Tag Archives: South Coasting

Suit Up!

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Courtesy publicdomainpictures.net

“The clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.” –Mark Twain

I’ve had the pleasure of working at home in my sweats, pajamas, and bunny slippers for the past several months, and I’ve got to tell you, that particular perk of self-employment is way over-rated. There’s something about having just the right outfit for work that makes you want to, well, actually work.

My first real, grown-up suit was from Ann Taylor. It was a “power suit” that my mom bought for me in anticipation of my college graduation. It was blue worsted wool with a kick pleat in the narrow skirt and a stylish cut that made me feel like Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday. I was totally posifticated.

Sure the wool was itchy, I ripped my panty hose half the time, and I’ve always been walking-in-pumps-challenged, but I could swear my vocabulary went up an SAT point or two when I wore that suit. I joked that it was actually made of armor, because it protected so well from my workplace insecurities.

Having the right outfit made me feel busy, important, like someone on the move with places to go and people to see. My power suit also made me stand up a little taller, maybe even work a little harder.

The right clothes can do that for you. The right outfit can work wonders. But it’s got to be the right outfit in the right place. Your derriere may rival J-Lo’s in those awesome $900 jeans, but that doesn’t mean they’ll fly at a funeral. And unless you’ve got an Olympic gold medal coming your way, that banana sack Speedo is always a fashion don’t.

In the TV show, How I Met Your Mother, Doogie Howser is one of the rare males to extol the virtues of “suiting up” to his friends. Like Superman, Batman, and George Clooney, Doogie knows the power of the suit.

Most men don’t get this, despite the metrosexual revolution of hair gel and manscaping.

My husband would actually prefer to wear an old pair of pants till they literally fall apart, than buy something new that wouldn’t be “quite as soft and comfy.” The other day, he had the nerve to ask me if I really thought I needed a 27th pair of black pants when I hadn’t worn out the other 26 pairs yet. Since when do women wear out their clothes? Other than gym shoes, I haven’t worn out an article of clothing since the 5th grade.

Besides, can you see how slimming this new bonded cotton fiber is? This is the pair of pants that is going to revolutionize my whole wardrobe in a way the salmon pink pashmina shawl of 2003 and the neon green polyester wrap skirt of 1989 only promised to.

Plus — and here’s the real kicker — like the four-inch hoop earrings of 1993 and the Madonna corset of 1987, having this new pair of pants makes me feel good. Not as good as it would if they were a size 8, but there’s an issue for another column.

Men don’t understand our relationship with clothes.

Shockingly, I have a theory about this. It all comes down to tuxedos.

There’s a reason men look so good in tuxedos (the 1980s polyester pastel/ruffled shirt phase and my unfortunate prom pictures aside). Most men stand a little taller and behave a little more politely when they’re dressed in a traditional black tux. Plus they can feel confident they’re dressed appropriately, and they never seem to worry that someone else has appropriated their look.

For a woman there’s nothing worse than seeing another woman in the same dress — unless of course that other woman is younger and thinner. Can you imagine walking into a formal party and hearing a man say how embarrassed he is, because there’s another man in a black tuxedo?

They say every bride is beautiful because she’s so happy and in love. I say it’s all about the clothes. Think about it: she’s standing next to man in a tux, and all of her best friends are lined up next to her — in the most unflattering garments imaginable. As a bride you can’t help but giggle at the unflattering glow the puce green taffeta sheds on your beautiful cousin Rhonda’s face.

Bridesmaid’s dresses are intentionally ugly because they’re all about flattering the bride. It’s the law.

But what’s the law for work clothes? I would feel ridiculous putting on a power suit just to sit and type in my kitchen. And we have no air conditioning, so I’d be taking my jacket off and putting it back on all day long. Plus I couldn’t afford the dry cleaning bill every time the spontaneous urge to dust the blinds or paint the kitchen attacks, as it sometimes does when I’m on deadline.

Like my mother, and grandmother, and great-grandmother, I decided the only cure for this particular ailment was a little bit of retail therapy. Unlike my foremothers –who didn’t have the Internet– I didn’t even have to suit up to leave the house to go shopping. There I found a whole new category of clothes for stay at home workers — loungewear.

To the naked eye, my new duds may look like yoga pants and t-shirts, but I know a power suit when I see one.

Want to know what Leslie’s wearing next week? Email her at email

Originally published in Santa Barbara Daily Sound on April 28, 2006.

Not Me (By Koss Klobucher, understudy for Leslie Dinaberg)

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Courtesy Adam S., Flilckr.

Courtesy Adam S., Flilckr.

Do you remember how every time Bil Keane was sick, he’d have little Billy draw the Family Circus comic like a real six-year-old would draw a Family Circus comic… if that six-year-old was extremely precocious with the same soul-crushingly bland sense of humor as Bil Keane?

Well, Mommy is sick, so I’m Billy this week. But I promise I won’t do any “Not Me” or dotted-lines stomping through clothes-line jokes. Even though I’m only six and I’ve never actually read a Family Circus cartoon, I’m sure that I’ll grow up to have the same disdain for it that my father does, since I worship him and want to be like him in every way.

Nonetheless, I decided to steal this idea from Bil Keane, even though my mommy has two Ls in her name like a real person, unlike some people.

If, purely as a hypothetical, my dad was helping me write this column, and he was stuck trying to describe exactly how he felt about the Family Circus in the first paragraph, then I might chirp in with something like, “Glassy, shallow, hi-tech, furious, other stuff. Just think of adjectives.”

I like to help. And, I’m good at Mad-Libs.

The other thing I might do while I’m writing this column is sing a ten-minute song composed purely of stream-of-conscious ramblings, and then ask if it’s good that I’m singing, and ask how it’s helping.

I suppose I should let you know why Mommy is sick, and how she got that way. My dad thinks it has something to do with how I came into their room the other night at two a.m., crying. I told them about a nightmare I had where I stepped on a bunch of cats, and where Dad got really mad at me.

I know if Mommy was in my nightmare, she wouldn’t have gotten mad at me just for stepping on cats. She hates cats. And we’ll never have a cat in this house. I know. I know. If Mommy was in my nightmare she’d probably raise my allowance for stepping on the cats. So, really, she got herself sick by not showing up in my dream.

Anyhow, I told them my nightmare, they patted my back, and then I barfed all over Mommy’s side of the bed. I felt better.

So that’s my dad’s theory. I think she’s sick because an evil Genie was released from a jewel and spread this green mist stuff all over her, which made her look very green and stony.

You know what I’m saying?

Man, these columns are tougher than they look. I just asked Mommy how long they had to be, and she said 600-800 words, and I’m only about 400 into it. I’m tempted to start one of my rambling tales about when I went skiing with ghosts. It was a long time ago, when I was about three or four, and I was…

Sorry. I digress. It’s part of what happens to us six-year-olds when we recover from being sick. We get strange little bursts of energy, and… whoa! Did you hear that hiccup? I’m going to check out Pokemon.com.

I sure hope Mommy gets well soon. I want her to start playing with me again, ’cause it’s not that much fun to bounce on the bed while she just lies there and moans. I also miss the story-tales of her life she tells me right before I fall asleep at night. Dad tries, but most of his tend to be about getting drunk in college, which seem kind of inappropriate to me.

Mostly, I miss her working, because I simply do not have the focus for this. What do you expect? I’m six. Maybe I could draw a bad comic, but not write a whole column. Billy had it easy.

Phew. Finally. 600+. I’m going to go give Mommy her column, but first I’ll visit all the neighbors, and draw huge dots to mark my path. Just my luck, I’ll run into some of their cats on the way and step on them.

Not Me!

Leslie Dinaberg will be convalescing and, if she loves me, ignoring the e-mails you send her at email

Originally appeared in in the the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on April 21, 2006.

The ABCs of Parenting

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Courtesy Pixabay.com

Courtesy Pixabay.com

Sure, Passover has just passed over. I’ve got a Matzo Ball hangover to prove it. Yes, the chocolate bunnies are in their spring finest for the first-ever rainy Easter in Santa Barbara. Keep those chocolate umbrellas handy. But with all due respect to those observations, I’ve got another holiday to celebrate. Today, April 14th, is the 178th anniversary of the day that the first edition of Noah Webster’s “American Dictionary of the English Language” was published.

Inn honnor of speling gud, Iv ritten a shoret dixionarie uv mi owne.

A is for ALCOHOL: an essential ingredient to household harmony. It may lead to AMNESIA, which is the condition that allows a man who has watched his wife give birth have sex with her again.

B is for BABY: my husband when he gets a slight cold. B is also for BASKET CASE, if he actually spikes a fever higher than 98.7.

C is for COOK: a mythical household creature that, legend has it, mixes more than two ingredients together to make something called “not-take-out.”

D is for DATE NIGHT: infrequent outings where Mom and Dad try to find something to talk about besides their kids.

E is for EXCUSE ME I FARTED, I’M TERRIBLY EMBARRASSED: a phrase my husband, and now child, says repeatedly, with a huge grin.

F is for FEELINGS: which were discussed three times a day before you got married, and are now part of the date night discussion at least every three years.

G is for GENIUS: your own child, of course.

H is for HOOKER: anyone else’s child.

I is for INTAXICATION: the short-lived euphoria when you realize you are getting a refund from the IRS this year. I is also for IDIOT, when you blow it all shoes

J is for JACKPOT: when your kids are unexpectedly invited to sleepover somewhere else for the night.

K is for KARMA: what you threaten your kids with when, “Santa and Mommy know if you’ve been good for goodness sake” loses its effectiveness.

L is for LIKE: ya know, like, as if, like, m’kay?

M is for MAYBE: which usually means no.

N is for NO: which means no, no matter how many times you ask.

O is for OK: which means you wore me down this time, but next time, “No means no.”

P is for PARK: Before children this was a verb meaning, “to go somewhere and engage in an adult activity, such as necking.” After children, it became a noun, meaning, “to go somewhere and engage in what now passes for adult activity, such as nodding hello to other adults.”

Q is for QUEEN: a figurehead title, referring to mom’s role before the children were born.

R is for ROYAL RELATIVE: mom’s new role now that his highness has arrived.

S is for SHOW OFF: which is any child more talented than your royal heir.

T is for TOWELS: a mysterious cotton floor covering that can apparently only be hung up or folded by the Queen.

U is for UMPTEEN: the number of times Mom must instruct her husband and offspring to do something before it actually gets done.

V is for VALENTINE’S DAY: I have no idea what that means.

W is for WEINER: a hotdog if you’re at all mature, something else entirely if you’re my husband or child.

X is for XOXOXOXO: mom’s lunch box note signoff guaranteed to delight anyone under 7 and horrify a teenager.

Y is for YIPPEE: what mom would jump up and shout if her kid stopped asking “WHY” for at least seven consecutive minutes.

Z is for ZILLION: the number of times mom tells you why, goes to the grocery store, picks up your towels, and counts her blessings every week.

Gut eny werds tow ad? Email email

Originally appeared in in the the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on April 14, 2006.

Who is Serving Whom

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Courtesy Pixabay.com

Courtesy Pixabay.com

A Lesson in Tine Language for Restaurant Professionals

The lights are low and the company is scintillating. You’ve got the perfect second glass of wine glow, and you’re delighting in the fact that you didn’t have to cook the meal in front of you or drive up to an oversized squawk box to order it. You throw back your head to laugh at something your friend has just said about your other friend, when all of a sudden you see it, the busboy’s hairy hand coming to whisk away your plate while your companion is still eating.

Major buzz kill.

Why do they always do that?

Or you’re catting up with your other friend about the first friend, when a waiter swings by to utter the over-used under-thought phrase: “You still working on that?”

Working? Yes. This is my job. It was this or medical school.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I enjoy looking at the carnage of my meal for hours on end, which is the usual Santa Barbara restaurant service alternative to trying to rush you out of there as quickly as possible, but isn’t it about time these servers learned to speak “Tine Language?”

Once upon a time, etiquette goddess Emily Post had a wonderful idea. Why don’t we invent signals for patrons to alert the wait staff that they are still eating, or conversely, that they’ve finished their meals? That way we can avoid all of the pesky hovering over tables, annoying queries about whether we’re still working on our food, and accidental interruptions of embarrassing conversations about PMS, pap smears and other patrons.

Tine Language for, “I’m still eating, and if you come near my plate I’ll eat your finger,” is placing your knife and fork on opposite sides of the plate, tines down, with the fork and the knife kissing daintily in the center.

To say, “I’m finished, please clear my plate,” in Tine Language, simply place the fork and knife on the plate diagonally, with the tines of the fork pointed to the upper left side of the plate. That’s 11 o’clock, for those of you who like to think visually, or 10 o’clock for those of you who don’t observe daylight savings time.

Very civilized, no?

Tine Language is such a simple system, really. No verb conjugation to worry about, no deciding if plates are masculine or feminine. To help move adoption of this new language along a little faster in our local restaurants, which are renowned for their food but never their service, I decided to add a few “Tines” of my own.

Holding a fork in each hand while flapping my arms at the hostess means, “Hello, paying customer here. I’d like to be seated, whether or not my entire party has arrived.”

If, upon arriving at said table, I place the fork on my head (tines up), this means, “The restaurant’s not even remotely full, so would you kindly not seat me on top of the other patrons?” Chances are good that if I don’t know them, I know — or am somehow related to — the person they’re gossiping about, so let the waiter walk the extra five steps that separate our tables.

And when you see me poking a fork in my left eye, this means my blind date is not going well. I’ll slip you a twenty if you escort me from my table into the kitchen to assist with a runaway lobster. When I poke the fork in my right eye, it just means I’m telling a really bad joke.

If I happen to have kids with me, that’s not the only reason I’ve grabbed the knife and am now making a throat slitting motion. It’s also “Tine Language” for “let the waiter walk an extra 17 steps and put me as far away from other customers as possible.”

And if I take that same knife and slit my wrist with it, even if I don’t draw blood, that means, “check please.” If you bring me a Band-Aid, I might even leave you a tip.

Got any other “Tine Language” tips for Santa Barbara’s renowned service economy? Email us at email

Originally appeared in in the the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on April 7, 2006.

Spinning the Wheels of Sarcasm

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Courtesy Pixabay.com

Courtesy Pixabay.com

Sometimes magic words fly in the face of love and logic.

There’s no doubt that “Abracadabra,” “Alakazam,” and “Thank You” have some mighty mojo behind them, but as far as magic words go, there’s nothing more powerful in our house than “Helicopter.”

Not the winged aircraft with huge spinning blades kind of helicopter, but a different kind of spin. “Helicopter” is our code word for “Oops, I really shouldn’t have said that.”

For example, if my husband’s peacefully watching TV and I suddenly burst out, “You’re a fat, lazy turd,” all I have to do is follow that with a “Helicopter” and all is forgiven. It’s our family version of “the jury is instructed to disregard that last remark.”

Like any good six-year-old lawyer, my son has mastered the “Helicopter.” After the 12th time I tell him to brush his teeth/finish his homework/put out the recycling/tar the roof, he’ll finally look up from his Battleon game and say, “chill, mom.” But one look at my head about to explode and he quickly follows up with the magic word, “Helicopter,” and a perfectly contrite expression. I have no choice but to chill.

Forget the rewind button — which might have been more effective than throwing the pillow when I asked my husband if this tent made me look fat — “Helicopter” does the trick every time.

Yet another meaning of the word “Helicopter” came up at a PTA meeting last week.

According to the Love and Logic Institute, which is the latest parenting craze, there are three types of parents.

First, there’s the obviously-bad, “Drill Sergeant” types, who rule by intimidation, sending their spineless little plebes out into the world with spit-polished shoes and canteens full of insecurity.

Then, there’s the obviously-good Love and Logic parent, who models thoughtfulness and rational behavior, acting as a benevolent, all-knowing “Consultant,” while providing just the right dose of guidance for their child.

Finally, there’s the “Helicopter” parent, who hovers over their children and rescues them from the dangers of the world, thus giving them low self-esteem, messy hair, feeble eardrums, a weak jump shot, and gingivitis.

Huh? Not only have these people sullied my magic H-word by linking it to bad parenting, but now they’re telling me that my basest (s)mothering instincts, my maternal heritage honed by generations of women walking miles to school in the snow, sacrificing their arches so that future generations could run on the soccer fields at Girsh Park, may not be such a good thing after all.

I was outraged. What were these people thinking? Love has nothing to do with logic. If people were really logical they’d stay far away from love.

As I sat there contemplating my exit strategy, my ears perked up when the Love and Logic people launched into a role-playing skit called, believe it or not, the Helicopter Story.

Mother and son are at the grocery store and the kid wants to buy a cheap plastic helicopter that the mother knows will probably break immediately.

Kid: “Mom, I want this helicopter.”

Mom: “Oh, you would like that helicopter, huh?” (Said with empathy, not sarcastically. Who are these people?)

Kid: “Yeah, it’s so cool.”

Mom: “Well, I’m not buying it. It looks like it’s going to break soon. (Then I’ll be able to say, “I told you so.”) What’s your plan?” (The idea is to hand back the problem to the child, not to be sarcastic. Who has that kind of restraint?)

The kid decides to buy the toy with his own money. Of course, it breaks in the car on the way home. Resisting the urge to say, “Well duh, I told you so,” the Love and Logic mom tells the kid she’s sorry the toy broke, but that it was his choice to buy it. Naturally he cries and has a tantrum, at which point the Love and Logic Institute advises (seriously) the mother to “go brain dead and use a one-liner in broken record form” until the child is ready to talk about something else.

Suggested one-liners include: “I love you too much to argue about it.” “Ohhh … this is hard.” And my personal favorite, “That is so sad.”

Since Helicopter had lost some of its luster, I decided “That is so sad” would be my new magic phrase, trying carefully to follow the Love and Logic Institute’s advice to “avoid sarcasm at all costs.”

“But mom, I don’t want a peanut butter sandwich in my lunch again.”

“That is so sad.”

“Honey, your Nordstrom’s card is overdrawn again.”

“That is so sad.”

“Did you hear the Love and Logic Institute burned to the ground?”

“That is sooo sad.”

Helicopter.

Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound

Sweet Dreams

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Profile of Brent Torson, En Gedi Beds

Growing up in Portland, Oregon, Brent Torson spent his boyhood days dreaming of living in California where “the sky was blue and the sun always shined,” and designing “the fanciest cars he could imagine.” Now happily ensconced in sunny Santa Barbara, Torson’s fertile imagination has been transported by another kind of vehicle entirely – a new line of custom-made children’s furniture, En Gedi Beds by Torson Design.

Inspired in part by his three children – five-year-old Jaden, three-year-old Elliana and baby Lissette – Torson’s beds charm both the young and the young-at-heart.

“I’m going for that romantic era, I think that kind of journey, as opposed to doing a shiny spaceship. I’ve in fact talked to many of my wife’s friends, that have said ‘Yeah, I would sleep in that now if it was big enough,'” laughs Torson, the twinkle in his eye leaving no doubt about his own delight in new venture.

“I like wondering what’s something that hasn’t been done yet? So that’s what drives me, or what drove me even as a child was … trying to think of what’s next or what’s right around the bend,” says Torson, whose wife Leanne is also an accomplished artist whose paintings grace the walls of their Riviera cottage.

“Having kids I was just opened up to this new world of wow, there’s all these things that kids need and want and would love to have. And then I was like what would I have liked to have (as a kid) and then it just came about.”

Though his children, who are home schooled by Leanne, offer plenty of input and advice at the drawing board of his home design studio, Torson says, “Really the target market is also the parents. I want the parents to fall in love with these things. They are the ones that are going to buy them. And then they have kind of a timeless, romantic quality about them.”

The Coach Bed, the first in the En Gedi collection, conjures up Cinderella fairytale fantasies with its timeless design that Torson based on old European horse-drawn carriages.

Elliana is definitely a fan, Torson says. But then, what little girl wouldn’t want to fall asleep in such a magical setting to dream of her prince.

For adventures inspired by the high seas (and a lot of input from Jaden), there’s the Privateer Bed, a pirate ship style indoor playhouse, complete with two decks, sails, a crow’s nest, and even working Nerf ball cannons.

Torson’s skills as an architectural model builder (his “bread and butter” business) came into to play as he worked out different motifs for the beds.

“I think (both designs) have old world charm and that’s why I chose these two to begin with,” says Torson. They also reflect his romantic sensibilities, as does his life with Leanne, whom he met in an acting class at Santa Barbara City College in 1998 and married six months later.

While the designs are being marketed as beds that will draw upon the talents of local artists and craftspeople, Torson explains that they are really meant to provide complete living spaces for their young owners. Built-in dressers, bookshelves, toy storage, writing desks, lighting and even guest beds can be incorporated into the designs. Also on the drawing board are several new designs, including an indoor tree house, a Polynesian jungle hut and a super hero hideout. And in addition to the one-of-a-kind furniture pieces, Torson is an accomplished muralist who can literally set the scene for each fantasy adventure.

“The heart behind this business, my heart, is that it would employ local creative people,” says Torson.

Originally published in Santa Barbara Magazine in March, 2006.

Forward Thinking Farm

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Center for Urban Agriculture at Fairview Gardens

Fairview Gardens Story

Fairview Gardens Story

As one of the oldest organic farms in Southern California, Fairview Gardens is often referred to as “the little farm that could,” for its unique diversity of products and as an internationally respected model for small scale urban food production, agricultural land preservation, farm-based education, and the integration of farms and the communities that they serve. The fertile fields — on Fairview Avenue near Cathedral Oaks Road in Goleta — have been chugging along since 1895. But since the farm’s 1997 evolution into the nonprofit Center for Urban Agriculture at Fairview Gardens, lessons in organic farming and sustainable living have been added to the menu.

The produce stand is clearly visible from the street, but a closer look reveals the beginnings of avocados hatching from enormous trees in the “cathedral” orchard and long rows of asparagus poking their heads out of wet soil. Between rows of trees, a variety of squash stand at attention and you can smell the apples blossoming in preparation for the next Farmhouse Cooking Class, where participants will learn canning and preserving, and how to make apple muffins and apple and butternut squash soup.

While most of Goleta’s once fertile fields have been paved over — and indeed the farm is surrounded on all sides by tract homes, shopping malls, and suburban thoroughfares — the Center for Urban Agriculture’s founder/executive director Michael Ableman’s foresight enabled Fairview Gardens to escape that fate. To prevent the land from being turned into housing, he turned the farm into an agricultural conservation easement, and it will remain that way in perpetuity — to continue to delight neighbors with fresh organic fruits and vegetables, and sometimes annoy them with the early morning chicken cacophony and compost cologne.

Ableman chronicled the center’s founding in a book, On Good Land: The Autobiography of an Urban Farm (Chronicle Books, 1998), and Meryl Streep narrated Beyond Organic, a PBS documentary about his work.

While appreciative of the national recognition, much of the center’s efforts are focused on the local community.

About 5,000 school kids come through the farm each year, estimates Administrative Director Matthew Logan. “We just had a Goleta Valley Junior High group come through here and they were amazed that carrots grow in the ground,” he laughs. ” So that’s our main mission in so far as school tours is reconnecting kids with where their food comes from and (the benefits of) farming without chemicals or pesticides.”

The center is open to the public every day for self-guided tours, which highlight the farm’s crops and techniques, and include information on larger agricultural and environmental issues such as biodiversity, soil erosion, and pesticide use.

The use of grey water and compost, growing rows of crops between trees, rotating crops and “disking under” the old crops so that their roots add nutrients to the soil are just a few of the techniques used to maintain the farm in the most environmentally friendly fashion.

Not only is the message getting out to school kids; they’re passing it on to their parents.

“It’s amazing how many of the kids actually bring their parents out here after for at least one visit,” says Logan.

“…We’re growing food, we make enough money to support the farm and be able to pay our employees but we can also put on a number of educational events with the money that we make from the farm. … So our point is … you can farm it wisely so that you can make enough money to sustain yourself. That it can be done.”

Originally published in Santa Barbara Magazine in spring 2006.

Click here to read Giving Back: Fairview Gardens in Santa Barbara Magazine

Dr. Ayesha Shaikh

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Click Here to Read Dr. Ayesha Shaikh From Santa Barbara Magazine

Dr. Ayesha Shaikh

Dr. Ayesha Shaikh

Having practiced obstetrics and gynecology in Santa Barbara for the past 20 years, Dr. Ayesha Shaikh (rhymes with “bake”) has a hard time walking through town without someone recognizing her.

Her daughter Sarah, 20, a student at Middlebury College, says she can’t go anywhere without someone recognizing her mom.

Her husband of 25 years, Mohammed, an engineer who owns Image-X, frequently quips that he’s “the only Indian Muslim who walks six feet behind his wife.”

He might have to widen that perimeter in January, when his wife’s network will expand even further as she takes over as Cottage Hospital’s Chief of Staff.

Her new assignment, to serve as a liaison between the hospital’s administration and its medical team, comes at one of the most exciting and tumultuous times in the facility’s history, as construction gets underway on a $500 million new hospital, which is not expected to be completed until 2013.

As anyone who’s been through a home remodel can testify, living through years of construction can make you feel like taking a hammer to the closest available target, and Dr. Shaikh will be right there to absorb the blows.

“You know how physicians are,” she said. “If they want to be heard they can be heard. … I think I’ll be hearing a lot of, ‘where’s my parking!'”

Soothing frazzled nerves comes naturally for Dr. Shaikh, having delivered thousands of babies over the years (she stopped counting after her first 250). She hasn’t lost a father yet, although there have been a few close calls.

“You know when they start turning funny shades of color, you say, ‘okay, there’s a chair, why don’t you take a seat and sit down. I’ll take care of the baby and the mom,'” laughs Dr. Shaikh, her lilting Indian/British accent having the desired calming effect.

“It’s amazing how these guys can talk and do all this Rambo-style stuff and when it comes to delivery they become like little ducks … They see that little baby and they burst into tears.”

The joy in sharing these moments is one of the reasons why Dr. Shaikh plans to continue delivering babies, despite her new administrative responsibilities at the hospital.

“It’s fulfilling — I don’t want to say you feel great, but you feel nice, especially when things go well and it’s someone who you’ve seen through a lot of difficult times. You just feel so good.”

Originally published in Santa Barbara Magazine in winter 2006.

Direct Relief’s Home Team

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A group of Santa Barbara High School grads is having a positive impact on worldwide healthcare while headquartered in their hometown. No less than four SBHS alumni are part of the 24-person staff at Direct Relief International, the locally based global nonprofit agency that provides essential materials to areas hit by disaster.

Annie Maxwell, a 1997 SBHS graduate, was the first in a wave of Dons. She caught wind of the organization in 2002, when CEO Thomas Tighe was on the cover of Santa Barbara Magazine.

Click here to read this story in Santa Barbara Magazine

“My mom, in probably one of her valiant efforts to try to get all of her children close to home, sent it to me at Michigan when I was at school and said, ‘you should work here,'” said Annie, who started as an unpaid intern and is now Chief of Staff.

She’s currently on special assignment in New York, working at the United Nations under former President Bill Clinton, the Special Envoy for Tsunami Recovery.

In a matter of days, “I went from a warehouse in a beach town to a UN high rise with security and dogs sniffing bombs,” said Annie. “I keep waiting for the director to call cut.”

Her longtime friends — Lucy Anderson, Damon Taugher and Brett Williams, all class of 1998 — are also stoked at their good fortune in being able to have a positive impact on relief efforts such as Hurricane Katrina.

The organization’s gotten this great lift from having them here, said Thomas, who praises his young colleagues as hard working, incredibly smart and disarmingly polite.

Plus their affection and respect for each other and for the mission of Direct Relief is contagious.

“It’s great work because the more you do, the more people are directly affected,” said Brett, the warehouse manager, calling from Ecuador, where he detoured from sightseeing to visit potential partners for Direct Relief.

Lucy also took time off from serving as development manager to visit Direct Relief hospitals while vacationing in Nepal. “It was far and away the highlight of my trip, just seeing the difference that one Direct Relief shipment can make was incredible.”

Based on his own vision, Damon is now directing a new program that has provided $12 million in free medicines to clinics throughout California, a new direction for Direct Relief.

“I don’t think anyone when they’re 14 says ‘wow do you think we could be influential in running the largest international aid organization in California in ten years,'” said Annie. “It’s just not something that you usually say over lunch in the quad. … I was more worried about not failing my English quiz and hoping that we’d beat San Marcos.”

How Direct Relief Helps

Hurricanes Katrina and Rita

August 29 and September 24, 2005

At least 37 tons of medical and personal care supplies–soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, etc.–have been shipped (FedEx did it free of charge) to at least 41 health facilities in the Gulf region. DRI also donated $1.1 million in cash grants to clinics and hospitals there.

India Flood Disaster

July 26, 2005

More than $800,000 of anti-infective and antiparasitic agents, analgesics, rehydration salts and water purification tablets were sent to the Mumbai Public Health Department.

Earthquake/Tsunami in Southeast Asia

December 26, 2004

More than $32 million in cash and supplies–enough to administer full courses of pharmaceutical treatment to at least three million people–were donated to healthcare facilities and nonprofit organizations in the affected countries.

Southern California Wildfires

October 21-November 4, 2003

With a donation from Alcon Laboratories, 6,000 units of eye lubricant were sent to firefighters and public safety officials in San Diego.

To donate, contact Direct Relief International, 27 S. La Patera Lane, Santa Barbara, CA 93117, 805-964-4767, www.directrelief.org.

Originally published in Santa Barbara Magazine in Winter 2006.

Kids in court get support from CASA

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Casa logo“When I started I expected nothing for myself,” said Doris Becker, recalling her ten years as a volunteer CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate), working on behalf of children who are involved in the court system. The program was just starting out in Santa Barbara County when she saw a newspaper ad about the training classes.

“I thought, I love children and I want to volunteer. At the time I didn’t know what the program was. I just really wanted to help.”

Not only has she helped by devoting countless hours to advocating on behalf of her young charges, about four years ago she also got her husband Don into the act.

Don, who also serves on the Board of Directors of Hillside House, said he got involved for two reasons. “It was a good project, but there’s a confidentiality issue and she would come home and want to talk (about her cases).”

As a pharmacist (now retired), Don was used to dealing with confidentiality issues, and decided to become a CASA to help support his wife in her work. While the work is certainly rewarding, both of the Beckers admitted that it can also be emotionally grueling.

“The emotional ups and downs have caused me sleepless nights, so you have to love children,” said Doris. “And you do question yourself; especially if Social Services and you are not pulling in the same direction. Then you go, do I really know what is best for the child?”

You wonder, what do they see that I don’t see, said Don. “There’s some self doubt in there.”

“And then when the judge goes with your recommendation you come out and you should be very excited and you go oh my God, I’m now responsible for what is happening to this little guy, so it is emotional and yeah, you have to really see if you can be totally unbiased, can you really look at it objectively, you know,” said Doris.

Unlike social workers who have enormous case loads and generally try when possible to keep families together, CASAs make their recommendations strictly based on their view of what is best for the child. They evaluate the situation at school when applicable, and at the child’s home, which is often a foster care situation. They also make sure that the children are taken to the doctor for regular checkups.

While situations and needs vary with each case, the Beckers said they try to see their current charge (a little girl) at least once a week.

“She loves the zoo, she loves the ocean. We took her one morning for three hours up and down the ocean. We were both totally worn out,” said Doris, laughing.

“If it is a good situation you might not even see the child every week,” she said, recalling one of her cases, two elementary school age boys who were brothers. “They were so involved in school and other activities that we would have not done any good, we would have been interfering. We would have been disruptive rather than be helpful.”

In the case of another child whose mother had drug problems and was frequently homeless, “I would sometimes see him four or five times a week because he was, at one point, so, so needy — he would be alone. His mom was put away and his sister was moved, so the only person he knew was me,” said Doris.

The children aren’t allowed to come to the volunteers’ homes, so sometimes planning activities can be challenging. CASAs meet regularly with their caseworkers and fellow CASAs who are working with children in the same age group, and often exchange ideas for activities.

Free bowling at Zodo’s in the summer was a big one, as are the various free days at local museums and attractions.

“We have one car that’s our CASA car,” said Don. It’s full of skateboards, kneepads, scooters, helmets, beach toys and more. The Becker’s son, now grown and living in New York City with a family of his own, even gets into the act, sending boxes of books, games, toys and goodies for the children his parents look out for.

One of the most frequently asked questions about the CASA program, is, “Where do you find the time?”

“That always comes up,” said Don. “You find the time, you make yourself find the time.”_”And I’m just amazed how much pleasure we are also getting out of this,” said Doris.

For more information about volunteering to be a Court Appointed Special Advocate, call 879.1735, E-mail info@sbcasa.org or visit www.sbcasa.org.

Originally published in the Goleta Valley Voice in October, 2005.