Can you see what I see?

Pictured above: my Scottish family here in CA :)

Pictured here: my real family, if you couldn't see the family resemblance already

The Almaden Valley looking north to San Jose

This morning 7:20 a.m. I run up the path entering Quicksilver Park. It doesn't "open" till 9 a.m.; I'm not the first to pass the sign at this hour, probably one of the first 50 or so on the day. I surmise hundreds more will pass it throughout the course of the day. By now I no longer carry a map. I know each trail on the north end of the park; I try not to run the same combination twice, don't think I have save the fact that I like to exit by the same trial as often as I can. The downhill is gradual and smooth enough to allow the legs to stretch out, the turnover to increase until I feel like my legs are spinning in curcles like the cartoon Roadrunner. Did I mention it takes half the time to exit as it does to enter the run? It's a fact, proven. but this a.m. I don't car about the time, I mearely wish to get a run in befor eour day trip to Monterey, Point lobos apparently this is sort of a big deal around here (I'll let you know).

This morning is special. It makes 4 weeks since I arrived here. The halfway point. I've decided its time to let you see what I see so I brought the camera on this particular morning trodge. (My new term for jogging/trudging uphill here. You can't run, the hills keep going though I do feel closer to a jog this a.m. than I have at other times like Wed, my last trodge in the park.) Anyway, if you've seen the movie with Jim Carey when he has to say yes to everything and they have a running picture taking club...that's what I thought of as I ran to some good look out points, snapped a picture or two and ran on. Made me smile, you will too if you've seen the movie. The moments I did stop to look over the city I thought, huh, what do I wish to tell them about. What do I want them to see in these hills in this overview of San Jose. I want others to witness the beauty of the mountains as I can, a picture is only a morsel fo it thought, sadly. I have to explain how each a.m. the clouds are here, the fog is nota as bad as in San Fran so I heare, but present nonetheless. Equally, you should know had I come 5-6 hours later the fog would be gone, the clouds cleared out and you could clearly see the mountains on the other side of the valley. The brown and green dotted rolling hills encase the Almaden Valley that leads up to San Jose, actually makes up the southern part of the San Jose named city.

I live in the burbs. I live with a couple who hhave blessed me, nay, shared God's blessings of shelter, food, family, etc. They're not perfect; I'm not perfect. We get along great. I'm in the car with them right now. We recently drove past Gilroy, garlic capitol of the world. (no joke) Some mornings I can smell the garlic as I leave for work. this a.m. I smelled it as I ran to the park...who would've thought.
We're stopping soon for a freshly fried artichoke heart at "Giant Artichoke" in Castroville, which is close to Celinas Valley, the "Salad Bowl" of the world. (also home to the scare of eccoli infected spinach which happened not to long ago) Maybe this is part of how healthy California is b/c people grow fruits and veggies in their fields not just corn, beans, and hay. People have fruit trees in their backyard and almond trees...I never knew almonds grew on a tree; now I know.
Enough about food, though the deep fried artichoke hearts were very good, dipped in ranch...you can fry anything! Bonsai!!

Trudging further up the hill nwo you can see to downton, the taller buildings there, which can't be build above 15-18 stories depending on the flight path for the airport. Before you get to those you get to my hospital, the county hospital. I want you to know how I hate it; yet, I love it. I want you not to see the buildings, the trees, nor the hills. I want you to see the people I see. I want you to hear the sotries of people hit by cars, people on morotcycles hit by cars, people driving on drugs and ETOH (alcohol) who hit other cars, people who punch their arm through a glass pane and sustain a severed brachial artery and part of the median nerve and require plastic surgery and skin grafts to repair it.

I want you to see the recovering alcoholic try to walk. He could probably walk better drunk than sober, who are we kidding.

I want you to see the chest covered in tattoos (man I've seen alot of interesting tattoos in interesting places) that don't fit together anymore b/c that's where the bullet, bullets, buckshot? who knows went in and they had to do a lot of fixing and sewing and inserting tubes and etc.

If only you could meet the 19 year old girl with a mouth worse than a sailor and a GSW (gun shot wound) in the heel (good thing someone's a bad shot) whos dad is in prison, mom doesn't care. I haven't seen her in weeks but I've seen her movement from unit to unit due to infections and repairs and plastics. She's been in the hospital way too long, but guess it's better than getting high and doing other stuff on the streets with her peoples.

That's why I hate it.

Then there's the part of my job, the time spent fanagling, giving my 'professional opinion' on if someone is ready to leave. Are they ready from my standpoint? Well, that depends...house or apartment, stairs?, live alone or with others?, can they help take care of you?, What happens when there is no home? Homeless. Well, he's not at a high enough level to survive on the streets. A shelter or board and care can't take him b/c he needs constant help, they don't provide one on one care. No beds available here, no SNF to take em if they don't have insurance. The case manager is working on it, she is calling here and there, if he can get to this level that place will take him, if not, sorry.
Then there's the other guy the doctor suggests a wheelchair. Did you know he can walk with one hand hold, he doesn't need a chair. Yeah, he spontaneously stumbles, he's still wearing off from the alcohol. It will resolve on it's own, just takes weeks...we can't send him home if noone is there to help. He lives on the second floor apt. building...how's he gonna get the wheelchair up the stairs if we give him one anyway. He'll try to climb the stairs with it, did I mention he spontaneously will fall if noone is there.

That's why I hate it here.

But that's not all I see. I want you to see the family there to help the mother, father, brother, grandmother with the care. I want you to hear the family drop all and come to see how he is doing with therapy. The eagerness, the concern etched on faces as I explain how you are fine and you can help them out of bed, they are in pain yes, they will make it.

I want you to be in the room with me as I'm asked if he can pray for his grandmother quick before he leaves and we start therapy. I eagerly say yes, bow my head. They don't know yet that I understand spanish. I hear him pray for her recovery, her getting better, her therapy session today. I pray with him, my heart so full I think it might bust out of my chest. I am so happy, so moved, so humbled. I don't pray for them enough.

That's why I love it here.

I walk into a room and hear vietnamese, hindi, philipino, spanish, english, other dialects I can't even pronounce. I work with people who are very concerned that they're legs are showing. I work with people who don't mind if the gown blows open in the back while we are standing up. I get to encourage those eager to walk and get better. I work with those who are in so much pain their arms shake, but yet they keep going.

That's why I love it here.

Do you see it? Can you see maybe not the faces, but the cases? Can you see why it is so dang hard to be here? Why I am torn. I look forward to Monday morning, but not really.
I must decrease, He must increase, that's what I got from church Sunday morning. I think it's a good viewpoint. What am I doing really anyway, a lot I know, but He can do so much more. He is the way I've made it thus far, he is how I will make it four more weeks.

I wonder is Quicksilver the brand named after Quicksilver the park?