Today I had coffee and sweet rolls at State Fair Park with 300 other “ordinary people” and a dozen or so state legislators from Milwaukee County districts.

Of those who signed up to come, 164 were from districts with Tosa residents. Senator Lena Taylor and Representative Fred Kessler were there, along with Senator Jim Sullivan’s aide Leslie Jorgensen. She stayed late listening hard and taking notes.

I’m not sure that anyone there was ordinary, though. They’d all taken half a day to come out for the chance to tell their stories to the people who will vote for the final state budget. They were active citizen advocates, the kind you don’t see in your local paper or on television. Nothing newsworthy about democracy in action, I guess.

Some had come nearly two hours early because when you use transportation services for the disabled, you come when they bring you.

Others walked in line to their seats, hand to the shoulder ahead, because they couldn’t see.

A whole table of people behind me wore dashing helmets—but not because they’d ridden their bikes to work.

There were the people in suits, too, many working in the scores of agencies dedicated to serving people who are older, disabled, mentally ill, or in poor and working families. Many of those agencies are part of the Make it Work Milwaukee! Coalition or People Can't Wait, event sponsors.

Of course, you couldn’t tell a person’s role by attire or the presence of an obvious disability: there were disabled people in suits and people with disabilities running the agencies.

Maybe “ordinary people” is the best descriptor for all of us after all.

It was a sunny day, fortunately, because the entrance near the parking lot was locked and people had to walk—or ride their wheel chairs--the equivalent of several blocks to get in. For some, it was a heroic act; for others, a spring day pleasure.

I was a little bemused when Senator Alberta Darling launched a battle cry for jobs and dignity. Of course we all want dignity, and most of us want work. But some people can’t work in the conventional ways we see work. And many in the room carried more than one challenge, if grey hair in the disabled is an accurate clue.

There’s no way to get around the need for services to help people live dignified lives that are productive in mysterious ways as well as economic ones. And that means there’s no way to get around the need for money.

As one person at my table said, “the non-profits are doing a great job of holding things together with duct tape and paper clips. But we can’t afford the paper clips anymore.” The for-profits are strained, too, and have not received increases to compensate for rising costs and demands.

And everybody needs transportation, mental and physical health care and dental care, affordable housing, and living wages.

I wish you--and more elected officials and reporters--had been there. It was something out of the ordinary.

Today the twins turn 17. The day they were born was very like today: bright and too cold. We went to St. Mary's Hospital around 10 am for labor to be induced. It was three weeks before their due date, but each of them weighed close to 7 pounds, and I was READY.

We outgrew our house in Story Hill that day, and a year later we moved to Tosa. We lost a close-knit neighborhood, but we gained another bedroom, a big yard, and a short walk to Underwood School.

While the rhubarb-chocolate chip birthday muffins were baking this morning, I read Wauwatosa Now. "Three of a kind" talked about the retirements of three beloved Underwood teachers. If your getting-ready-to-leave-the-nest kids' birthdays and the simultaneous retirement of their grade school teachers doesn't make you nostalgic, nothing will.

I didn't really know Vicky Peplinski, so my apologies for leaving her out of this. But Sandra McDonald and Joanne Minnesale made real differences in my children's lives.

They won't just be missed because their "different personalities" add to the school mix. They'll be missed because they are great teachers, with special skills, attitudes, and magic.

George had Ms. Minn, as everyone calls her. "She was old," he said as I rolled my eyes, "but she was always keeping up with things, changing, staying current. She was the first person who taught me about computers. And she was a lot of fun. She made work into games."

Indeed. I loved her for dropping everything and taking the kids outside with the first snowstorm. And I hope new policies haven't been developed that prevent teachers from helping kids associate school with this kind of spontaneous joy.

I also loved her for giving kids confidence. Her philosophy of grading is always to give kids the benefit of the doubt, to encourage them by giving them abundant tastes of success. Those tastes leave you wanting and willing to work for more.

I wish every teacher in elementary school had that philosophy. It continues to shape George's school work, job performance, and approach to life.

Big girl Annie, now 21, had Mrs. McDonald during a hard year. Annie was dreamy and drifty, and this was the year those problems came to roost. Much later she was diagnosed with attention deficit disorder, but back then, they weren't recognizing ADD much in girls--who tend not to be disruptive.

If you have a kid who marches to a different drum beat, you hold your breath and pray that the teacher will "get" them. Mrs. McDonald "got" Annie. She recognized her intelligence and creativity. She gave Annie the gift of liking her. And she made more attempts than any other teacher in the district ever did to help Annie develop ways to organize and complete tasks.

Mrs. McDonald holds kids to high standards, but she gives them the tools to meet the challenges. A rather dignified person, she gives and earns respect.

Kurt Vonnegut's character Elliot Rosewater prepared a baptismal speech for his neigbor's twins about to embark on learning life. Its final, most important, lesson is one these teachers taught and modeled well:

Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies -- 'God damn it, you've got to be kind.'

Happy birthday babies; happy retirement ladies.