Northwestern University Graduation and A Short Tour of Chicago

     Like millions of other proud parents, we listened to Pomp and Circumstance playing as we watched our daughter Sarah graduate. This was her second college degree, so it was fitting that there were two graduation ceremonies for her Master of Music (in Musicology) from Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.

Andy Romanick and Sarah Stark marching into graduation.

      The first ceremony, on June 20^th, was held for all of the approximately 4,500 graduates of 2014. More than 13,000 packed Ryan Field Stadium under skies that switched between blazing sun and threatening rain clouds. Cloris Leachman and Stevie Wonder were awarded honorary doctorates.

Stevie Wonder accepting his honorary doctorate degree.

Ryan Field Stadium, Northwestern Univerisity.

Riccardo Muti was the commencement speaker. He is the conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and his message was that the world needs to learn to communicate---that with all of the different methods of communication available today, “people still don’t seem to understand each other.”

He noted that as dialogue disappears in an increasingly developed world, music remains a method of communication that transcends boundaries. “Music is not something that belongs only to the elite, because it is one of the few things that can bring this terrible world together… Music speaks to the heart of people,” he said. “It doesn’t know the differences between peoples. There is no need to show a passport to join an orchestra or to experience music.”

Andy and Sarah with their leis from Hawaii.

The smaller ceremony for graduates from the Bienen School of Music is where Sarah actually walked across the stage to get her diploma. Jonathan Biss, a world renowned American pianist who is widely regarded for his artistry, musical intelligence and deeply felt interpretations was the commencement speaker. 
Like Muti, he talked about the importance of music, and how the role of the musician has changed since he graduated in 2001. “Today, rarely do five minutes go by without someone saying that musicians not only can, but should, must, be entrepreneurial.” 
He thinks it is more important for musicians to ask themselves why they make music. He urged them to have the courage to face the risk of failure, to be curious because curiosity grows the imagination, and to accept life unconditionally. His advice was valuable not just to musicians, but to anyone pursuing excellence. 

      After the ceremonies, Sarah and her boyfriend Andy who also graduated with a Master of Music (in Piano Performance) gave us a tour of the campus since it was the first time we visited. The music library was massive and the sunken garden beside it reminded me of the Secret Garden after it was restored.

     

Laura, Sarah, and John Stark on the banks of Lake Michigan.

Standing on the banks of Lake Michigan was on my Chicago to-do list. Looking out over that endless water horizon, it was hard to believe that I was looking at a lake, not an ocean.

Sampling Chicago's famous foods was also on my to-do list.  Sarah, Andy, and their friend Talar made sure we had a Chicago style pizza ready and waiting for us when we pulled in from the airport, even though it was close to 11 at night. The deep dish pizza had a 3" high crust around the edge holding in chunky tomato sauce, heaped with mozzarella cheese, pepperoni, and Italian sausage. That was worth a BIG satisfying check mark off my list.
We ate at some of their favorite Evanston restaurants while we were there. John proclaimed that Bat 17 Deli and Pub's Lucky Dawg Two was best hot dog he has ever eaten in his life. It's a 1/4 pound all beef Black Angus hot dog with Applewood smoked bacon, and Vermont white cheddar cheese barely held together on a brioche bun.

At Bennison’s bakery we had a tough time choosing pastries and especially the Parisienne macarons from the glass cases.

Made of egg whites, almond powder, icing sugar and sugar, traditional French macarons date back nearly 400 years. Filled with creams or ganache, macarons were originally made for King Louis XIV of France. The flavors ranged from classic chocolate, to raspberry, strawberry, vanilla, caramel, mocha and pistachio. So of course we solved that problem, by having them box up way too many of the goodies.

At a graduation party in nearby Wilmette, we commiserated with other parents about how all now knew what the meteorological term "polar vortex" meant.
The unrelenting, bitter winter of 2013-14 was one of the harshest in the history of Chicago and our Northwestern U. kids all survived 26 days in a row with temperatures at or below 0. Sarah had called us one January day and said that she was thrilled that the temperature was going to warm up to 20 degrees.
After the party, we visited the only Baha’i House of Worship on this continent. Its soaring, ornate architecture was impressive as were the surrounding gardens which were filled with newlyweds taking their wedding pictures.

        On our last day in Evanston, Talar helped us pack Sarah and Andy up. She drove them to Goodwill to donate what was left in their apartment and to the post office to mail some of it home to Washington. She was a life saver.

After they were “officially” moved out, the five of us caught the Purple Line of Chicago’s ‘L’ rapid transit system into Chicago. It’s no coincidence that the Evanston to Chicago route is called the Purple Line since Northwestern University’s official school color is purple. We saw Wrigley Field through the train windows and continued into the heart of the city.

We walked to the Art Institute of Chicago and arrived an hour before closing, so in true Stark fashion, with the museum map in hand, we storm troopered through. There wasn’t much time to stop and savor some of the world’s greatest paintings by Monet, Degas, Seurat, Matisse, Renoir, Dali, and Picasso, but we still enjoyed their astounding collection of art.

Water Lily Pond, by Claude Monet.

The Star, by Edgar Degas

A Sunday on Le Grande Jatte, by Georges Seurat

Night Hawks, by Edward Hopper

Afterwards we strolled through Millenium Park along the lakefront.

Talar, Andy, Sarah, and John in Millenium Park.

 

Chicago skyline from the Chicago Art Institute.

That's where we scarfed down Chi-Town’s famous hot dogs complete with neon green relish (on my checklist). At a bar/restaurant nextdoor, US World Cup fans roared while watching the US-Portugal match on big screen TVs.

We marveled at the shiny Cloud Gate sculpture nicknamed The Bean. It reflects the city skyline, and you as you take a picture of it.

We walked past the Trump Tower and stopped to admire the Chicago News Tribune Tower.

Correspondents for the Chicago Tribune brought back rocks and bricks from historically important sites throughout the world including the Taj Mahal, the Parthenon, petrified wood from the Redwood National and State Parks, the Great Pyramid, The Alamo, Notre Dame de Paris, and the Great Wall of China among others. They are implanted in the walls of the tower.

On our way back to the ‘L’ we paused to look at a bullet hole in the side of Holy Name Cathedral Church, left by mobsters. The Purple Line took us back to Evanston.

 

I wish that we could’ve heard some live Chicago blues while we were there, but with only three full days in Illinois, we ran out of time. 
The rest of Sarah’s life at Northwestern University was crammed into six bursting at the seams, checked suitcases, and the biggest carry-ons we could get away with.  We were all tired as we flew out of O’Hare airport before the sun had a chance to rise. It was a happy landing for us back home at SeaTac Airport in Washington.

Laura Keolanui Stark can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com wherever she may be traveling this summer.

Learning Curve

     If I look a little dazed and confused lately it’s because my brain’s processor is working overtime. Last month threatening messages started popping up on my hardworking laptop. Support for XP was disappearing. I clicked on the details and asked my “tech team” (family) to translate what this meant to me. 

How could I fix it? What could I download? They broke it to me un-gently. “Just get a new laptop! Yours is so old it doesn’t have enough room on it to handle any fix you could download.”

     To me it doesn’t seem old. But apparently in electronic years, nine years is ancient. My laptop was a hand-me-down from John when he upgraded. I was thrilled not to be tethered to a PC at an actual desk. I could write and surf the web while sitting in front of the TV or in bed if I felt like it. I could set the laptop up beside my sewing machine to watch instructional YouTube videos of sewing techniques. I could carry it with me whenever and where ever I traveled. It’s been so well used that the white letters on the keys for E, R, T, H, N, and M are completely worn off.

     The charger and battery died about six months ago. I was “encouraged” at that time to get a new laptop, but instead I bought a new charger and battery. The sales guy gave me a funny look when I refused his offer to recycle my dead charger. His eyebrows raised even higher when he turned it over and saw the warning masking taped to the bottom of it, written in Sharpie: “MOM’S CHARGER DO NOT TAKE!!!”

     When the kids were in college, our laptop chargers were interchangeable. They would come home, leaving their charger at school, borrow mine and then take it back across the state with them. That charger was mailed back and forth across Washington in the small flat rate box at least five times. I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m a little sentimental about it.

     I did eventually face the inevitable. For part of my seasonal job, I’d be working from home, so a new laptop was a necessity that couldn’t be delayed any longer. I started shopping. It wasn’t that hard. I wanted the same Dell Inspiron, just a newer version. My “tech team” recommended how much space and power I needed. I tested out the keyboard in a real store then went online to take advantage of their online discount. I pushed the Enter key on my old faithful laptop and its replacement was on its way.

     Unwrapping this sleek new laptop was almost as exciting as getting a new car. For two weeks I have been taking my haphazard crash course in how to use Windows 8, and all the new features now at my fingertips. I’ve signed in every day on my new best friend.

     As if that wasn’t enough excitement, for Mother’s Day, I got a shiny, new cellphone. I was waffling between a Samsung Galaxy and an I-phone. A friend with a Samsung Galaxy asked what the rest of my family had. I-Phones. She recommended I get the same, “Then when you’re confused about how it works, they’ll be able to help you.”

     I added, “Yep, and they’ll be able to steal my charger too!” That’s always a plus. Maybe I should get the masking tape out now.

     My old flip phone sits abandoned beside my old laptop. No more texting with ITAP on another set of worn keys. No more having to empty my inbox to receive more text messages. 

     On my I-Phone I can download pictures from my laptop, and check my email or Facebook. When John’s out of the country, he’ll be able to reach me much more easily. Siri will be able to help me in infinite ways.

     Johnny loaded my I-tunes, Words with Friends, and Candy Crush on it, gave me a basic half hour overview of how to use it, and left with the parting words, “Just keep trying to use it. Don’t throw your hands up in the air and quit!”

     Yesterday, the perfect storm hovered over my working from home desk aka dining room table. I had to reconfigure and download some things on the laptop for the seasonal job. For two hours I struggled trying to do it myself from the seven pages that had been emailed to me. 

     I get flustered when people try to talk me through on the phone, but I gave up and dialed the number—on my new I-phone. I navigated their help menu until a young lady who sounded about the age of my daughter answered. I silently prayed that she had a good relationship with her mother and would have mercy on me.

     I am fearless about clicking on things and only superficially stupid about tech issues. The thing is, while the rest of the working world got the internet, and email, and computers, I had left the office to be a stay-at-home-mom. While I was changing diapers and driving kids around, the world really did pass me by. I know exactly how Rip Van Winkle felt when he woke up.

     The first thing my guide did was direct me to go to my Control Panel. I hesitated. She calmly asked if I was on my desktop. On my old laptop, Johnny got so frustrated with me not knowing where or what my desktop was, he made my desktop be an image of Indiana Jones’ wooden desk top.

     That’s not on my new laptop, and the icon that you click on to get there only magically appears if you put the cursor in the top right corner. At least I knew that. I found my way to my desktop. I was really hoping she wouldn’t ask me any questions like, “How many gigabytes does your laptop have?”

     I apologized and explained to her that I’d only had this laptop for two weeks, and I also had a brand new phone that I’d only had for a day. I didn’t know how to put it on speaker phone, so I was typing with only one finger. (At least the keys have letters though!) She giggled and was very patient. Thirty minutes later I was good to go. Big sigh!

     Today when I was talking to Sarah, the new phone buzzed in my hand startling me. I almost dropped it. I thought someone else was calling. She told me it was just a new email message in my inbox. Her low-tech instructions on how to move the icons around were tailored especially for me, “Just hold your finger on the icon until it wiggles. Then drag it wherever you want it.”

     As if all this isn’t enough learning to make my head hurt, John came home one day and announced that a new dance club named Grit City Ballroom had opened in Tacoma.

He excitedly told me that they have free Jitterbug lessons. I’ve wanted to learn how to Jitterbug since I was a kid. Ten years ago I was pestering him about it with a “we’re getting old, it’s now or never” attitude. Fast forward ten years. Now I’m not sure I’ve got the physical energy or stamina to Jitterbug.

     So, one Friday, after a long day at work, there we were lined up in a dance class. We’ve taken ballroom dance classes before and our downfall is that when we get confused, no matter what dance we’re supposed to be dancing, for instance the Foxtrot, we end up doing the Hustle. That’s the dance that John taught me when we started dating during disco’s heyday.

     Our teachers were experienced. I was disappointed because they were teaching us West Coast Swing, not the Jitterbug. They had us go through the steps individually. Then they split us up into leaders and followers. We took turns dancing with different partners. Most of them were very nice. But, one young guy, a flashy dresser with a fedora, smirked when I stepped in front of him and introduced myself. I was the oldest female there, but I’m pretty sure I surprised the whippersnapper. When the lesson ended, it was time for free dancing.

    John and I assumed the right stance, holding hands out in front of us as if we were holding a tray. We both started on the right foot. I was not used to starting moving forward. John was counting for us: one, two, triple step, triple step. We got going, and then presto, it turned into the Hustle: triple step, triple step, five, six. They are similar dances, which made it very easy for us to slip back into the familiar when we got to the triple steps.

     The music was slower and smoother than Jitterbug music. The teachers had told us that the steps for the Jitterbug were the same as what we were learning for West Coast Swing, but for the Jitterbug, you bopped up and down instead of moving smoothly.

     I was bored with West Coast Swing.

     I wanted to hold John’s hand, lean back, hop around, throw my other hand up in the air and Jitterbug all out like they did in the 1940s. So that’s exactly what I did! I danced with wild abandon! For about thirty seconds. Then I sat down and told John that I’d hurt my ankle clowning around. I limped downstairs, out into the night.

     So while I was learning all the laptop and I-phone stuff, my left foot with the swollen, probably sprained ankle was propped up on a chair with an ice pack on it. I know that sometimes learning can be painful, but did it have to be so literal?

Laura Keolanui Stark is trying to find her list of user ID’s and passwords, and adding a dictionary app to her phone. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.