core

I ended last spring with a 13.1 mile run in Lincoln, Nebraska.  Finishing that run was rewarding and enjoyable enough to immediately sign up for another half in October.  But I knew that my summer training would have to be more well rounded.  My legs were the only parts getting a workout, and they were getting tired of dragging the rest of jello me around.


So I committed to a hellacious 13 week program of core training.  Six days a week, 60-90 minutes a day.  Yoga, plyometrics, kickboxing, weightlifting, crunches, etc.  "Each and every exercise in the Core Synergistics workout recruits multiple muscle groups to build and support the core (lumbar spine and trunk muscles)".   I have been sore all summer long.  I wish I could say that now I am in perfect shape.  But that will take more than a mere summer.   I can tell I am getting stronger.  My posture is better.  I can do exercises that I couldn't do at the beginning of the summer.  My endurance has improved.  And last night, during my return to running, my sister in law told me that my gait was better.  There is hope.


My life was also in need of some core synergistics.  This summer I faced the truth that I am a complete and utter morning person.  I am literally useless after about 6 pm - just tired and discouraged and dragging around.  So I reoriented my schedule.  I started getting up at 4:45 or 5, working out, straightening the house, making lunches, reading to the boys, before we all headed off for the day.  Then I let myself zombie around in the evening and am strict about my 10 pm bedtime.


I wanted to read more this summer.  Interestingly, the random books I have read all somehow fit the core theme.  The Dirty Life, a memoir of farming, food and love and The Wilder Life, my adventures in the lost world of Little House on the Prairie, both were enthralling as they talked about simpler times and practices.   What Alice Forgot unfolded the story of a woman realizing what was really important in her life.


The best thing I did for my life core was to buy Naked Spirituality, a life with God in 12 simple words.  It was just the foundational nourishment my parched, little soul needed.  Those words stay with me in my visits, my driving alone, and my full family time.  The ideas I am learning are inspiring and refreshing.


This summer I was more intentional about taking initiative for the relationships I needed to nurture.  I was more protective of my time and energy.  I tried harder to be present with my boys who are growing like summer weeds.  And though it was far from a perfect attempt, I can see glimpse of strength and depth that weren't there before.  There is hope.


My summer ends next weekend with our annual Labor day trip to the beach.  Can't wait for the break and the ocean.  And then another season begins, exercising, worshipping and living from a core that's a little bit stronger....

crying

A recent discussion at our team meeting and Nathan's thoughtful blog inspired this post.


"I'm sorry I am so emotional."  "I don't mean to be crying right now."  "I don't know what is wrong with me."  I hear these sentences so often during a visit.   And the truth is - if our team is at your house or your bedside, you probably have some really good reasons to cry.


But it's messy, and embarrassing, and revealing, and sad, and private, and.....  I spend a lot of time giving people permission to cry.  Of course,  it's so easy to say.  I have to remind myself that too.


Mr. Rogers tells this story.
I remember after my grandfather's death, seeing Dad in the hall with tears streaming down his face.  I don't think I had ever seen him cry before.  I'm glad I did see him.  It helped me know that it was okay for men to cry.  Many years later, when my father himself died, I cried: and way down deep I knew he would have said it was all right.


Sniff, sniff.  Hand me the kleenex. We can cry together.

long term

One of my favorite questions to ask my patients is "how did you two meet?"  Mix a little curiosity with a little romantic spirit with a little time to kill and you have the makings of a great story.


Will was joy riding with 3 other guys in his friend's new car.  The flat, straight roads of Florida were tempting them and they pushed way passed the speed limit.  Though none of them remember exactly what happened, the car ended up upside down.  One guy was thrown from the car, the other three had to cut out of the twisted steel.  Will was rushed to the nearest hospital with a collapsed lung, broken leg, broken arm and broken ribs.  He was stitched up and patched up and put in a hospital room.  Ten minutes later a new, pretty young nurse was assigned to him.  He said the minute she walked into his room he knew every broken bone was worth it.  It was love at first sight.  Sixty one years later I watched her smile as he told their story.


Don was not as poetic.  He shared the bare facts.  After high school he got a job as a dishwasher as Pisgah View Ranch.  It was a dude ranch where doctors and lawyers came to play.  Vera was a waitress.  They became friends.  He was drafted and spent three years in the army.  When he got out, he moved back to Asheville and looked Vera up.  They got married.  That was fifty two years ago.


Jane talked about riding the bus home from nursing training.  One day a handsome, older man got on and sat near her.  She saw him on the bus every day for two weeks before he asked her out.  It was after they were married that she found out he had only ridden the bus to get to know her.  He had a car that worked perfectly.  They have been riding in cars for the last forty six years.


Each one of these couple have one partner that is dying.  I am always inspired by them.  Not just by their romantic, old fashioned love stories.  I am moved by their commitments to be together til the end.  I am touched by the looks and touches of love between them that seem to supersede wrinkles and oxygen, walkers and bed pans.


Today is my anniversary.  A mere eighteen years by my patients' standards.  But it feels solid and substantial to me.  Maybe someday I will be telling a young chaplain about the big basketball player who sat directly in front of me in high school assembly.  How I looked at his blue eyes and blond curls and knew that I wanted to have his babies.  And maybe our long term love story will inspire her........

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.