6/13/24

I stood there on the corner by myself; all the rest of my classmates from the second grade long gone … in my hand a Mercury Dime , bus fare to get me home some 5 miles off. I fingered the coin thinking how beautiful the greek god was.

Earlier in the day in class a nun had begun to berate a small hispanic child for not being able to understand addition. I’m not sure he even understood English much less math. In frustration she yelled at him that he would have to stay after class as punishment. Out came the ruler for a knuckle wrapping we all knew too well. Im not sure where I got the courage to do so but I stood up at my desk, said just one word ” Stop” ,and she turned shocked at my insolence. Before she could come towards me I calmly said ” I’ll stay late too and teach him math”.

Stunned she did not know what to do and sat down. 

And I did… and I was late getting home, not that it really mattered since I was a latch key child even though we never locked the house since robberies were unheard of then in Colorado Springs. 

I was to have been on a bike ride by now but I injured my ankle running for a train 6 weeks ago. Maybe I can go in September.

Yesterday while in clinic I got a call from the police. My art studio had been robbed during the wee hours of that morn. After clinic I headed there to find 3000$ of my art gone, about 60 paintings, and all my food missing. I had stocked up for the 6 week bike ride but had taken it to the studio when my ride was postponed. 

Needless to say I felt gutted at my loss not so much financially but at the loss of my art.

Having postponed my ride I signed up for night clinics at migrant camps. We have  a well run mobile unit with an MD or PA with nurses and lab techs especially to help with diabetes care and HIV screening.

Last night I arrived at a sweet potato farm covered in clouds of dust. I felt like I was in the middle of a desert storm.

 We set up and I began to see patients one by one. Many were suffering from dust exposure either lungs or eyes and I did what I could. Hypertension and Diabetes are high on the list of problems and I found myself as usual back in the world of primary care. 

CFHC, the organization where I work,  is an incredible institution which  helps the poor, disabled, mentally impaired, those addicted to drugs or alcohol, AIDS patients,  and migrants in camps. 10 years here now and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Driving home after dark I pondered the migrant’s situations, they are with us each year for 6 months. As I did so my robbery losses came again into focus and I realized how unimportant they  were compared to the needs I had just tried to address.

When bad things happen, like my ankle or the robbery,  I often wonder if there isn’t an underlying plan moving along beyond my vision or thoughts…

I doubt I will ever see my paintings again. That’s painful to me but is it really such a great loss?

I have sprinkled some throughout this story. 

If you happen to see them for sale on some street corner in  DC or NYC  ponder their beauty, enjoy them, then pull out your bus fare and move on…

Stay safe one and all…