02192017Sun
Last updateTue, 21 Feb 2017 4pm

Good advice: Haugh About That?

Thrusting the ticket in my face, the grumpy highway patrolman growled over my expired license plate.


The soundtrack of my life: A Piece of My Mind

“I feel like I’ve been listening to the soundtrack of my life,” my sister sighed blissfully. We were side-by-side on the bus riding home from Sir Paul McCartney’s concert, which had opened Sacramento’s Golden One Arena.

Come back: The Villaj Idiut

Rain.

Campaign rhetoric: No Shoes, Please

Nowadays, after I finish watching any news broadcast highlighting the 2016 presidential campaign, I often feel the need to take a bath. Comedian John Oliver summed up this year’s race best when he said, “Look up into the sky. Way up. See that? Above the clouds? That’s rock bottom.” Regardless of whether or not you consider sexual misconduct relevant to the discussion over who wins next month’s election, the topic is now front and center, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Immigrants in our nation's capital: A Piece of My Mind

One of our leading politicos has gotten a lot of publicity in the past months by characterizing a group of immigrants to this country as “rapists,” “thieves” and “drug dealers.” Since my great-grandmother came from Australia, where the first white immigrants were transported convicts – rapists, thieves and drug dealers – I am a bit sensitive on the subject. So on my recent trip to Washington, D.C., I paid particular interest to the impact of immigrants to our nation’s capital.

After a long day of exploring the National Mall, the Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Museum of the American Indian, we welcomed an easy walk across the street from our hotel to the Cafe Park, sitting outside under the umbrellas fronting Pennsylvania Avenue, where we could people-watch. By the time we had begun to check out the menu, the humidity had devolved into a gentle rain, but we stayed out under our umbrellas as the air turned cool and fresh.

Keeping me authentic: Haugh About That?

Peering over the letter-sized piece of paper, my eldest daughter, Michelle, fixed her stare on her waiting mother with lifted eyebrows. Taking her time to give her review on my latest story, I sat nervously. The year was 2013, and, in this case, no news wasn’t good news.

Putting the article down, she asked, concerned, “Mom, were you on drugs when you wrote this?”

Cancer care: No Shoes, Please

I check in with my oncologist every three months. I also get blood work done for every visit, a CT scan every six months and a yearly colonoscopy. It’s all relative, but I feel like over the past two years, I’ve been in and out of exam rooms quite a lot.

That said, I am treated well by everyone: my doctor, the nurses, the receptionists who check me in, the vampires who draw my blood, the technicians who ask me to remove my clothing and don a gown. Unlike shopping at most retail stores, or making any phone call to the cable company, my oncological encounters are uniformly positive. Everyone is warm, friendly, eager to help, patient, efficient and delighted to see me.


essay contest2017

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