culture

I spent a day visiting several homes in the rural areas north of Asheville. It was a day for sitting on porches or around kitchen tables, learning about greasy beans and half runners, and what life was like before the "big road" (interstate 26) chopped up their farms and mountains.  I was soaking up the country history and personalities.  But I had one more visit to make.  A new patient, farther out then any of the rest.  After a half a mile up a gravel road I had no idea what to expect.  A walk through a garden, and up a porch led me into a big airy room where I noticed a wall of plates with a very Israeli look.

After introducing myself and asking about the patient, I asked if the plates were from Jerusalem.  From around the corner popped a 70 year old man, the patient's son-in-law.  "The plates come from all over Palestine. How did you know?" His heavy middle eastern accent was a striking change from the sounds I'd been listening to all day.

I shared that I had been to Israel many years ago and had bought a similar plate as a souvenir.  "And where in Palestine are you from?"  I asked.

"Haifa."  he answered.  "Have you heard of it?"

"I had my very first falafel in Haifa!"  I said excitedly.

And with that we were friends....

His vivid descriptions of  his homeland whetted my travel and adventure hunger.  And I think it had been awhile since someone had shown interest rather then distrust about his country.  He wanted to hear about all the places I had been to in his area.  And I wanted to hear all the great sites I had missed.

That first visit I was given a cold glass of water scented with orange blossoms to drink on the way home.  The next time we talked palestinian food non stop, and I left with a can of eggplant and specific directions on how to make my own baba ganoush.  After my next visit I got a fascinating lesson on the history of bediounins and a packet of za'atar to flavor tomatoes and cucumbers with.  Each time I spent quality time with his mother in law, and then hunted him down for more middle east discussion before I headed home.

Last night, while driving home, I pondered the mysteries of friendship.  Two people, different cultures, different generations, different religions, different countries and cultures, different everything - and yet so much to talk about.

I thought about C.S. Lewis' quote on friendship. "Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one." 

And it was all hiding there at the end of a gravel road.

satisfaction

My conversation with a 70 year man took an interesting turn.   In the middle of a ramble about favorite foods he said "I'm going to tell you about the two times I made women's eyes roll."  


Wow.  Chaplain's don't usually get told these kinds of stories.  I must have smiled.  Because he realized what he'd said and backtracked saying "No, no.  These are just food stories."


The first tale was about taking his wife to his hometown and introducing her to his favorite breakfast joint.  Grits, eggs, potatoes and bacon, coffee and biscuits.  Oh the biscuits.  With melted butter and blackberry jam.  That's when his wife really fell in love with him.  Mid biscuit, her eyes were rolling in rapture.  Heck.  My eyes were rolling just listening.


The second tale involved his expertise in choosing perfect figs.  "They must be just ripe, with stripes down each side.  You have a very small window of time to pick them before they go begin to rot."  So he found the perfect fig and offered it to a friend.  She declined saying she didn't like figs, or any other dried fruit.  He told her she had never really had a fig.  One bite in and her eyes were rolling in joy.


"Do you know how satisfying it is to give another person a great experience?"  He asked.  I tried not to smile again.  And thought about how many times patient's families thank us for being with them through their hard time. They talk about how the gentleness of the nurses, the time the doctor's took with them, how great their loved one felt after a CNA's visit, how caring the social worker was and on and on.... Their gratitude follows us out the door.


Wendie Malick says it this way.  "I think there is something for all of us where you find a balance in your life, where you feel that everything you do isn't about your own creature comforts or satisfying your own appetites. Some of it has to be directed outward and there is a huge satisfaction in that."


So whether it is a hot biscuit, a fresh fig or a being part of a talented team of hospice coworkers, give a little of yourself.  And eyes will roll.

small

It is a ritual.  Every weekday morning at 7 I tune into the Today show.  In the first five minutes I can hear the headlines, gaze at Matt Lauer and get caught up on the world's events before I start my day.  I've gotten familiar with Matt, Meredith, Ann and Al, -their voices, their humor, their strengths.  They are my crew.   I like being with them in the morning.


And now Meredith is gone.  Not sure exactly what it was 
about her that spoke to me.  Maybe that her inner beauty radiated out onto her face. Maybe her unique combination of goofiness and sincerity.  Maybe that she seemed so real as she laughed, cried, reported and teased.  


It's not the same now.  I still look and listen for her as I get used to the new configuration.  I loved what Matt said about her on her last day.  Something like this -


We have all talked about your talent, your warmth, your generosity,  and your humor.  Bottom line is this.  We've marveled over the fact that with someone who's got talent as large as yours, how small your ego is.  You've taught us how to be a great team mates.


What a beautiful complement!  I think of all the ways I want to be "just like Meredith when I grow up" those words are at the top of the list.

doc baker

Me and Doc Baker.  That's what I think while I'm making house calls all over Buncombe County.  I grew up watching Little House on the Prairie.  And loved the idea of a doctor actually coming to your house when you were sick.  I still love it.  Our patients don't have to sit in a waiting room to see a nurse or doctor, drive to a government building to find their social worker, or walk into a church to visit with their chaplain.  We come to them.


Doing that takes me crisscrossing all over this part of the state.  Up mountain roads, down gravel roads, over the river and through the woods..... to trailers, apartments, big homes and little homes.  I can't believe that almost every day I get to drive segments of the Blue Ridge Parkway, cross sections of the French Broad River and often get a glimpse of our claim to fame - the Biltmore House.  I get a front row seat on seasons changing.  And finding more and more to love in this place I get to call home.


The people I get to visit with are just as interesting.  Last week I sat on a wide front porch with an elderly man.  We watched two squirrels try to climb into a bird feeder while he told me about driving an ambulance in Hollywood in the 50's.
"Did you ever pick up anyone famous?"  I had to ask.
"Oh, yes.  Regularly." He answered.
"Who?!!!!"
"I can barely remember my own name, much less some actor."  He said.  "Besides, I'm not into that whole "movie star" scene."
"Yeah." I tried to agree.  Hoping he wouldn't see the People magazine in the front seat of my car.


The next day I was sitting in a garden bursting with bright red azaleas learning about how why old Cadillacs are the best.  A 40 minute drive north and I was perched at a kitchen table learning how to properly can pickles.  And later I sat bedside in South Asheville hearing about what it was like to be a stewardess after the war, flying to Japan to pick up wounded soldiers.  Yep.  I get paid for this!


Because of my house calls, I am getting very familiar with Fairview, Black Mountain, Swannanoa, Canton, Weaverville, Cane Creek, and everything in between.  So I was surprised to be stumped when I asked a man in Woodfin where he met his wife.
"Seedy." He responded.
"Is that around here?" I asked.  He looked agast.
"Just down the road a mite."
 "I guess I haven't been there yet." I admitted.
"You lived here 20 years and never made it to Seedy?"
He clearly thought I was yahoo.  That's when I realized that Seedy was City as in downtown.  But my credibility was already shot with him.


Sometimes I soak up the silence in between visits.  Sometimes my car is filled with the Irish voices of Maeve Binchey's villagers, or the Sierra Madre's Tarahumara from Born to Run.  Sometimes it's the familiar voices of John Ortberg or Rob Bell bringing Bible passages to life.  Often it's phone calls to hear what my mom and dad are up to in California. These stories mix with the stories of my patients and their families.  I am wrapped in a big patchwork quilt of other people and places and times.  Their stories are becoming part of my story.  Adding, stretching, shaping and coloring the person I am becoming.


I guess that's just what happens when you make house calls.