Asian Festival in Reston

Last weekend in Reston was the Asian Festival. It was much bigger than I expected and many Asian countries were represented! Here in the first pic were two Indian girls and their mom. The girls had performed on stage before I got there. Believe it or not, I wasn't the only one to ask to take their picture. Aren't they beautiful?

I decided to adopt them! I'm their new daddy!

The stick game is always fun. Try not to get whacked on the ankles!



My friend Irene and her son Arthur showed up after a while. Irene has been to many Asian countries on business so I'm sure this didn't seem all that exciting to her, though she seemed to have a good time.

What is Temporary?

We moved here to Northern Virginia in 1986, right after college. The first place we lived was Reston, Virginia, where the company that hired me was located. They put us up in a furnished apartment for a month while we looked for a place.

At the time, I remember finding it curious to see a street named Temporary Rd. I wondered how long it would last. Well, it's been 22 years and it's still there. It's probably not going to go away anytime soon, as there are houses on that road.

So this begs the question, "What is temporary?" If you think about it, aren't all streets temporary? In a few millennia, all these streets will be gone, replaced with something so futuristic we probably can't imagine it right now.

So is this the only street name that is totally honest? Or was it meant to be temporary only to have it become not-so-temporary?

Simplified English

Another old but good one...

Having chosen English as the preferred language in the EEC, the European Parliament has commissioned a feasibility study in ways of improving efficiency in communications between Government departments.

European officials have often pointed out that English spelling is unnecessarily difficult - for example, cough, plough, rough, through and thorough. What is clearly needed is a phased programme of changes to iron out these anomalies. The programme would, of course, be administered by a committee staff at top level by participating nations.

In the first year, for example, the committee would suggest using 's' instead of the soft 'c'. Sertainly, sivil servants in all sities would resieve this news with joy. Then the hard 'c' could be replaced by 'k' sinse both letters are pronounsed alike. Not only would this klear up konfusion in the minds of klerikal workers, but typewriters kould be made with one less letter.

There would be growing enthusiasm when in the sekond year, it kould be announsed that the troublesome 'ph' would henseforth be written 'f'. This would make words like 'fotograf' twenty per sent shorter in print.

In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reash the stage where more komplikated shanges are possible. Governments would enkourage the removal of double letters which have always been a deterent to akurate speling.

We would al agre that the horible mes of silent 'e's in the languag is disgrasful. Therefor we kould drop thes and kontinu to read and writ as though nothing had hapend. By this tim it would be four years sins the skem began and peopl would be reseptive to steps sutsh as replasing 'th' by 'z'. Perhaps zen ze funktion of 'w' kould be taken on by 'v', vitsh is, after al, half a 'w'. Shortly after zis, ze unesesary 'o' kould be dropd from words kontaining 'ou'. Similar arguments vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters.

Kontinuing zis proses yer after yer, ve vud eventuli hav a reli sensibl riten styl. After tventi yers zer vud be no mor trubls, difikultis and evrivun vud fin it ezi tu understand ech ozer. Ze drems of the Guvermnt vud finali hav kum tru.

You're Smarter Than You Thought

Old but good...

According to a sutdy at Hrravad Unerstiivy msot pelope can raed and unadetnrsd any mxied up wrod as lnog as the frsit leettr and the lsat lteter are in palce. This is bcesaue we raed wrods as a wolhe and not as leretts in oderr.

So y'oure smraetr tahn you thohgut hhu?

What is a Gift? Part 2

Some of you have read my previous entry, What is a Gift?

Though no one until this point has posted a comment, I have received a couple of emails from friends expressing disdain for anyone who would question a gift. They have told me that a gift is a gift. If you don't like the gift, then you're not supposed to complain about it because a gift is not something that is supposed to be expected and one doesn't pay for it.

What do you all think? I'd really like to know your opinions on this. Thanks.

A Question of Money and Class

Years ago I was watching comedienne Jeanine Garofolo interviewed on The Tonight Show. She told a story of how she had always automatically flown economy before becoming an actress. However, when traveling on the job, the movie studios always put her in first class and she never had to buy her own airline tickets. One day she decided to go on a trip on her own. She asked for a first-class ticket, quite used to flying at the front of the plane by then. She was quoted a price of over $3,000 and was shocked. She had had no idea how much a first class ticket cost. She asked how much an economy ticket was and it was only about $400. She flew economy, not seeing the wisdom in paying eight times more to fly on the same plane, albeit a little more comfortably. She would get there no faster in first class, she said.

When I flew home from Italy this week, the plane was quite full. Having flown United quite a lot in the past, I still had Premier status, though this will expire soon because I used up so many miles to go see my mom. Because of this, I was upgraded to Business class on the flight from Zürich back to Washington, D.C.

Business class is very nice! I had a big screen TV in front of me. I could stretch out my legs all the way to the foot rest in front of me. In fact, my seat could be positioned many different ways and could even have it lie completely flat like a bed. I sneaked in a nap on the flight, in fact. When I went back to the restroom, where I could look back at Economy class, where I was supposed to be, I saw all the window shades were open, lots of sunlight streaming through. Everyone seemed as packed as sardines, just as I normally would be. Business (and I assume First Class further ahead) had all the shades down. It was dark, conducive to rest. The flight attendants were very attentive to our needs too.

I got to D.C. at the same time as all the other passengers.

Now I'm trying to figure out how to get back to Italy when I need. Out of curiosity, I decided to price out all three classes: Economy, Business and First Class. The differences in price are astonishing!

Here is the lowest price found for Economy class, using flexible dates in October, from D.C. to Milan, Italy:



The trip requires two flights, through Boston or Frankfurt. The lowest price for Economy for the nine hour flight is $1,057, about $117 an hour.

Next I checked on Business class for the same dates. The lowest price I could see there was $3,610, or $401 an hour, or 3.4 times as much as economy. That alone was enough to make me gulp hard.

Finally, I checked First Class. Oh, my goodness! The lowest price there was $14,258! That equates to $1,584 an hour. Each hour costs more than the whole flight does back in Economy!

So let's call these what they are: First Class, Second Class and Third Class. Or better yet The Rich and Crazy, the People Who Have Money and Really Like Comfort, and The Poor Schlubs in the Back.

Of course, there are many who can't afford to get on a bus, let alone on a plane, so I'm not complaining. My real question is, how much money do I have to have before spending almost 14 times more for a more comfortable experience at the front of the plane makes sense?

The Latest Kitten Photos...For You Cat Fans

I like how Selvatica's head is partially out of the hole in the box.

What is a Gift?

I spoke with a friend of mine today. He told me that he had recently received a gift from a friend that he thought might have been used and that this really bothered him. He said he had been taught growing up that gifts should never be items that had been previously used. I agreed with him that if I no longer want an item that I own and the choice is to throw it away or give it to someone who might find a use for it, I would not normally call that a gift to the person.

However, I presented the following scenario: What if I had more money than I could possibly ever use (dream on, Joe!)? In other words, I feel no pain to purchase a present for someone, no matter the price. On the other hand, you come into my home and see a vase that I have, one that you find quite beautiful. It's been in my family for three generations and I treasure it. It has no monetary value, but it is quite precious to me. If I were to part with it and give it to you, would that not qualify as a gift? My friend agreed with me that it would, no matter that it was used and had no monetary value.

Then I thought, does it matter if I had money or not? It's the fact that I give you something that causes me a sacrifice, whether it be monetary or not. If I have no money, and I give you something that I have that I would still find useful or edifying, that is a sacrifice and it is a gift, especially if I know that you will appreciate the item I give you. If I have a lot of money and I simply buy you something that doesn't cause me any pain or effort, the gift is of questionable value, even if the recipient finds it very useful (or am I wrong here?). If I have a lot of money but I give you something that is unique and has belonged to me and cannot be easily replaced, that is a gift.

In either case, if I take the time to make you something with my own hands, whether it be a poem, a sculpture or anything that would time and talent to create, that is also a gift. Perhaps I take the time to teach you something that will help you - that too would be a gift.

What do you think? What qualifies as a gift? What doesn't?

My Last Day in Italy...My Goodbye to Mom

The day I arrived in Italy three weeks ago, I cried when I saw my mom in bed. She seemed paralyzed and in a coma. Over the next few days, I saw her seemingly improve and had high hopes that she would return almost to her old self. Unfortunately, it was short-lived. Friday, when I left her, her condition was even worse, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She no longer talks and barely moves anymore, except for the repetitive up and down movement of her head and her shoulders. Who knows if there is still some chance but I’ve lost my optimism.

Friday when I was with her I cried as I have not since I was a child. All I could think of was that this was the last time I would see my mother alive. The words of the doctor, telling us that my mom’s life would last only weeks or perhaps a few months more rang in my head. I tried to get an answer from my mom, calling out to her constantly, stroking her face and her hair, rubbing her neck, trying to get any kind of response at all. Nothing. My mother is gone. Her body remains but only a vestige of her mind is left. She is lost in some old memories that she can no longer even express out loud anymore. She doesn’t appear to be in pain - for that I'm thankful. She doesn’t appear to be in any state.

I gave my mother my goodbyes with kisses and hugs and strokes and tears. I thanked her for all that she had done to make me who I am. I hope she was able to feel the love that I have for her, the love that she instilled in me.

During times like these, life can appear so cruel. What was the point of gathering 73 years of memories only to lose them so quickly? I think I know the answer – her life is imprinted on those whom she touched in her life, most especially my sister and me. Having done so, all of us whom she touched continue to pass on a part of her to everyone whom we help and love in our lives. The butterfly effect will continue for as long as humanity exists on the planet, just like the passing of her genes to her children and her grandchildren and so on. Her legacy and her progeny will continue.

Her life, like that of a butterfly, like that of all of us, has been short. We pity the mayfly who is born, breeds and dies in the span of 24 hours. How much different are we? To the mayfly, a day may feel like a lifetime. Sometimes 73 years can seem like a day.

I feel sorrow and envy for my sister, who will continue to see my mom every day for as long as she lives. I'm sorry because every time we see her in this state, it hurts so much. I'm envious because she gets to touch our mother and talk to our mother and hug and kiss our mother for more time than I do.

I am thankful that I was able to go to Italy and say my goodbyes. I'm afraid when next I go, it will be for an even sadder reason, one that will take place in a cemetery. I do not look forward to that day.

Update on Mom...A Day Before I Leave

I am in Italy still. I leave tomorrow by train for Zürich, Switzerland and Saturday I leave from Zürich airport to go home. Mom isn't going to make it. While they are not absolutely sure yet, they are doing final tests to confirm that she has Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. It's a disease that affects one person in a million, but she has every symptom. "Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease (CJD ) is a very rare and incurable degenerative neurological disorder (brain disease) that is ultimately fatal."

So now it appears a matter of weeks or months at the most. She has not recognized me or my sister since I've been here, three weeks now. She has reached the point where she's in a waking coma, hardly seeing us anymore. The doctor at the hospital is very dedicated. We spent three hours today answering all her questions. She made family trees, she took lots of notes, and she called other experts. She told another doctor while we were there that this was the most serious case they have had in that hospital department in a long time. She also said that they were going to rule out any other curable diseases she might possibly have, but that at this point all signs pointed to CJD and that she would be surprised if that wasn't the illness that has invaded my mother.

So I thought I would share with your some photos I took tonight of mom's room. My sister and I went in there to surround ourselves with "mom." I was surprised to see an English book on her night table. My sister told me that mom was still reading in English before the disease hit her so hard. I didn't know that she had retained the language at that level. So you can see some of the books she had read or was reading in the first picture.

The other photos describe themselves.

Thank you again for all of your support. While there is still a little hope, there's not much left. I plan to return as soon as possible, though it may be for her funeral if the doctor's predictions are right.

Italian Signs...Just Suggestions Really

See the photo? See the red signs in the middle? Can't see them too well? So look at the second photo for a closeup. What do those signs mean? They mean NO motorcycle parking and NO bike parking here, thank you.

What do you see right below the signs? You see motorcycles. You see bicycles. They are parked.

In Italy, signs are so much fun!

Three Kittens in a Clump

I just had to take this picture. Kittens are so cute. Too bad they grow up to be cats!

Are Poor People Poor Because They Are Too Generous?

So here's a question that has been on my mind for a while. Are poor people poor because they're too generous with the little they have? Are rich people rich because they (generally speaking) are not willing to part with anything they have?

I have had two life experiences that lead me to this question. When I was young I worked as a pizza delivery guy on the side for about a month. On the wall of the pizza place was a large map so that we could see where we needed to deliver our pizzas. Each time a pizza was ready to be delivered, the next guy in line would go get it, look at the address, find it on the map and leave.

We knew which part of the map represented the rich neighborhoods and which represented the middle class and poorer areas. When we would see that the address to which to deliver our pizza was in the rich area, we would groan. We knew we would come back from the rich person's house with little or no tip. The poorer the home, the higher the tip was generally. When the doors to the rich homes would open, I would see a lot of fancy things, but I guess buying all those luxuries meant there was no money left for a tip. Once I delivered 12 pizzas to a party at a rich person's home. My tip? A big fat zero. The owner there said, "Oh, sorry, I don't have enough for a tip." I wondered why then he hadn't ordered 11 pizzas so he would have enough left over to compensate me, the driver.

Another time when I was young I volunteered to go door-to-door to seek donations for a boy in our neighborhood who needed a new liver. He suffered from a rare childhood disease and would die without a new liver. We needed to raise about $40,000 and I joined a group that canvassed the town. We made our goal. The boy got his new liver. He lived.

While canvassing, I found out that the richer the home, the more quickly the door would get slammed in my face. The poorer the home, the more willing they were to share what little they had to help the boy. Some of he poorer folks had real concern in their eyes and would ask for details about the boy, saying they would also pray for him, asking if they could help the family also with meals and such. The rich? Some of them handed over a couple of bucks, most of them wouldn't even talk to me.

So is it a vicious cycle? The poor stay poor because they're too generous? The rich stay rich because they're too stingy?

I know that there are no generalizations here. There are many generous rich people and there are many poor people that would not give a penny to a good cause. But am I wrong to think that in general my thinking is right?

Where are the Restrooms???

I was at the hospital. I was looking for the restrooms. I saw a sign, the one in the first pic you see here. I followed the sign.

I found out what the sign meant. It didn't point to the restrooms. It pointed to the elevators. The second pic shows the sign next to the elevators.

Really? The elevators? Yes. I thought the sign was the international symbol for a place where to pee or poop. No, in this case it means you can go up and down in a metal box. I thought about using one of the elevators as a restroom out of spite. However, I'm not a spiteful person. I proceeded to search and find the real restrooms. I thought of looking for a sign that showed an elevator, thinking it would point me to the restrooms, but I didn't see one of those. It's OK - I found them anyway.

A Cat Story of Cooperation

Remember Marron, the dark brown kitten I showed you the other day? Well, Marron has brothers and sisters! You see, Marron's mom was born here almost five years ago. Sally named her Selvatica (Savage) a while back because she was always a bit wild, not friendly like some of the other cats.

Selvatica decided she was going to give birth outdoors somewhere and she brought only Marron back last week to see what we would do. When she saw that we were nice to Marron, she brought her other two kittens to us too. See them in the box?

Well, in the first pic, the cat you see is not Selvatica, that's Luna, Selvatica's mom, grandma to those kittens. Luna is already almost 20 years old and she hasn't given birth in a couple of years. She's nearing the end of her life. She's lost her appetite and spends much of her time baking in the sun. Imagine our surprise when we saw that she had gone into the box while mom was away. When mom leaves, grandma takes over? Luna has always been a very friendly cat, unlike that no-good daughter of hers! ;-)

As mom does come back very often to feed her babies, we were also worried about what Selvatica might do to Luna when she saw her with her children, even if Luna is her mom and all.

Our fears were unfounded. In fact, they seem to get along just fine. It's all in the family!

You can really see how much one of Selvatica's kittens resembles her! Luna (which means Moon) is not being sent away, she is welcome.

It takes a village!

Mom - Up and Down

This is a photo of my mom at Starbucks while she was visiting me in the States a couple of years ago. I think it's a cute photo.

Mom has good days and not-so-good days at the hospital. Yesterday she was very alert. She tried to talk several times and we were able to make out a word here and there. She grabbed our hands several times. She even raised both arms up a few times, the first time in a while she's done that. She even raised her right arm quickly to scratch her head. That was almost startling! What really made my sister and me laugh out loud with surprise and happiness was when we asked our mom near the end of our visit if she was tired and wanted to sleep and she instantly and very quickly started nodding her head up and down in response. A few minutes later we asked her again and she responded the exact same way. That was nice.

We spend our time every day talking with mom, cleaning and refreshing her neck, face and arms with wet wipes and just being with her. Nowadays she seems really happy to see us...most of the time. Today she seemed to be in a bit of a foul mood, not talking, her face in somewhat of a grimace most of the time. We exercised her arms and legs so as to not let them atrophy, as we do every day, and she didn't seem to like it all. I know it might be somewhat painful, but it has to be done.

One day at a time. Tomorrow may be a better day.

A Stop in Felina (Italy)

On the way to the hospital today, we stopped at the Slow Food fair in Felina near here. The Slow Food fair is in its eighth year and is a backlash against the fast food society, which is unfortunately becoming the vogue in Italy as well, leading to higher rates of obesity and other bad side effects. In the years I've becoming to Italy, the people as a whole have become heavier and heavier, just as we have in the States. There are many wonderful things that other countries have copied from us Americans - this is not one of them!

The fair goes on for three days and today was the last day. It was very nice with lots of booths that had either food (slow, not fast) or artisan designs for sale. There was also a band playing old style music. You can hear the music by playing the short video.

To see more, click here.

My Sister's Works of Art Being Sold in S. Polo

In S. Polo, my sister had business with a shop there that sells local artisan work among other items. Among what you see here are her works.

Marola

Last Saturday night for dinner we decided to get some pizza. Usually Saturday for dinner, Sally makes pizza at home, and it's really the best ever, but with all that has been happening and as tired as we feel, last night we decided to go out for pizza. The first place we tried was small and it was already packed so we went to the town of Marola, close by. It's a pretty little place and opens its arms to tourists. The pizza we had at Il Griffone (The Gryphon) wаs mighty good.

More photos of Marola? Click here!

S. Polo d'Enza

On the way back from the hospital yesterday, Sally had some business in a town called S. Polo d'Enza. Enza is the name of the river that flows through the mountains here. S. Polo is a really pretty town, larger than Casina where my sister lives.

More photos of S. Polo? Click here!

My Friend Laura Silverman Published in Los Angeles Times

I'm very proud of my dear friend Laura Silverman who has written an article that is appearing in the My Turn column of the Los Angeles Times. The title is:

Doctor: 'There's nothing wrong with you.'
Patient: Can I quote you on that?

Read the story here. It's short and well worth reading!

See Laura's bog here.

Today's Update on Mom

The photo you see is of the hospital where our mom is a patient.

Today we were able to talk with the doctor. He told us they have determined that our mom has no virus after all and that they believe that the problem is in the cerebrospinal fluid that surrounds the brain. Specifically, it is not mixing or circulating correctly. They describe it as a plumbing problem in the head.

On Monday, mom will be moved out of Infectious Diseases, because she doesn't have one of those, and into Neurology, where they should be able to help her more.

A New Addition to the Family

Here is my sister holding the newest addition to the family, an itty-bitty kitten. I came up with his name. He's brown, you see, and the word brown in Italian is marrone (mah-roh-neh). I also thought of how in New York, the transplanted Sicilians there would pronounce Madonna "Marron" when frustrated, so I suggested we call it Marron. In English, I guess, we'd translate its name as "Brownie."

Cute, huh? But it has a set of lungs on it!

My Brother-in-Law's Secret Formula

Like most of us who get older, once we realize we like something, we stick with it. My brother-in-law figured out a while ago that mixing certain flavors of soda (or pop, whatever you prefer to call it) in just the right proportions makes for the perfect flavor for him.

So here he is mixing just the right ratios of ginger and orange soda and who knows what else? I tried it once. Let's just say that I don't think the results would be a big seller on the open market! But each to his own, right?