Milestones and memories

Have you ever tried to revisit a time or place that is a beloved part of your past, only to have the whole experience be a letdown? Well, my trip back to Penn State for my graduation (my first time there in about 10 years) was everything that I thought it would be and more.

We flew from San Francisco to Philadelphia on Thursday, August 11th and spent the evening catching up with Steve's parents, whom we hadn't seen since a holiday visit a couple of years ago. Both of them, but especially my father-in-law, have been among my most ardent cheerleaders in my belated return to school. So after breakfast Friday the four of us hit the Pennsylvania Turnpike westward, turned onto Route 322 (taking in some of the most stunning lush, green farmland I've ever seen) and headed right into the heart of Happy Valley. Our first stop was the Penn State Bookstore where I picked up my cap and gown and stocked up on some PSU gear. Credit card damage was limited to a zip-up hoodie, t-shirt, ballcap, license plate frame and fridge magnet -- I could've done much worse! Then it was off to the Berkey Creamery, which didn't exist when I went to Penn State the first time around (it was in a much smaller building elsewhere on campus)... but the ice cream hasn't changed a bit! (Bear in mind that when Ben & Jerry wanted to learn how to make ice cream, they took a course at Penn State. I kid you not.) I had no choice but to indulge in a huge cone of Peachy Paterno, one of the Creamery's best-sellers. You have *never* had peach ice cream like this -- so decadently creamy with gigantic frozen peach slices throughout, like it was studded with little peach popsicles! My memories sure didn't let me down on that score.

Not long after that I had a waaay overdue reunion with my sister Jean, who drove up from the Baltimore area. Hard to believe that six years had passed since we'd last seen each other! But the coolest thing was when the five of us went to dinner at a nearby pub where she and I proceeded to crack each other up with our mutual stupid sense of humor, like it had only been six hours since we had last hung out together.

Then came the big event -- Saturday morning's commencement ceremony at Bryce Jordan Center (the arena is also new since my last trip to campus). There were about 400 of us on hand out of a class of 1200 to receive our degrees. As we awaited the start of the ceremony Steve's brother Gary and his wife Cindy, who had driven in that morning from near Allentown, joined the crew. Now as someone who has a habit of crying at Hallmark commercials, I thought for sure I would dissolve into a puddle of tears at some point in the ceremony, but I toughed it out -- that is until one of the speakers on stage asked the family and friends of the graduates to stand up and be acknowledged for their crucial roles in our road to graduation. I looked up at my gathered family and I was toast... I lost it. (Funny thing about that gown I had on -- no pocket for tissues.) Luckily I managed to spare enough of my makeup to not look too scary for the post-ceremony photo ops.

We had some time to kill before we headed to the American Ale House, where we had reservations for our celebratory lunch, so we were just standing around talking when I was approached by a reporter from the Centre Daily Times, State College's local newspaper, and asked if I would mind discussing my experience as a new graduate. Although as a member of the media I've been featured in the paper quite often over the years, it was still kind of cool for the family (especially thrilling for my mother-in-law). Somewhere between the reporter's notepad and the publication of the story the final "A" was dropped from my last name, but that's the story of my married life!

Watch this space for "Milestones and memories, part 2". This post is getting ridiculously long and it's almost dinnertime. Yep, I got priorities, baby! :-)

Doctor, Doctor, it hurts when I do this...

Well, it sure was an eventful weekend, but I wouldn't wish most of it on my worst enemy. The great part of it: I had a blast yesterday doing the live broadcast at Alice's annual Summerthing concert. It was a beautiful day in Golden Gate Park with 20,000 of my closest friends out to see our free show with OneRepublic, Matt Nathanson, Michelle Branch, Parachute, and Andrew Allen. And I have to say that I work with some of the nicest, coolest people on the planet, which was in no greater evidence than yesterday...

Just showing up for the broadcast was quite challenging for me after I had a medical emergency on Saturday. Around noon I was puttering around the kitchen before work when I was suddenly hit with this sharp pain in the back of my neck. Having been a veteran of the "I slept in a weird position" scenario, I hoped that was all that it was. It eventually subsided after about two hours. But then around 3:00, while I was on the air, I got another blinding pain but this one was in the back of my head. Worst headache of my life, accompanied by nausea. I kept hoping it would go away but, after 6 hours of misery I realized that something was definitely not right. So I called 911 and got an ambulance ride to the ER. Steve left work and met me there.

After two CT scans (the second with a contrast dye to better show the blood vessels in my head) and some morphine, the inconclusive diagnosis is that I may have had a cerebral aneurysm. They released me from the ER at 3:15 yesterday morning with a prescription for Vicodin and orders to follow up with a neurologist and my primary care physician (because my blood pressure was very high, possibly a combination of the decongestant I was taking for my cold and my freaking out from the whole situation). But they told me that if I felt like working the next day, then go ahead and work. So after 4 hours of sleep I headed out for the concert, and it was just what I needed. Sunshine and blue sky are always good medicine for me (hence the name of my blog). And not one person I told about the crisis failed to say, "Do whatever you need to do, your health comes first. If you need to leave, then leave and we'll work things out." After a half-hour I was starting to feel awake and relatively pain-free, so I stayed for 3 1/2 of my scheduled 4-hour shift. And I had a really great time doing what I love to do, which is being on the air.

So to the San Francisco paramedics from the ambulance; the ER staff at St. Mary's Medical Center (including Moyra, my spirited Irish nurse); the amazing crew at Alice@97.3 (especially Michael Martin and Jayn!), Steve's boss Dennis who, without hesitation, told him to get out of work and join me; and of course Steve (my rock without whom I could have never gotten through all of this), a million thanks. Now time to rest up and get this thing figured out.

Happy Fathers Day... what's that like?

So we've arrived at another Fathers Day, a holiday that is for the most part foreign to me. As most of my close friends know, my father died when I was only 3. He was just 42 when his third heart attack took his life.

I'm envious of my friends whose parents are still around. My sister Jean was 9 when we lost Dad, and I know it was tough on her because she had had long enough to establish memories of their time together. I, on the other hand, have just a couple of fleeting memories of him. One was of me at my most mischievously adorable... I went through this phase where I would get into the cupboard, find the open box of laundry detergent and dump it all over the kitchen floor. I remember Dad catching me in the act once and trying to be all stern and mad, but he couldn't pull it off and just started laughing.

The other memory I have of my dad is not a pleasant one. It's of him lying on our living room couch having one of his heart attacks. I don't remember if it was the first, second or last one. I only remember standing there looking up at him like, "What's wrong with Daddy?" Then I remember being picked up and taken out of the room.

Because I grew up without a father, I've subscribed to the "you can't miss what you never really had" school of thought. But now, as I get older, I see many of my friends having kids. I see that precious bond and I wonder about all of the things I missed out on after I lost Dad. But then the "everything happens for a reason" side of my brain takes over, and I realize that my life would have turned out far differently had my dad lived longer. And I've got a lot of really good people and things in my life to be thankful for.

So if your dad is still with you, please let him know how much he means to you while you still can. And to my father-in-law Tom, who has been one of my biggest cheerleaders in my belated return to college, Happy Fathers Day. See you at my graduation in August. :-)

The Accidental Reuben

Disclaimer: the following post may offend you if you're a food purist. Culinary discretion is advised.

Steve & I had hot dogs for dinner one recent night, and as a result we had most of a jar of leftover sauerkraut. Come lunchtime today, I had a brainstorm: I'll make myself a Reuben! It's one of my guiltiest of food pleasures. Despite its reputation as a heart attack on a plate, I must have one when I see it on a menu, no matter how healthy I'm trying to eat.

There were only a few small things standing in my way. First, we had no pastrami, but we did have turkey breast. That's all right... a Reuben can indeed be made with turkey breast (although then it's called a Rachel instead of a Reuben). We didn't have any rye bread, either, but we did have some good rustic whole wheat bread. Oops, the traditional Swiss cheese was also MIA, but we did have cheddar. Okay, I can make that swap. Oh, and we had no Thousand Island dressing, but we did have some roasted eggplant and garlic dip that was kind of the same color as the dressing. Well, that could've been the deal-breaker, but I decided to suck it up and roll with it. Keep in mind that we live three blocks from a Safeway store that stocks all of the things my fridge lacked. No problem: I was up for the challenge of creating something edible with only the ingredients I had on hand.... kind of my own version of Food Network's "Chopped".

I fired up the grill pan, spread a little butter on the bread, assembled my mismatched ingredients, and hoped for the best. I'm not gonna lie: I was concerned that I'd take one bite of the sandwich and chuck the whole thing because it was so objectionable. But I've gotta admit that it turned out pretty well!

Lesson learned: a little experimentation can be a good thing. I need to come up with a better name for my creation than "The Accidental Reuben", but I think the sandwich just might be a keeper. We still have lots of sauerkraut to use up, though... maybe I'll let Steve be the mad scientist next time.

Now I've gone and done it...

...I'm no longer a Twitter virgin. But I still ask that you please be gentle with me.

It all started because I set up a phone meeting with a Penn State career counselor for next week. Up until now, Facebook was my only foray into social media, but Penn State is big on having their students on Linked In for job networking purposes. So I took the plunge and joined Linked In because I knew the counselor would ask me about it.

There I needed to include a summary bio of myself, so I wrote this: "I'm fluent in media -- radio, TV, voiceover, production, social media, blogging, event hosting. I love words and I love to make them sing. (Oh yeah, I sing too!)" But then I started thinking, "Am I being truthful by saying I'm fluent in social media if I've never joined Twitter?" Oh, I'd surfed around it before, mostly at work looking for things to blog about on the station's website, but fluent? Hardly. It was at that point that I decided to make an honest woman of myself, so I did what I never thought I'd do. I joined Twitter. And now here I am blogging about it. (See how I'm embracing this whole techie-communication thingy?)

For now I'm still in Twitter 101 mode, so don't expect too much from me right off the bat. But you'll find me there under the username @MBbluesky. I just tweeted for the first time a few minutes ago... even used a hashtag. And ooh, it felt so good.

An emotional tsunami

It's been a strange 24 hours, that's for sure. I was working on the air last night when news broke of the massive earthquake and devastating tsunami that hit northeastern Japan. As much as I love San Francisco in spite of its quake-prone reputation, when I hear about a big shaker I always get a bit paranoid. I start to think, "Man, we really need to make sure that disaster kit gets stocked." Maintaining our recommended stash of bottled water, non-perishable food and extra cat supplies is one of those tasks that we keep putting off in the hopes that we'll never need to tap into it. Of course, in the worst cases, such denial can be fatal. I'm so thankful that Japan takes its earthquake preparedness seriously, or else the sure-to-climb death toll would be of absolutely unimaginable proportions.

I got home from work at 12:20am to find Steve glued to the TV waiting to hear if the West Coast would be placed under a tsunami warning (a watch had been issued by the time I left the station). Sure enough, within minutes, we got the warning. We live in a tsunami evacuation zone, just four blocks from the Pacific. Following the horrific Indonesian tsunami in 2004, the city installed several warning sirens to give us the heads-up if we need to evacuate. No sirens sounded, but that didn't stop me from being awake and concerned for half the night.

Not long after 8am, the first waves hit near us at Ocean Beach. Fortunately, due to the topography of San Francisco Bay and the fact that it was low tide, the surge didn't amount to much more than a few feet. After keeping an anxious eye on the news for a couple of hours, it became obvious that our neighborhood had escaped the tsunami's wrath. Sadly that wasn't the case about 80 miles to our south, where the waves wrecked dozens of boats at the Santa Cruz marina to the tune of $10 million. The waves also did a number on Crescent City up near the California-Oregon border, where some dumbass ignored officials' instructions to stay away from the coast and went sightseeing... for the last time. He got caught in a wave and was swept out to sea. Sorry, but I find it hard to feel sympathy for that guy.

It always strikes me as sad that it takes witnessing a tragedy of this magnitude for us to realize how fragile life is. That no matter what burdens we may carry in our lives, they're mere annoyances compared to seeing lives and property swept away in seconds. That you never know which moment is going to be your last. It reminds me, for the umpteenth time, that we need to embrace life and live it to its fullest. We must never waste one precious moment that we are given. And we need to remind those around us how much we care. If you're reading this, I'll assume that you care. Thanks to our family and friends around the country who expressed their concern for our safety. It turned out to be a non-event for us, but we had no idea what to expect until those waves hit the shoreline.

I'm headed back in to work soon. Please God, let it be an uneventful night.

Mustafa

Hello, faithful readers... and new ones too! I thought I'd share this short piece that I wrote today for my non-fiction writing class. Our assignment was to interview a stranger and do a brief characterization of that person. I hit the jackpot with the interview subject I found; he was just the sweetest man. I hope that I've done him justice.

Mustafa

On a bench along the bay behind San Francisco's Ferry Building, Mustafa relaxes in the sunshine enjoying his cigarette. "You smoke?" he asks. When the answer is no, he politely inquires, "I hope is okay for me to smoke?" His bicycle is chained to the fence in front of him; he is wearing his bike helmet, khaki pants, and a crisp blue and white striped shirt. When asked his age, Mustafa laughs and says, "Ah, too old. Sixty-six." One would never know from looking at him; he is fit and trim, and easily appears to be ten years younger. He smiles serenely, seeming incapable of not doing so.

Mustafa arrived in the United States from Damascus, Syria eleven years ago. "I like life here," he says. What do you like about it? "Everything! I have good job here. I am a good tailor. I am designer. I do custom. I make shirts, I make pants." This explains the high quality of the shirt that he is wearing. He and his partner run their business out of a shop in San Francisco's Union Square, but right now he is on a break. What do you like to do when you're not working? "My bike, that's healthy thing." On especially nice days, Mustafa takes his bike on board the ferry across the bay to Sausalito and rides around there. He also has a membership at a gym, where he uses the steam room, Jacuzzi, and "I run on the machine there. To be healthy guy." But you also smoke. Do you see any contradiction there? "I'm not a smoker. Sometime I smoke, like, every day once. Sometimes no smoke."

As he lights his third cigarette, Mustafa says that he has been waiting for his green card for nine years. The process is dragging on because of "what happened on September 11th" and concerns that he may have terrorist ties. Do you have family here in the States? The smile remains on his face, but his eyes grow sad. "My wife still in Syria. I have four sons, two daughters. I have eleven grandchildren", ranging in age from 17 to 3. “They don't know me. I miss everybody." There's no way you can go visit them? "If I go there, I can't come back. Every day I call them and they are okay. Yesterday my grandkids, they say, 'When you coming back?' I say I don't know. And I like to live here, but see my situation? Very, very hard."

The conversation ends, and Mustafa suggests, “You make good money with my story?” He is reminded that the story is not being written for money, but rather for a college course. "But is good story, no?" His smile grows broader and he extends his hand for a farewell shake. His break about over, he prepares to ride his bike up over the hilly streets back to his tailor shop, to continue working. And waiting.