From donation drive, to public speaking, to the spirit of giving

Human tragedies continue to hog the headlines, proving once again that homo sapiens, despite wondrous technological advances that have been lulling us into a false sense of security vis-a-vis the might of Nature, are still at the mercy of the “whims” of natural calamities. While the carnage brought about by the 2004 South Asian Tsunami and the devastation wrought by the 2004/2005 Hurricane seasons in US have hardly receded into the recesses of our memory, 2008 has shaped up to be a particularly difficult year so far, with catastrophes charging out of the gate one after the other: Cyclone Nargis sweeping through the lowlying coastal plains of the Irriwaddy delta, Myanmar, the 7.9 earthquake in Sichuan, China, and the recent havoc in the wake of the tornadoes whirling through the US midwest.

Especially in Myanmar and China, rescuers are on a frantic search for survivors in hard-to-reach places while international aid organizations are mobilizing resources, be they manpower, materials, equipment, or financial, to pour into the affected regions. Donation centers have been set up, both physically on the ground and virtually through the Internet. To facilitate donations from folks on the street, small teams of volunteers have also been deployed at commercial facilities to collect donations from patrons making their weekend grocery trips.

Tzuchi Foundation, a Buddhist Compassionate Relief headquartered in Taiwan, has again initiated such a street-level donation drive effort at locales throughout the US. And we were honored to be called upon to help out in such a drive held in Tampa today. Our destination: The MD Oriental Market on 1106 E Fowler Avenue, one which we frequent on a nearly weekly basis. Our team of Linda, Wify, and yours truly was assigned to the second day (the first day was yesterday), the first shift running from 11am to 1.30pm, followed by a second shift ending at 4pm where our fellow volunteers from the Tzuchi Foundation in Tampa would take over.


The day was mostly sunny, except for several brief anxious moments when dark clouds loomed atop momentarily but eventually drifted afield, leaving a few drops on my head in the process, sparing us the deluge that would have hampered our effort but not dampen out spirit. As it were, even the weather seemed to be on our side on this day marked by compassion all-round.

After setting up the poster announcing the purpose of the donation drive at the entrance, and putting on a vest bearing the emblem of Tzuchi Foundation (Linda was in the familiar white long pant and blue T-shirt, a signature outdoor attire for Tzuchi volunteers affectionately termed “Blue Sky White Cloud”), we positioned ourselves on both sides of the entrance, but at a discreet distance away so that we would not block the direct path of entry into and exit from the Market, each holding a donation box in our hands.

We greeted the patrons warmly, and inquired politely whether they would like to make a donation to help the earthquake victims in China, after which we thanked them. We also bade them “have a nice day” on their way out. We abided strictly to the instructions from Tzuchi Headquarters not to be seen as exerting pressure on patrons; nor should we disrupt the smooth running of the business of the establishment. Prior to going ahead with the donation drive at the premises, the team leader is to consult the proprietors to seek their blessing for the effort. So we were that because of their good office and for that Tzuchi Foundation is thankful.

We used a combination of Mandarin and English for obvious reasons. Of course sometimes we did err on being presumptuous because not all Chinese looking people speak Mandarin. And they were graceful enough to overlook our oversight and happy to donate all the same.

Initiating a conversation with a complete stranger can be intimidating, let alone asking for a donation. I can recall times during my younger days when I was prone to being tongue-tight among strangers, preferring to merge into the background as much as possible. I still remember vividly a high school class debate when the night before I was agonizing over the things to say, the way to say it, and so on. I think I hardly slept, constantly turning in bed and dreading the arrival of the morning. When the moment came, I remember standing up, looking straight ahead, the mind drawing a blank, a complete one. I might have stammer a few words, but the pin-drop silence engulfed me, totally. After a seemingly interminably long time, in silence, I think I felt my teacher motioning to me to sit down, and the rest of the day just went by in a daze. That definitely wasn't me in there on that day, I rationalized, because I had won several elocution contests in my days at the elementary school levels. But my classmates never mentioned a word of my anomalous behavior that day after that, not to me directly anyway. And I was thankful for that.

I was forced to overcome my stage fright after I joined the work force during which I had been called on occasions to deliver talks and briefings. Now even though I still have butterflies in my stomach before an audience, I have never failed to speak, whether it was well delivered is another matter all together. Now I realize that as long as I make myself audible, intelligible better yet, people will always listen before they shut you off. They don't like to laugh at you, unless you yourself make it irresistible for them. I think it's the letting go of the pressure, and the assurance that comes from knowing the substance of the message we are about to deliver. Of course knowing that we are doing it for a good course helps tremendously.

This is our third time doing a street-level donation drive for Tzuchi Foundation, the first and second times being for the 2004 South Asian Tsunami and 2005 Hurricane Katrina Disaster Reliefs, both at the Oceanic Market several years back. Just like then, I found the experience to be a humbling one, and a heart-warming one as well.

People will always have a soft spot for human tragedies, irrespective of where it occurs. And they will always respond positively to kind words and polite requests. The readiness with which they came forth with donations that I witnessed today is a clear testimony to the humanity that resides within each of us. And as long as compassion and the spirit of giving are not in short supply, we will always be able to triumph over adversity, and render help to those in need, in whatever capacity each of us is best equipped to handle. And it was with this conviction that we handed the donation drive over to our successors of the day comprising the trio of Yu Huei, Adina and Lulu.

Eureka Springs Park. Eureka! Indeed

Wify was brought to Eureka Springs Park, located just off Highway 301 and Sligh, yesterday morning by Linda, who had chanced upon the Park. Linda fell in love with it right away and had been meaning to bring wify to partake of its magnificent flower collections for some time now. Everything fell into place yesterday and they took the 20-minute drive there. Unsure of what to expect and being in a party of two made up of the fairer sex, she was hesitant to bring along the camera. And that task fell into my lap, today.

Armed with my newly purchased Nikon Coolpix L11, procured at a discount from Ritz Camera and costing half of what I paid for my Nikon Coolpix L6 bought last year with essentially the same functionality, we drove for about 8 miles, as measured on my car's tachometer, from our home for Eureka Springs Park.

But we were sidetracked along the way, for a good reason. While crossing the Tampa Bypass Canal, we noticed that the bridge was closed on one lane, and there were people standing about the cordoned half of the bridge deck, most with cameras trained at the river below. Then our view swept over canoes criss-crossing the river. Yes, we had chanced upon a rowing regatta. Our first thought was this must be an inter-high school competition as wify recalled being informed by Mrs. Kim (we were going to invite her family for a dinner today) that she could not make it because her son, Mark, who is from Plant High School, was to take part in a rowing competition.

As we walked along the bridge deck, we saw a familiar gold and black outfit with the letter “P” inscribed on it, occupying one of the four canoes lining up at the starting point. The Macee's announcement confirmed that it was indeed the Plant Panthers (both my two younger children graduated from Plant High two years and a year back, respectively).

And it was opportune that we arrived just when the Panthers were about to row off in a competition. At the end of the countdown, the four teams pedaled feverishly to the finish point beyond, to the enthusiastic shouts of the respective supporters. We were not sure how the Panthers fared, but Go Panthers!

The Golden Panthers.

And off they went, each cutting a swath of water marks.

After that interlude, we continued toward our destination, arriving at an empty car park. I was not totally surprised to see the car park deserted, having being informed by wify of the less than popular situation on her trip yesterday. But I ascribed that to it being a weekday. But apparently I was wrong. Perhaps it is because of its secluded location as we had to drive through a stretch of rural setting, boasting farm houses with cows and horses roaming the open field. Or there is simply too much competition from the plethora of parks dotting the areal landscape, some of which are in prime locations in terms of accessibility, such as the Lettuce Lake Park.

Wify at the entrance, marked by vertical letter carvings on the wooden sign post behind.

But definitely not for the lack of amenities and especially the flower offerings. Established in 1938, the park offers a meeting room with screened walls (a perfect setting for a Dharma session), a green house, a looped boardwalk, and various nature trails, paved with broken shell fragments that emit a light crushing sound when walked on. Several small dug ponds scatter around the compound, which kind of make up for the lack of a natural stream flowing by (for example, at Lettuce Lake Park and Morris Bridge Wildnerness Park).

An innovative collection of wooden signs.

As for the flower plants that are by far the major attraction, I could only describe it in one word: Eureka!. I've found it! indeed, not unlike the feeling of elation when Archimedes discovered the principle of hydrostatics while lazing in a bath tub, which we now accept as the Archimedes' Principle. But I will let the pictures do the talking, presuming that my amateurish photography skill could do justice to the splendor, the exuberance, the rich tapestry of colorful hues that meet our eyes.

While promenading through the park in relatively quiet, save for the happy chirping from cicadas (do cicadas chirp? Also throughout our nearly two-hours sojourn we only managed to cross path with another gentleman), we met Barbara, the park manager who has been at the park since the 1970s. She was all hands on, hands in gloves and a hand-held spade in one gloved hand, shaving off earth from a nursery plant ready to be planted.

We chalked up a conversation and learned that the park has seen better days in terms of maintenance because of depleting funds. By then we had already finished a major part of our walk through, and had noticed some vestiges of run-down condition in the greenhouse, and shriveled leaves here and there. In fact, Linda told wify yesterday that there might be a real threat of at best a scaled down maintenance regimen and at worst a park close-down should the fund situation remain unresolved.

Despite the fund limitation which is approaching dire proportions, I would say the park remains in a spruce condition, thanks to the dedicated efforts of Barbara and her co-workers in tending to the park so that visitors like us could immerse in what nature is able to offer, a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, a mental therapeutic trip into communing with nature.

It would indeed be a crying shame should the unthinkable happen by force of circumstance. We , for one, would make repeated visits to the park and appeal to other park loving people out there to do the same, making it such a popular family destination that the Park would not be relegated into oblivion by sheer dint of economic dictates. So, see you all there, and cherish the Eureka feeling!

Let the fun begin and be dazzled by the rich array of colors, shapes, and sizes that is the floral kingdom that rules Eureka Springs Park (do click on the images for enlarged views).

Commencement Inspired Reminiscenes

Time really flies when you least expect it. Before we know it, the Spring semester has ended. First, CE started becoming house-bound, meaning not going to the USF campus to attend lectures. Then WT's turn followed suit. And we drove to Gainesville today to fetch him back. And here are some photos taken on the trip, a typical sunny day with the normal load of traffic along the Interstate. The campus was relatively deserted as most of the student population had emptied out of the campus, including those living in dorms, as testified by the small number of cars parked outside Hume Hall, parents helping their kids to vacate their rooms as what we were doing. I can imagine the long lines of cars, sometimes even double-parked, if we were to come yesterday when the main bulk of the exodus would have occurred.

This is the view from the vantage seated position at the back of our minivan, kind of tailgating. That was what I did while waiting for Wify and WT to unload stuff from WT's dorm room, a mug of coffee by my side, and The Authentic Confucious (by Annping Chin, Scribner, NY, 2007) in my hand, learning the intricacy of the local politics of the day in Lu country (Confucious's home state) during the Era of Spring and Autumn (6th Century BC) in the long annals of Chinese History.
And this is the view of my tailgating position, the pad of paper on the rear bumper serving as my seat. The Happy Birthday balloon was meant for WT, who celebrated his 20th birthday just a few days prior.

And here are WT and Wify (swinging a pillow) in the thick of moving chores, the disparity in the loads patently in sight from their carrying actions (WF lugging while Wify toting), for obvious reasons.

The semester end period is also the time of commencement (back home it is called convocation) when college graduates rejoice, having endured several years of self-imposed exile wandering in the campus, and soon to be liberated into the real world. On our evening walk yesterday, we were pleasantly reminded of the jubilation of having tasted academic success and becoming newly minted members of the college graduate rank.

First, there were two policemen standing in the middle of the road, directing traffic to ease those coming from the Sun Dome. Then a throng of people were seen walking to the car park: old, young, all resplendent in their proper attire fit for attending a gala dinner of high society, inter-mingling with students in graduation garb complete with mortar boards. And yes, they had just attended one of the commencement ceremonies held at the Sundome for USF graduates. Wify even congratulated one of the female graduates walking past us who acknowledged the kind gesture with a beaming smile and resounding Thank you.

I remember reading in the St. Pete Times that there are more than 4,900 USF graduates this year. This is in stark contrast to the declining job market prevailing now that would make their job hunt that much tougher.

That also brought back memories of my own graduation ceremonies, which I managed to attend only once out of three opportunities. The most vivid and memorable one is of course when I went on stage to receive my bachelor degree at Chancellor Auditorium of University of Malaya, watched by my late mother, my wife-to-be and my younger sister. I think it was some day in June of 1978. Earlier in the morning I had driven my entourage from my hometown, Yong Peng in Johor, to Petaling Jaya in my soon-to-be father-in-law's car, a more than 100 mile journey.

Then I missed the next two: Masters and Ph.D. Commencements, but both by design. The first I forewent because I had only two weeks to do any traveling before I returned to Malaysia, and the date of commencement, a day in June 1987, fell right smack in the middle of that. And I figured it was just a ceremony lasting for a couple of hours, compared to a lifetime of memory of a sight-seeing trip that I may never have the chance to partake of. After all, how different can the atmosphere be from the one back in 1978? As they say, you have seen one, you have seen all.

The second miss involved a slightly different circumstance. This time though, the date was three months after I returned to Malaysia, being in May, 1995 while my return trip was already booked on early February the same year, barely one week after I submitted my dissertation in final form to the Graduate Students Department. I had to bring back an official endorsement from the University in lieu of the degree which I would only receive in June, by mail, testifying to my successful completion of the doctoral course and would be awarded the degree in due course to show it to my employer (I was sponsored by the Government) as proof.

So I have only one graduation picture to show for my academic pursuit to the highest level. But I know in my heart that what counted the most was the journey, the test of academic rigor, the countless hours spent in the cold, damp lab building the mud profiles, from bags of artificial clay, mouth covered in protective gear to filter out clay dust lest it got lodged in my lungs, and withstanding the constant probing and prodding from my academic advisor who of course had nothing except my academic wellbeing in his heart.

There were also the fun times like the usual volleyball game during lunch breaks. Who can resist the smugness that came from blocking a spike? Right in your face! Most enjoyable is undoubtedly spending time with the family, visiting places, watching July 4th firework display at the BandShell, admiring the various exhibits at the Florida Museum of Natural History, the Harn's Museum of Arts, and many many more sites of local interests, and the weekend trips to the various theme parks in Orlando, including the now defunct Splendid China. Not forgotten are the various book and reading activities organized by area libraries and bookstore chains, and Arts Festivals during which wify and the children had the most fun.

Yes, those are definitely the memories to be cherished, and the growing up lessons we picked up in the process through each footprint kind of got indelibly imprinted and stored in our collective memory bank, for a lifetime of reminiscence.

Further Park Hopping

This has to be the longest break in my blogging, the last one being on April 12. Well, such is the life in the private practice, the work load kind of peaking seasonally. And this week and the past happened to be the high-demand phase, several deadlines came into congruence. Nevertheless, it's still no excuse. I just have to manage my time better. As they say, you will do it if it's important to you. And blogging is important to me: creating a space where I can unwind, and unload my impressions of life in general. Human beings need to share thoughts. And that's how we have progressed so far, not by keeping things to ourselves.

Having released the philosophical bent in me, let's get back to my park-hopping itinerary. The existence of the next park was alluded to us when we met Mark at the Lettuce Lake Park on one fine Sunday: the Flatwoods Park.

Flatwoods Park is one of the five parks making up the so called wilderness park complex that spans between Bruce B. Down Blvd and Morris Bridge Road, the eastward extension of Fletcher beyond I-75. With the help of Mapquest, we decided to drive in through the Morris Bridge entrance where the main facility is located.

Cruising along on the crisp morning of April 12, we passed by Morris Bridge Memorial Park, one of the five parks in the wilderness park complex, on our left on our way there. And we made a mental note to visit it on our way back.

Arriving at Flatwoods Park, first thing we noticed was its quiet, and that only a few cars parked at the main facility. Driving along the tree-lined paved road that runs through it, we got as far as vehicular transport is permitted, ending at some picnic places. Along the way, several trails lead away into the park areas on both sides. We were hesitant to walk along the trails, prompted perhaps by the absence of human forms doing so. There were sporadic sightings of cyclists here and there, including a pair who seemed to have just completed their arduous ride along the paved loop track.

This view is almost uniform along the drive, staight up tree trunks greeting us on both sides, the sunlight carving out numerous swaths of light bands through the trees.

We concluded that Flatwoods Park is more for cycling enthusiasts and does not seem to be a popular spot for families out for a leisurely walk in the park.

Morris Bridge Memorial Park, our destination on the return leg, is a compact park tucked between the road and the Hillsborough River. Like Lettuce Lake Park, it features boardwalks, one of which goes under the road bridge. But we did not advance far along this route, simply because it traverses across a shallow depression which was submerged then. But we did complete the other loop, walking briskly through swamp forest without seeing another soul along the route lest we encounter something unexpected along the way, until toward the end where a family walked by from the opposite direction, much to our relief [I guess we are really not the outdoor type]. Other than that, we did enjoy the natural scenery, albeit a rather “woody” one as revealed pictorially below.

The park entrance, the signs beckoning at the rowing and bird watching enthusiasts.

A pontoon-supported jetty next to the boat ramp (not seen) so that it can rise and fall with the water stage.

A mushroom "infested" tree branch. It seems these would be the edible kind due to their lack of bright colors.

The remnant of a tree trunk, its roots having been swallowed by the widening river, cutting an image of destitution accompanied only by its ghostly reflection.


Ha! Something I can relate to in my professional capacity: a river stage automatic recorder, usually affixed to the side of a bridge, its owner's name, USGS, vaguely seen.

Wify leaning against a wooden railing on one of the several crossings in the park, the bare branches behind her in imminent blooming, flower that is.

The green carpet-like surface plant meadow, but its constituents are larger than the one seen here.

A surprisingly thriving tree in the middle of the channel, resisting the embrace of the watery grave.

The Continuing Saga of Randy Pausch

Randy Pausch, the indefatigable free spirit whose publicized scorn for life's adversity has made him a household name via his last lecture delivered at Carnegie Mellon University on September 18, 2007 (which I blogged here), continues his inspiring crusade to instill in all of us the love for life. After appearing on Oprah Winfrey's show, he was interviewed by Diane Sawyer at ABC on April 9 (Thanks, Mary, for the lead).

In five clips, readers can catch more than a glimpse of the personal side of Randy, the family support, the coterie of friends and colleagues who have helped mold him to what a delightfully wonderful person that he has become and whose exuberance for life in turn has rubbed on them. The background music was appropriate, played to just the right tempo as the story of his love life with life itself unfolded.

Then he was featured in the May 2008 issue of Reader's Digest, entitled A Father's Farewell, Interview by Jess Kornbluth, on pg. 188-196.

I got most of the message, especially this one, “It's not the years. Its the milege.” But I don't seem to get the humor in “When I went scuba diving with friends, one of them said, “Don't bother putting sunscreen on Randy.”

Obviously when you dive, you don't need sunscreen (right?). So, does that imply that Randy would have no time for any above water activity when he goes for a diving expedition, an euphemism for his single-track mission-oriented focus on the task at hand? Doesn't sound like the Randy that is portrayed as a fun loving guy. Help!

And then there is his book, entitled simply, the Last Lecture. And an excerpt of the book also appeared in the same issue of Reader's Digest (pg. 197 – 199). Entitled Many Happy Returns, it recounted the first day of his wedding, the newlyweds ascending into the clouds on a hot-air balloon. And what an adventurous ride it turned out to be, as if Randy the love your life guy had scripted it. Nothing is ever a dull moment. Quiet, reflecting, cogitating, yes, but never dull.

Just to demonstrate what a stickler for time management guy that he is, Randy said in the Readers' Digest interview on how he finished the book:

“I had to ride my bike for an hour everyday. As I rode, I would talk on my helmet-mounted cell phone to Jeffrey Zaslow [co-author] and tell him stories of my life. Fifty-three bike rides and I was done.”

Evening walks: Exercising, Exploring, and Communing

We have been taking evening walks around the neighborhood lately, again. The last time we did the same was when we first moved in last year as a way to get familiar with the neighborhood. This time though, the efforts also double as an opportunity to exercise, to burn up some accumulated calories.

So we circled the neighborhood in the clockwise direction one evening. And we reversed the direction on the following evening. Then it was time to venture across to the USF campus, stopping at times to watch people (students mostly I think) playing soccer, throwing frisbees. And there was this one guy who was practicing some penalty shots on his own, overshooting the crossbar and booming the ball over the fence onto the road. The poor guy had to ease through a gaping hole in the fence to run after the loose ball.

While the scene in front of our complex was a picture of bustling activity, it being facing a main road, the walk through the neighborhood behind our complex was very quiet, not a single soul on the road. I guess all must be enjoying their dinner after a hard day's work. What a contrast!

Each walk consumed about 30 minutes or so of our evening time, not enough for us to break into a sweat but the chance to commute with nature and at the same time spending some quality time with loved ones were rewarding nonetheless. Here then, are some shots taken along our evening trails.

Sun setting below the Sun Dome, USF, casting multi-layers of horizontal bands of pink in the sky.

This is the boardwalk next to the Hillsborough River, about 10 minutes drive away. It was a perfect setting for a perfect reflection, the two parts joining seamlessly at the water surface.

This little critter was actually within feet from us, a habit borne out of familiarity with the human sight, sound, and scent, as if daring me to "shoot" it. And I obliged. Wify likes the bushy tail extending upright from behind, much like the plummage of a peacock.

Sunset over the Hillsborough River, imprinting a golden halo around it, albeit ephemeral.

This was just outside the USF baseball stadium. A game between USF and Louisville was going on. Notice the USF mascot, the Bull (you can tell by the horns), sitting idly by a tableful of green souvenirs. But a little while later we saw him moving his body with the music being blared out over the PA system (the USF Fight song?).

A Drum-ful Evening

And I mean that literally.

I have not seen so many drums in one room the size of a normal cafe, let alone where they were all drummed in unison. Let me start from the beginning.

Mrs. Fan, wify's Arts teacher, had informed us sometime ago about this interactive facilitated drum circle to be conducted by her erstwhile drum teacher at a cafe in our neighborhood today. The event, free to all interested, was scheduled to start at 6.00pm.

In the morning, we checked out the venue, Kili Cafe, the cyber way. We learned that the cafe serves a range of home-roasted and brewed coffee, just wify's cup of tea (there is indeed a tea drink on the menu). In the afternoon, we checked out the Cafe again, this time physically, to make sure that we know the easiest way to get there.

When we arrived sometime before 6.00pm, Jana, the instructor, was already there. After ordering our respective beverages, mine being tea, we all helped out in clearing the central area, and arranged the chairs in a circle.

People continued to walk in, filling up the seats, drums between their legs (like the one to the right, but some without the furry rim as seen here). I respectfully declined the offer from Jana to take up a seat, telling her that wify was the musically inclined in the family. As to my request to take pictures of the group activity, she motioned me to go ahead, adding, “people do that all the time.”

Thus endorsed, I just clicked away, and would let the pictures speak for themselves here of the contagious fun that everybody had, connected through the synchronous drumbeat, well, almost, led by the able Jana who knew just how to get all to let their hair down, and fired up too, for the evening.

This was the scene outside the cafe when we arrived, the trailer-ful (we would soon find out later) of drums in tow.

Wify, sitting directly below a steaming cup of coffee, and Mrs. Fan waiting for their order. The displays to the left comprise memorabilia from Africa, a testimony to the African roots of the proprietor.

A picture typical of an African scene and reminiscent of the safari there adorns the wall further into the cafe. The tree canopy kind of reminded me of a scene from the Lion King, a Walt Disney cartoon blockbuster sometime back.

Wify trying her hands on the drum while Mrs. Fan looked on expectantly, all awaiting the cue from Jana.

Let the drums roll. And my heart pounded in rhythm with the drumbeat.

The group drumming from another angle. Both Jana and her assistant (I think that's who he is) had their drums on slings, strapped over their shoulders, and inserted, at an inclination, between their legs, like so.

Notice that in this picture only wify's hands seemed to be in striking motion while the rest had them either on their knees or just resting on the drum. This was one of the variations of Jana's repertoire to get the group involved individually, a session I call "in the spotlight". First she would get a fellow participant's consent to go solo. Then she would do a quick countdown, signally the beginning of the solo drumming, and everybody else to stop simultaneously. Here it was wify's turn, despite this being her first contact with a drum, let alone making sound from it. I would say she managed to render some rhythm to her improvisation, confirming that my decision to defer to her for the evening activity was a wise one indeed.

This was another variation where Jana invited a young conductor to come forth to direct the loudness (increasing when their hands were raised and vice versa) and the spatial distribution of the drumbeat following the cue of their hands, resulting in alternating crescendo from different sections of the group much like a human wave seen in a stadium.

And the inside of the trailer, stockful of drums. As for the drumming experience, the display on the side says it all.

And at the end of it all, we took home a CD, on purchase, to remember the occasion by. Thanks Jana, Mrs. Fan, and you fellow drummers, young and old alike, for a drum-ful evening.