When I visited India as a teenager, my uncles, aunts and cousins always inundated me with questions about America. What was life like here? Was it as fast-paced as depicted in the movies? Was everyplace clean? Aren’t there any poor people here? They marveled over electronic gadgets that we took for granted.

They always had so much praise for this country until the subject turned to marriage and the elderly. Why don’t Americans stay married? And why do they stick their parents in nursing homes when they get old. I never had any answers then. I still don’t when it comes to why 50 percent of Americans are divorced. But I plan to tell my relatives now that people in this society do not shun their seniors as commonly believed. And I will tell them the story of Ric Gomes and his father, Jesus.

Jesus, who turned 80 last month, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in August. His wife had just died and the question of who would take care of Jesus was never really posed. “Family is family,” said Ric, 52. “Family is number one.”

Last summer, Ric moved in with his dad and went from being a successful commercial producer in Palm Desert to full-time caregiver. It’s a job Ric has taken on with passion. He cooks for his father. He chooses his clothes and lays them out in the order they should be worn every morning. He makes sure his father exercises, takes his medication and a cocktail of antioxidants.

This summer will mark my 20th anniversary as a reporter. It would seem that after two decades of doing the same thing, you wouldn’t constantly be second-guessing yourself. But my most recent assignment was among the most troubling for me in a long time. I was working on a story about Alzheimer’s disease. I didn’t know a lot about it. I thought it affected very old people, made them forgetful, end of story. And then I met Carl Hopkins.

Carl Hopkins is 74 years old. He’s had Alzheimer’s for about four years. When I met him at his house, he seemed like any other retired senior. He likes to drink a lot of coffee and putter around his well-equipped garage. At the beginning of the interview, he was articulate and upbeat. And then, I noticed traces of the disease. Something his wife, Sue Holloway, had pointed out earlier. Carl repeats himself. I know we all do, but this was different. He said the same phrase several times. This, I learned, is a common symptom of the disease.

When I began reviewing my tapes to decide what segments of the 45-minute interview I would leave in the story and what I would cut, I was faced with this dilemma: how do I show the viewer how this disease is affecting Carl in everyday life without subjecting Carl to embarrassment? I could have cut the tape so you saw a few of Carl’s articulate answers. You might think, gee, this guy is fine.  I knew from meeting Carl’s wife, that wouldn’t be fair. Sue, like so many caretakers, is watching her husband slowly fade away. He is no longer the guy who used to barbeque for friends every weekend because he’s now uncomfortable in social situations. It’s difficult for him to follow conversations. He can’t garden anymore because he fertilizes and waters everyday, forgetting he did it the day before. He still has a driver’s license but Sue won’t let him on the road by himself; last spring, he went missing for six hours. He used to be able fix things. He can’t do that anymore. He even forgets what he can no longer do.

My husband and I have had some very heated arguments over money - how much we have, want, spend and save. These arguments can be so painful we prefer to not talk about money issues even though deep down, we know we should. And as it turns out, we're not alone. According to SmartMoney.com, money is the top reasons why couples argue. So when my husband came home one day from taking our daughter to a playdate and announced that our friends revealed that they, too, have serious arguments over money, I realized I had a perfect topic for These Days.

I decided we needed to do a show that looks at how money issues impact relationships and how couples could talk about and manage money in a constructive way. Both the psychologist and the financial planner I booked as guests for the show said that money issues cause emotions to run very high in relationships. And not knowing how to talk about it can be very destructive. It was no surprise then, to learn that money is a top reason cited for why people divorce.

Producing this segment was an eye-opener for me. I learned that there are probably some underlying reasons why my husband and I argue over money, like fear of losing control, or wanting to share more of the responsibility of managing our money. I also learned that there are simple things that could ease the tension over money. One was to talk about long term goals and then discuss ways to achieve those goals. Another was to create three accounts - one for shared expenses, and one for each spouse. The shared account covered all family expenses while the individual accounts were for individual spending (ie, mad money). From the high volume of calls we received during the program, it was obvious that many people shared my frustration with money matters.

The adage that you learn something new everyday is certainly true in my case. Now let's see how well I can put it into practice!

-- Natalie Walsh is senior producer for These Days.

Whenever someone brought up the topic of water (or, more accurately, the lack of water) as a possibility for a documentary or a feature for Full Focus, my eyelids would start to droop. This indifference persisted in spite of my near-adoration of Jon Else's wonderful four-part public television series Cadillac Desert, which was all about water and the West. Yes, yes, I knew water was important, scarce, political, whatever. But I was dead certain water was a terribly boring topic, one to be taken up only when there was no choice.

So one day, I was given no choice. The assignment (part of Tapped Out, an Envision San Diego special on water that airs Thursday Oct. 18th at 8 p.m.) was to put 200 years of San Diego water history -- drought and flood, plans and schemes, usage and policy -- into perspective. And I was to do it in four minutes and 45 seconds.

The experience was like finding out that the quiet neighbor you thought was a CPA really rustles cattle for a living. Water and how we live with it is every bit as interesting as human beings are.

I discovered that water was always a problem in this region, both too much of it and too little. I learned who was good at conserving it (the Kumeyaay, the mission padres) and who was good at wasting it (Alonzo Horton). I learned that the quest for a permanent source of good water for San Diego seems to have gone hand-in-hand with the desire to have a railroad run through it. I found out that there were dozens of discoveries of "permanent" sources of water for San Diego, some of which tasted bad and smelled worse. I learned that there is no such thing as going too far for water and generally no concern about whether other people have any. If we can take all the water before it gets to the river mouth, great. If you happen to live where the Colorado River ends, too bad.

And most of all, I learned that if we are going to continue to live in paradise, to keep building and growing, we must finally learn to adapt to the climate we love and live with the most stringent conservation measures we can devise.

We have no choice.

All right, it's not what you're thinking. I kept everything on a professional level.

I didn't meet them in a brothel, or standing in front of a seedy bar. We met at an outdoor caf? in a district just a few minutes from the heart of downtown Sydney.

Kylie was an attractive blond dressed in very casual clothes. Her colleague Debbie was a bit more flamboyant, with multi-colored hair and a nose ring. We sat at a table, and they ordered some tea and a couple of dishes from the menu. I got out my recorder and flipped on the switch.

In the audio excerpt above, you can hear part of my interview with Debbie.

I was struck by how dispassionately they talked about their business. And in terms of eroticism, forget about it. I mean, it was about as titillating as talking to a couple of accountants.

But it was fascinating at the same time. Here I was, thinking that their business was degrading and exploitive, and how women who are involved in it must have been grade school dropouts who had no other options but to sell their bodies on the street.

Kylie and Debbie didn't fit those stereotypes at all. They were college graduates. They swore they chose to go into the business, in part because it afforded them the opportunity to make a good living and to be their own bosses.

And they weren't ashamed of being commercial sex workers, not at all. In fact, they were proud of what they did.

My experience with Kylie and Debbie was an eye-opener, to be sure. It's amazing how commercial sex work, which we denounce, abhor and criminalize in this country, can be seen so differently in another culture.

The first time I saw the truck with the grisly billboard-sized pictures of so-called "aborted fetuses," I was in Hillcrest with some friends. It was several years ago, shortly after moving to San Diego. The pictures were grotesque and obviously meant to provoke a reaction. I had never seen anything like it before and my initial reaction was "Who's driving?" If that sounds odd, it's only because as a journalist, I've always been fascinated with extremist groups and extremists themselves. So when the issue of abortion resurfaced on the national level after the Supreme Court upheld a ban on "partial-birth abortion," I thought it was time to meet the guy who drove the truck.

When I pitched the story to Full Focus' executive producer, Natalie Walsh, I was unfocused, had done little research and was fairly uncommitted. She liked the idea of tackling a subject we don't hear much about on the news. She said, "Yes, pursue the story," and sent me off to do some research.

What happened next surprised me most as a journalist. When I talked to friends, neighbors and colleagues, they questioned my motive for telling this story. Why would I wade into this debate? Did I have my own agenda? It made me feel defensive. Some asked why I would give airtime to "those people." One freelance photographer told me he didn't want any part of this story.

A week after my first meeting with Natalie, I told her I wanted out of the abortion story. "I don't want to do this. People are getting mad at me," I said. It's emotional, volatile, and divisive. A story with no resolution or satisfying conclusion. "Maybe that's why we should do this," she said. "Because no one else will."

For the next several weeks, photojournalist Erica Simpson and I immersed ourselves in the abortion debate. We never met the truck driver, but did meet a woman who regularly protests outside an abortion clinic. She chases people and cars, shouting her anti-abortion message. She displays giant cardboard pictures of what she says are aborted fetuses. I confess, I was uncomfortable and embarrassed. I wondered if the people driving by knew I was a reporter, or did they think I was another protester. There seemed to be no comfortable distance between me as journalist and the subject I was covering.

Later, we sat down and interviewed her. This same woman, who shouted so desperately, looked so fierce, and seemed so rabid in front of that abortion clinic, turned out to be a warm, intelligent and kind woman who truly believed she was doing the right thing.

We spoke with women who had abortions and were willing to tell us their stories. Some with regret, others grateful they had the option. And I wondered, as I often do, why people are willing to share their most personal stories in such a public way. In the end, I believe they want to help others by sharing their own experiences. Their trust in me to be true to their intent is both daunting and humbling.

Many journalists subscribe to "objectivity." But I find myself wondering whether true objectivity is even possible. As people, we all have a point of view. As a woman, a mother, a Canadian who grew up in a poor working class neighborhood, and a journalist who believes in public broadcasting, I view the world through my experiences. A truly "objective" report is merely a transcript with no insight, no perspective, and without critical thinking. But even though an honest report can allow personal insight into a story, it must stop short of skewing it with opinion and judgment.

The stories we choose to cover and not cover are more revealing of our biases -- the people we interview or choose not to interview, the questions we ask and don't ask. And to remain unbiased, we can't shy away from issues or people that may offend or disagree with us. After all, the most we can hope for as journalists is balance and fairness in our attempt to report the truth.

As a postscript, I watched the first story in our series, Choice and Regret, at a friend's house with a small group of women and a bottle of wine. I watched my friends react. They got mad, cursed at the TV, and recounted their own personal stories. For the next few hours, we talked about abortion, sex, pregnancy and motherhood. For an issue so divisive, so emotional and unclear, that may be all I can hope for -- that the story inspired an informed conversation, aware of two sides, holding some glimmer of understanding into an issue that is so often muffled by stigma and trepidation.

-- Joanne Faryon is a reporter for KPBS News and Full Focus. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.

On my first day at KPBS, I sat down with our news assistant and picked out some office supplies. You know, normal first day stuff, like a calendar and planner. My new boss walked in, overhearing this conversation. He informed me that this fancy new phone they gave me has a calendar, planner, Internet access. It even talks to you. He suggested I use it.

I smiled proudly and told him that after seven years in journalism, I developed my own highly efficient system that involved putting Post-it notes on a calendar (that way if my deadline changes, I just pick up the Post-it note and place it on the new date. Genius, right?).

He smiled back and said that I'm a Jacobs Fellow now, and this means a different way of doing things. He pointed to the phone. "Technology," he said. "That's a big part of becoming trained to be a journalist of the future." I frowned. Deeply. I'm the kind of person who always gets the cheapest, most basic phone. I swear my last one was practically a rotary dial cell phone.

What did I get myself into?

I thought being a Jacobs Fellow meant I would hone my journalism skills by adding radio and TV capabilities to it. Even learning how to post on the Web. But -- apparently -- it's more than that. It's a whole new way of thinking. Right down to how I organize my thoughts every morning. The fellowship's goal is to, in part, use me as a guinea pig to find out what journalists are capable of. Can I be a print, radio, TV, Web journalist? Can I be a photographer on top of that and know how to post a slide show next to my written story?

Will I go insane?

Or will it challenge me and prepare me to become the journalist of tomorrow?

All news media are heading that route. Newspaper reporters are doing podcasts. Broadcast journalists are writing for their stations' Web sites. I don't think reporters have much choice in this matter. It's where we are headed because a growing number of readers and listeners are turning to technology for their news. They want their news on the Web, on their iPods, and even on text messages.

Two weeks ago, I joined the radio news team. It's a whole different way of writing for me. I find it more challenging. It's easy to explain an issue if I have tons of space to do it... paragraphs and paragraphs. Try doing it in six sentences.

I'm learning every day. Did I tell you I'm also new to San Diego? I already had one of those days where I got lost, stuck in traffic, arrived late for Mayor Jerry Sanders' press conference, and messed up something on my radio equipment.

But it doesn't beat the first day I heard my voice on the radio. Yes, I cringed like I normally do when trying to record an answering machine greeting and hearing my voice.

But I got to tell a story in six sentences (okay, a little more than six sentences. I'm still learning). And for the first time, someone heard my story in a car while driving home instead of sitting down and reading it.

I am challenged. And, deep down, I am enjoying it.

In fact, that's what I said to my cell phone this morning after she told me today's schedule.

-- Nicole Lozare is a reporter for KPBS News and co-host of Off Mic. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.