by the friends he chooses, so far Herve has earned an A+.



In any case, Saturday morning we woke up early and Herve, his father, Benois, Noemi, Daniel and I headed to Dinan, a very touristy medieval city in Brittany. It was one of the most charming little French cities I've seen with its steep cobblestone streets descending towards the ports and the galleries and cafes on every corner. We visited the cathedral, browsed through the markets, explored some galleries, and walked along the old ramparts overlooking the city before reluctantly returning to the car. The car ride home featured an unexpected (for me) musical accompaniment: Herve's father put on a CD of traditional Jewish songs in Hebrew as well as English and German and everyone in the car knew the songs and sang along. I actually hadn't heard some of the songs in years and it was nice to be reminded of them (though strange to hear them in German). After lunch at the house, we headed to rainy Mont St. Michel. The mountain was packed with tourists but every bit as beautiful as described. We walked along the mountain city and the abbey trying to escape the tourists and the howling wind, but the real magic began in the evening. Around 7 PM, all of the tourists disappeared from the mountain and the Abbey opened up all of its formerly closed rooms. We "snuck" back into the abbey without our free tickets which made Herve's overly law-abiding cousin comically freak out. Then musicians filled the chambers of the abbey, the sky cleared up, and the mountain was lit up. There were lots of musicians, but after leaving the flutist to listen to the harp, Herve and I just stayed put. I don't know that I've ever experienced something as perfect as those 15 minutes Herve and I spent listening to the harp together in that beautiful Abbey but it was over too quickly and then we were headed back down the mountain.
Sunday morning was thoroughly relaxing; I had a lovely wake up courtesy of Herve and then after some breakfast, we just played some ping pong (Swiss style), went on the swings, and lay in the grass. After Benois left on his bike to go back to Switzerland, we went into the city of St. Malo. It was a beautiful and festive city on the beach with high walls surrounding the city. I insisted that I didn't want to go swimming, but the beach kept calling and we ended up building a little sand castle with moats and walls and all to try to stand against the tide. A little German boy was watching us jealously, so we told him he should help us out. As Herve remarked with a hint of bitterness, he was maybe nine years old and already spoke almost fluent English. After our castle was flooded, we walked on the city wall and looked over the beach. Inside the city, there were galleries, little pods of artists, and patisseries everywhere. We also had a fun experience with one of the street performers who decided to incorporate me and Herve into his show, but I'll leave off the details. We finished off the day by playing a traditional French beach game with Herve's family- I forget the name even though I've heard it tons of times but it essentially involves trying to throw a big ball as close to a little ball as possible. I made it to my train in time, though a part of me wished I would miss it. This train trip went much more quickly as I had a lovely train neighbor who entertained me with stories in French for the entire 5 hour trip. And then I had a week of actual work!

Les Voyages avec Maman

These last few days have surely been a case of pictures speak louder than words. I've seen a few adorable little Belgians cities and endless golden corn fields with poppies and other wildflowers scattered throughout, but those descriptions don't even begin to capture the whole magnificance of the scenery. In any case, here's a short transcription of all the places I've been:


Brugges in Belgium was a tourist magnet with beautiful canals, churches, cute cafes, waffles, Belgian lace, and chocolate everywhere. It was a simple enough day: we ambled around while our eyes (and noses) had a ball. We got stuck at one point in the central square when 4 young harpists who were touring with a musical group stopped to play; I refused to leave and just sat on the steps, listened to my favorite instrument and read Musicophilia. The evening was beautiful, but cold, and after dinner, we hurried back to our train to Lille.

The next day we went to Giverny, which since the beginning had been my one must-see destination. Giverny was amazing for me more for the association and the knowledge that my favorite childhood painter had lived there, painted there, and designed the gardens we walked through than for the place itself. Despite the mob of tourists (recurring theme), the area retained the spirit of Monet and the Impressionists. We crowded through Monet's old house and his beautiful lilly garden and then explored the galleries of wannabe Monets extending throughout the village and the few original and interesting galleries as well.
In the evening, mom left me to paint some of the corn fields and landscapes by the side of the road while she explored the riverside. Nothing came of my painting, for I was too distracted by images of Van Gogh's, Cezanne's and Pisarro's paintings of the same image to paint something that was my own and not a horrible caricature of theirs, not too mention the distracting random guy who stopped and watched me paint. It was a great time in any case, and in the evening, we went to nearby Roche-Guyon where we stumbled upon a beautiful chateau in the cliffs and then a restaurant called "Curiosites et Gourmandises." Curiosites and Gourmandises, despite its random location, ended up being the most fabulous food experience I had had in all of France. It was run by a group of young chefs (the oldest was 24) who had lots of time and energy on their hands and had fun exploring new and interesting food combinations. What resulted was the most beautifully presented, different, and delicious food I'd ever had and I was very sorry when I had finished it.
The next day (and yes, I had that many days off), it was rainy so we went to see the Matisse Museum which had been recommended to me by a woman I work with. The museum was in Matisse's dingy hometown, Cateau Cambresis. The museum, however, was beautifully set up and had a diverse collection of Matisse's works from throughout his lifetime as well as works by Chagall, Picasso, Derain, and Hebrin (a little known French painter with really cool modern works). The rest of the city, with the exclusion of a small, rundown chateau we found by the side of the road, was closed and dead so we went back to Lille.














For the 14 of Juillet, or Bastille day, Mamchik and I actually left France and visited Ghent (or Gand or Gent). Ghent was a weird city in a way because for being so small and insignificant, it had so many grandiose buildings. It turned out that up until the 15th century Ghent was one of the most important cities in Europe and was second only to Paris in size; the three big towers in the center that define the skyline as well as the beautiful city squares are all remnants from that time. Ghent is usually grouped together with Brugges as one of the two beautiful little canal-filled cities in northern Belgium, but in reality Ghent has a very different feel to it. It's significantly less catered to tourists and with its three big towers and castle in the center of the city, it has a much more monumental atmosphere. We started off by exploring one of the cathedrals, which due to poor architecture, was apparently always on the verge of falling down. After walking through the big squares of the city in the direction of the castle, we got sidetracked and stopped in a really cool design museum for a little over an hour. After lunch, we finally did make it to the medieval castle (which looked exactly like a Disney version of an enchanted castle) where we explored the knight's halls, the towers, the ramparts, and the many prisons and torture rooms, one of which was actually built to be a chapel. We finished off Ghent by having some coffee with chocolate by the canal and then walking to the park where there were some musicians and jugglers practicing for the upcoming festival.On a side note. . . I guess I have this strange tendency to assign potential uses to objects that I see and apparently this confused my mother; I would say that a sculpture of a pair of lovers that I really liked would be a perfect wedding present and my mom thought that I wanted to get married ASAP. I saw cute children's clothes or toys and said I would get those for future children, so I guess I spend my time waiting to have children. I guess while at the design museum, I was also placing things all over my imaginary house. Mamchik took me completely seriously up until I saw a homeless man with a dog, and said that "When I'm homeless, I'll have a dog." She looked at me surprised and asked if I planned on becoming homeless. Oh mamchik.
Sorry for the delays with the blogs! No excuses...I've just gotten lazy.