Simple Life in a Busy World

        I work in a large hospital and see hundreds of people every day.  They come from all over to receive care in a hospital that is specialized in many, many fields.  For lots of those patients, coming here is an event.  This is a larger city than most of the Podunk towns they come from.  This hospital  employs more people that the total number of residents (and livestock) that typically live in those small home towns.  For many people its an unknown far advanced place that scares the bejeezus out of them!

        I am currently covering a vacation and that has placed me at a desk right off a set of elevators.  I am in an area in the hospital that is unique, as in the entire floor is locked off from everything else.  This is done as a safety measure given that we are in the business of birth up here.  Since people like to steal other people's babies, we make that difficult by secluding ourselves.  (Let it be known, to my knowledge, this has NEVER happened or truly been attempted - ie; I have never had to tackle anyone, though I have wanted to shank a cray-cray a time or two.)  This is a safety measure to make families feel safe after media has famed a couple baby-napping events.  And no, not napping like a siesta, napping like a five-finger discount.  (Also, we have other top secret security measures, so if you think you are ever gonna try something you better be wearing your clean underwear that day and I will also advise you to have all your final affairs in order.  I won't go into the details of my training with Sifu Whoopass and the CIA.)

        Anyway, this vacation coverage puts me in a highly visible spot.  I see troves of people walk off the elevator and instantly find themselves lost.  They point to signs and argue with each other quietly.  As I listen to them blame each other for getting turned around, I always offer to help.  Some people are too prideful and will tell me they know where they are going (yeeahh-oook).  Others will shamefully brave a smile and come to me for help.  They sometimes will tell me the room number that they are looking for (cause I know where all 2 billion rooms are in this place) or simply tell me the service they are trying to find (again cause I am a talking human directory).  Sometimes I can help them find their loved ones with a few phone calls or a patient name and my trusty computer. 

        My favorite is when they insist that someone is here that is not in fact here.  I will verify the name and service, and maybe the reason the patient is admitted, and still come up empty.  I then will suggest surrounding hospitals. That seems to be the ticket to how-dare-you-tell-me-I-am-wrong-ville.  Its a feat to get parked and into this hospital, so to be at the completely wrong hospital would even make Mother Theresa angry.   However, I do kinda love the inner victory when they get on the phone and righteously call the person they are looking for. They will complain that I don't know what I am talking about and ask them to verify where they are. Then that person informs them that they are at the wrong hospital. In my head I do a little jig and if they were really feisty, when the elevator doors close as they leave, I get up and grunt while doing one-arm push-ups on the desk.  (Not really, but I pretend that I am BA enough to get away with it.)

        Anyway, today a good old Iowa farmer got off the elevator.  And when I say farmer, I mean he all but rode his John Deere tractor to my desk.  He was a big man.  Wearing the classic plaid button up under his denim overalls (bibs as they are known around these parts), and a green, sweat stained, very loved, DuPont Pioneer cap. (I had to google that logo.)  His boots housed the soil from the land he spends his days working and his body swayed when he walked in a way that proves he's used it to its full potential.

        He takes a few steps off the elevator (which I refer to as the L cause it sounds swanky. "Java House? Take the L to F1."   "The Atrium?  Take the L to D7."  Side note - our elevators are in alphabet order - Elevator A, Elevator B, so on and so forth - so Java is at Elevator F floor 1).  He has a quick look around before he spots me.  Takes his hat off and rubs his old calloused farmers hands across his head attempting to fix his hat hair. "Scuse me ma'am, I think I may have found myself some kinda lost."
     "Well, you got lost in a good place cause I can help you!"   He chuckles.
     "Well, I'm not mighty shore 'bout that'n.  Yous yuppies o'er here shore like fixin big buildin's."
     "Yes, sir, we do!  A lot of people get lost around here.  Even I do!  But let me see if I can help you find what you are looking for."
     "You mean to tell me thad a young lady like you ain't have no fancy mo-bile phone with them finder on it?  You young folk shudn't be gettin lost.  Yous got that techno-ology yous always usin." He and I both are kinda laughing.  "You are right!  But believe it or not that fancy technology fails us some times and we still find ourselves lost.  Especially in a big ol confusing hospital like this one!"
     "Alrighty than, why don you see if you can tell me where da waitin room is."
     "Sure!  Are you waiting for a baby to be born?"
     "Nooooo ho ho ho," He laughs out a hearty no.  At this point he is so dang adorable I am just delighted and kinda laugh along with him.  "I shore ain't a waitin on no baby!  My boy is havin a surgery today.  An dey toad me I needed to take this'n elevator to 6.  I'm on 6, ain't I?"
     "Yes, sir, you are but I think  you wanna be on 6th over by elevator H."
     "Weeell, I'll be!  Shore ain't fixin to be takin a rugrat home!"  I tell him how to get to over to the waiting room he is looking for.  As he is waiting for the L to come take him to his destination, I let out a yawn.  He smiles and waves as he is telling me that a young lady shouldn't work so hard and that I good man should be doing that work for me. (I WISH!)  I smile and wave back as I am answering a call light.

        After a couple hours, and several more opportunities to play Super Finder, the L dings.  I look up and out walks my cute old farmer.  I ask him if he took the wrong elevator again.  He said no.  He told me he knew where he was headed this time.  In his hands he held two cups of coffee.  He slowly made his way to my desk and out stretched an arm offering me a cup.  While doing so he says, "My boy is out of the surgery but they ain't lettin me see um til he wakes up and them nurses say I can.  I figured by now yous be good n tired and I better be bringin you somethin to help.  Here ya are, (he squints to look at my id badge) Amber."  I thanked for his kind gesture and set the coffee on my desk.  He asks me if it would be a bother if he stayed in the area a little bit. Of course, I couldn't say no!

        He took a chair from the waiting room next door that I directed him to, and set it out a ways from my desk.  He took a seat and crossed leg over his knee than began to sip his coffee.  I help a few people and trade hellos to others as they busy about their days.  He then mentions that I haven't touched my coffee.  Weeeeellllll, you see, between you and I, I am a coffee snob.  I like espresso, soy milk, half flavors, no chocolate, and the lid and sleeve properly lined up with the seam of the cup.  See?  Snob.  The cup sitting in front of me has no sleeve (cause the farmers calloused hands probably have no feeling left in them!) and it's burnt, stale, black, hospital coffee. I raise it to my lips and plug the hole of the lid with my tongue as I pretend to have taken a sip.  He smiles with approval.

        Over the course of about 30 minutes, he spoke to me with his shaky old man voice and told me about his son, grandkids, farm, and wife.  He told me stories about raising pigs and cutting tails and nuts off of them when they were born and how that keeps them alive.  (I'm seriously slightly disturbed and I think he only told me those details to get the city girl reaction out of me.)  He watched me help several people in between our delightful visit.  He grunts and stretches himself out of the chair.  After returning it to its spot he slowly sways himself to my desk.  He rests on his knuckles against my desk and says to me, "Ms. Amber, yous been great company.  You are a purdy young lady and some good ole boy will be lucky to claim ya.  (I told him I was chronically single when he noted the lack of jewelry adorning my "I'm taken" finger.)  I been watchin ya with all those people and yous nice to everyone one of them.  Takes someone real special to be good with people like that'n.  That there's why I raise hogs. (He chuckles deeply).  I hope'n you don't mind me sayin so, but yous got a special heart and will make someone a real kinda happy someday."  I thanked him for his kind and gentle words and off he went taking the L to his son.

        I have thought so much about him.  It was so nice to be complimented like that.  But more so it was just nice to have a complete stranger find comfort in visiting and sharing his life with me.  He reminded me so much of my grandpa that as soon as the doors on the L closed my eyes teared.  I miss my grandpa so much and lots of these simple farmers that venture into the city remind me of him.  Today this farmer taught me more than the birth and life of pigs, he taught me to take time out for people.  Life is so busy and we don't take the time to just visit with each other.  We are caught up in our own lives that we forget how to be human and communicate with others.  He was a complete stranger and to him I was just a "yuppie" but he took time and came back to me.  I was on his mind and he took it upon himself to bring me gross hospital coffee and conversation.  Even when I was busy he quietly waited and then continued on in back and forth conversation.

        It is times like these that I am thankful that I am in good ole Iowa!  I am pretty sure that the same interaction would not have occurred in Los Angeles.  I'm certainly not saying that someone wouldn't have stopped to be kind.  But it's not every day that someone goes completely out of their way (and spends $2 on pricy crappy hospital coffee) to make someone else's day.

        So, tonight, where ever my farmer friend and his son are, I hope they are safe, happy, and healthy.  His kindness and gentle soul have left a lasting impression on my heart.  Be kind, my friends.

It Takes Only One

        So, I wasn't going to write on this subject because it is so very controversial, and because people on all sides are very passionate.  But I write.  I write when my heart feels out of balance or when my brain is flooded.  The events of our nation in this critical time makes me ache all over.  So here we go.  This is raw.  Just as it is coming from my brain to the tips of my fingers.  I have so much to say and wont be able to get it all out.  Please use the comments here to discuss, share, and support.

        First, let me start by saying that I am white.  Well, I'm pink.  I vary shades of pink, dependent on the weather, my mood, and my clothes.  I grew up in the Los Angeles area with my mom, my dad, two sisters, a few dogs, and a couple cats.  We grew up fairly poor.  We didn't have the best of everything, but we had what we needed.  Nana was our sitter and was as Hispanic as they come.  We grew up with her children and in her culture.  (My dad can tell stories of my grandma watching us play and wondering if we used some kind of code to communicate.  We were playing in Spanish.)

        My parents were friends with many people.  I remember how taboo it was to others, but how normal it was for us, to love our good friends, Dennis and Dennis, a gay couple (yes, same name). They were like uncles to my sisters and I and there was never ever a question of their love for each other or for us.  In fact, I didn't even know it was taboo until I was older.

        My parents' best friends were an interracial, black and white, couple who were each other's Best Mans and Made of Honors.  Their kids were our best friends. I grew up speaking Spanish with the neighborhood kids and chasing after ice cream trucks and the Mexican treat truck for Pelon and Mango Chili lollipops. 

        That was my life. And maybe having that as my foundation makes it hard for me to understand the hate that so many people display today.  I remember learning about slavery and the holocaust and losing sleep at night cause I was so hurt by the hurt people went through.  Even though it was a time well before my own, I was ashamed and hurt by the actions carried out by people that were profiled as "white."  I am white.  That meant that my ancestors were mean people.  That was such a difficult realization for me.  My dad did me well by talking to me about how wrong those things were and how much we have grown and changed from that.  He often used Sam and Susan (the interracial couple) as an example of the better world we lived in and how color made no difference.  He would talk openly and honestly to me about the hatred that once plagued our world and reminded me that if I was a good person, and I looked at hearts and minds and not skin or religion, that I would continue to contribute to a good world.  Like Gandhi taught us, it only takes one person to change the world.

        When we got a little older, my dad would take us out to a Chumash reservation regularly.  We would participate in ceremonies with the Chumash that included singing, dancing, and sweat lodges.  We ran around the all over the mountain sides barefoot with the other children.  We thought nothing of their "funny" names, like Red Sun and Turtle Hawk, or the lack of clothing and influx of beads and feathers.  We made a plate from each and every meal to offer to Mother Nature and took blessings from all six directions; the north, east, south, west, the heavens, and the earth.  We sang songs for rain and bears, and learned to honor the earth as well as our brother and sisters. 

        I wish everyone had the opportunity to live the childhood I did.  I was raised around so many people and so many opportunities without losing sight of what was in my heart.  My parents taught me to love.  I was surrounded by color, culture, and differences.  I never knew anything else.

        Maybe it was the lack of technology, or the since of mutual respect, but I never saw or experienced the hate that I do today.  I feel like we have taken our rights to an extreme level and our expressions have become loud and unforgiving.  We profile and separate ourselves as victims of our own society.  We are entitled.  And we are gaining nothing for it.

        I am not sure when it started, but I remember seeing the beating of Rodney King and think that is when we became victims of ourselves.  People were raged and riots were started in the name of race and police brutality.  There were fires, vandalism, and lots of violence.  And for eternity people reference that when they feel their rights violated or their race threatened.  It was viewed as a white on black crime.  I think that many people just assumed that they would end up like Mr. King, just cause of their skin color.   So they began to resist.  With the assumption of a beat down coming people started to fight back.  And so, the police needed to increase force.  What was once fists and batons used to subdue a feisty individual have become tasers and beanbag shooters and most recently a robot.

        We have stopped listening to the law.  And since we are all victims, we have to record it all for evidence.  And now we have internet.  So we stream our run-ins with the law as a way to gain support and to "out" the crooked cops.  And we share it, over and over and over.  We anger the masses with clips and assumptions.  But, truth talk, we RARELY get the whole picture.  Without lying or bending the truth we can tell a story with only parts.  So, we can show the aftermath of a cop shooting or the middle of a take down, and tell or assume any story that occurred before the video started and, of course, after the recording stops.  As we share that, more and more people get angry and feel victimized. 

        Here's the thing - we live in a country with rules, with laws.  As citizens (and anyone who chooses to be in our country), we are to obey them.  When we make the CHOICE not to obey them, there are consequences.  It doesn't matter what color or religion or sex you are, you are still supposed to follow the rules.  When you are asked to show your hands or to step out of your car and you flat out refuse, what is the authority supposed to assume?  That you are joking?  Just having a bad day?  Guess what?  They don't.  They assume that you have a no good reason for your defiance and will do whatever it takes to protect their own lives and the lives of the community they have vowed to protect and serve.  When you fight back, expect them to not only fight back, but to win.  They are the law.  You are not.

        People die in the hands of the law every day.  People fight and resist every day.  Color doesn't matter.  And we need to stop making that a thing.  Black lives do matter, but so do white lives, Indian lives, brown lives, pink lives, and so forth.  The fact that we even have to declare that any lives matter shows how much is wrong with our society.

        We need to STOP being victims.  We need to follow the law and when we don't, we need to help ourselves by being obedient.  I am not saying that the cops are always right. And I am not saying that hate/race crimes don't occur.  What I am saying is that we need to stop victimizing ourselves and start following the law.  We need to learn from our past and move forward.  We are a well blended society and to begin to separate ourselves into racial or religious groups now would be a shame for all that we have overcome and fought for. 

     We are all humans and we will forever live amongst each other.  There is no where else to go.  If we are gonna make this work we need to stop the hatred and find a common ground.  Or we will quickly kill ourselves off and that will be the end of the human race.  All due to selfishness.  Do yourself a favor and don't be the cause of your own hurt and demise.