Swtizerland Part II Episode II

Though I've had a massive monkey on my back that just-won't-get-off over the past few weeks, it's been fascinating being here at the UN. Oh, for sure, the amount of sheer bureaucracy is enough to make one weep. However, the ideas that are enshrined by its very existence are hopeful, and heaven knows, humanity can use some hope. The idea that perhaps we actually can find a forum to cooperate, despite our differences, in order to make things better for all of humanity is beautiful, though practically hard to do.
Discourses on the right to health have also been encouraging, though I know it is very difficult for Westerners to understand, agree with, and particularly, to endorse. Getting my mind blown at the occasional talk I make it out to is also really great.
The work itself? Kind of slow and tedious, but at least I can see the purpose and usefulness of it. Besides, what else are interns for, but to do the slow and tedious work? I'm OK with that. Besides, the tedium helps while away the hours before I can return home. Home being where the heart rests, after all.

Switzerland Part II Episode I

So, here I am again in the land of yodeling, chocolate and incredibly accurate timepieces. This is a long haul one this time, spending three months working/volunteering at the WHO. It's kind of cool, but also kind of a bit of an interruption in my life. I suspect, if they'd caught me ten years ago, my adventurousness and relish for novelty would be more helpful than now. Now is different circumstances: family, career and responsibilities actually make this a bit of a necessary hassle.
That being said, being able to room with my sister again is a good thing. As well, having her as a cultural ambassador, and a person that knows how things work here is incredibly helpful; it makes the cultural transition slightly easier.
It's been exceedingly chilly and rainy, and is forecasted to continue this way for at least the next two weeks. This is changing my idea of how to commute to work, which would either be a very long walk or a long bike ride. Instead, at least for now, I'm going to do the (much more expensive) option of taking (dry) public transit. Having had the weekend to dealt with almost perpetually wet socks, this will be helpful.
Nothing of note yet, though we did go for fondue at what the New York Times had noted as the "best" place to have fondue in the world - strong words! Yet tasty, tasty cheese did we have. We've also been driven into France (which is actually right on the border of town) to have lovely croissants and seafood to eat. This kind of eating, though incredibly delicious, does not bode well for how this summer's goals will end up being...

The wait...

I think I used to be interesting, once upon a time. Perhaps being old has something to do with it. Or school. Or waiting.
I'm not sure what it is, like the baited breath, waiting for... what? Exactly what drives me now? I worry sometimes, with all going well (well, at least with me, not with the world), with little to rile up feelings of indignation or antagonism (except for, perhaps, the Mayor, but he's still pretty small-fries in comparison with defending the Bride), that perhaps that I'm not interesting anymore.
Particularly during this Holy Week, on pondering on the great suffering, the great love, the great sacrifice that occurred, leaves one considering how hugely dramatic events that unfolded this week drove incredible transformation in the universe.
And so, I sit, pondering how to make a difference, yet again. I wonder if now my dreams and ambitions are too small, too cloistered for what God could truly do with open hands and a willing heart. And then I wonder if it's inevitable; that eventually our dreams must become too small, and that God can indeed use our small loaves and fishes, but we must be willing to want them to be used to feed the five thousand. And perhaps I no longer want to feed the five thousand anymore.
Perhaps, in losing (or conceding) the battle, it has made me lose the war. I know not. I think I've journeyed from wandering away from the battle, and wandered into the desert to seek my burning bush. And I never found it. I found great priceless treasure and great immeasurable joy in the meanwhile, but I did not find that burning bush, that holy ground that shakes and makes me fall prostrate to the ground in awe and fear, that Voice that tells me to go and set His people free, to go and tell His people His message, to go and call His people back to Himself. Is that terrible? I don't know if joy is an adequate substitute, in and of itself.
I wonder also if it is a false choice, that I am indeed allowed to have both joy and fire at the same time. But, in some ways, I cannot see how that can be so: the cool comfort that joy provides inevitably chills the blazing heat of the fire in my bones.
And so, I wait. Wait for Him to show Himself, whether in the earthquake, or the storm, or in the quietness of night. And I hope that I am able to hear.

I'll be missing you... hopefully...

It's funny, in this day and age, how it is hard, in some ways, to miss people. To be sure, it is also very easy to think one has a relationship with people because of technology: I read their facebook status, I "like" a few things they post, and that is construed as maintaining a relationship. This is, of course, not true; relationships do need face time when possible and nurturing to work. However, for those who are far and away, technology has been a godsend in keeping relationships intact, though it may not be under the most ideal situations. I am so very thankful of being able to regularly chat in real-time with friends as far flung as China and the UK, when a generation or two ago this would have been unthinkable.
I've got another 106 days to go of a total of 108. The last two days have been fine, in that Skype chat and video-chat work well, and time zones are congruent. It's going to be hard to say when the time zones start shifting like crazy, on both our parts, and lacking the lazy time to sit around at the computer, rather than running around, looking at things, writing reports, etc. It's been hard to miss someone that you're talking to for a few hours everyday.
I think it will come, however, and I don't look forward to it. The ache that sits like a nugget in your soul, the dissatisfaction of looking at photos and blurry video images, the long anticipation before reunion again - not fun.
Well, here's to another 106 days....

seriously, I'm not dead

However, it has been ages since I've updated, and now, since it's early Sunday morning, I don't exactly have a lot of time to muse before jetting off to church.
In brief, though, this week has been bittersweet. I forget what that older movie is called, I think Four Weddings and a Funeral... well, it's been kind of close to that. The juxtaposition of death and new life all intermingling and clashing together sometimes gets a bit joltingly weird...

FFT

2008 Copenhagen Consensus - the 30 solutions to global challenges that have the highest cost-benefit ratios, in descending order, from the viewpoints of economists:
1. Micronutrient supplements for children
2. The Doha development agenda (I personally am not so sure that this is particularly useful, but that's just my own political viewpoint)
3. Micronutrient fortification
4. Expanded immunization coverage for children
5. Biofortification
6. Deworming and other nutrition programs at school
7. Lowering the price of schooling
8. Increase and improve girls' schooling
9. Community-based nutrition promotion
10. Provide support for women's reproductive role
11. Heart attack acute management
12. Malaria prevention and treatment
13. Tuberculosis case finding and treatment
14. R&D in low-carbon energy technologies
15. Bio-sand filters for household water treatment
16. Rural water supply
17. Conditional cash transfers
18. Peace-keeping in post-conflict situations
19. HIV combination prevention
20. Total sanitation campaign
21. Improving surgical capacity at district hospital level
22. Microfinance
23. Improved stove intervention
24. Large, multipurpose dam in Africa
25. Inspection and maintenance of diesel vehicles
26. Low sulfur diesel for urban road vehicles
27. Diesel vehicle particulate control technology
28. Tobacco tax
29. R&D and mitigation
30. Mitigation only

FFT

As the Ruin Falls

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love - a scholar's parrot may talk Greek -
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.


- C.S. Lewis

Advent musing

If was I really, really smart, then I would have deliberately journeyed through a proper Advent exercise. Which I failed to do again, this year (thank goodness that God is so gracious and forgiving!).
However, on the cusp of yet another Christmas Day, there is a mix of feelings about it. I think (though it's a completely artificial separation) that there are separate feelings between the secular and the sacred this time around. Certainly, due to the circumstances, the secular has taken particular predominance over the past two weeks, and though there has been much merit - in anticipation, in joy and contentment there, it makes me wonder how that has (or has not) transferred over to the sacred side of things.
Do I look with wonder and anticipation of the birth of Christ? Am I joyful and content at His promised coming? Am I more concerned about the gatherings, and the family, and the food, than I am over our humble, bastardized, refugee Arab Christ-King? Even now, would I know Him? Would I recognize Him in His lowly estate and bow to worship Him? Would I even obey the angel to hasten to the manger? Would I even want to muddy my party shoes to step inside to look at the Babe?
I think some of these questions probe at deeper aspects of my faith and devotion. What, exactly, am I devoted to? Am I devoted to the holiday? To the idea of the holiday? (For we know, of course, that Jesus was more likely born in the springtime, and that December 25th is simply a Roman machination to stamp out pagan festivals) How does one measure the amount of ardour and devotion to the Christ-King if one is not particularly interested in Christmas? Should I even be interested or concerned about the supposed sacred aspects of Christmas at all?
I'm not sure. Indeed, I love the dark, crisp nights, the hot chocolate, the eating together, the carols, the lights - the whole shebang. However, it makes me question how much I love the reason for the season, rather than the season itself...

Needing a good editor...

What is one of the interesting mental tug-of-wars that I have with myself is the meta-meaning of narrative. (Yup, that's the kind of stuff I think about). What I mean is this: In the work that I do, evidence, science, data - these are the things by which decision trees, management guidelines and the like are created. Clinically, in many ways, it doesn't matter about the 'lived experience' as much as the 5-yr survival curve, the PPV, the percentages of side effects, the timeline of prognosis. All very numeric, qualitative and statistically significant.
Not to say it's not important: It is. It's critically important in making key decisions and deciding how to proceed with disease management.
However, the other end of the spectrum is how personally important the post-modern sense of narrative is to draw meaning. Our bodies may be made of amino acids and molecules, but our lives are constructed of stories. And stories hold great power in describing meaning.
At any rate, it basically comes down to: stories are how our lives are made. Stories are how we transmit who we are to others. That amazes me, really. It amazes me in considering how, in many ways, it is the stories that are the critical touchstones to help decision making.
I think I'm blathering a bit, but it is still quite something... this is definitely not well-written as a story, that's for sure...

Sounding the foghorn through the gloom....

Still here, but still foggy, so haven't had much to think about or say. Will try to be interesting soon.

Grace through suffering

I notice that quite a few of my posts are things that I've observed, and learned, from patients. I remember being told when I was a student that one of the beauties of practice is the ability to develop these long-term relationships with people.
Recently, a friend made me question just how funny/humourous I was anymore. I remember being funny once, and I'd like to think that I still am, but ever since then, I've been watching and waiting to see if any of my patients will do anything hilarious. Which they don't. It's too bad, as I now think my job inherently has the capability to swallow and hold a whole lot of suffering (as noted by the last essay that I had posted), and though there is much joy in walking alongside patients through their valleys, it's not exactly laughsville.
One patient re-taught me a lesson that I think is easy to forget. This patient has a spouse (who is also my patient) who is dying, slowly, ever so excruciatingly slowly, and so very young. They have a tiny child at home, and in the course of dying, which will likely take years, the disease will gradually take their mind and their body. In fact, it already has, and the increasing lack of control over their emotions, their rationality, their paranoia, and the volume and tone of their voice is taking a toll on the well spouse, trying to ask them to shush in front of the toddler, trying to get them to calm down to not scare the child. In the days where they are more lucid, they can actually have a conversation, but mostly, day after day, my patient arrives home from work to a barrage of baseless accusations, and screaming, and a great dread of coming home to their spouse. My patient hasn't really told many people at work; it'd be too hard for them to understand exactly what this dying process is like. They also have no other family; it is just the three of them. So, they spend their days, going to work, coming home, caring for the child, dealing with the spouse, and then collapsing, exhausted until it starts again. They dread the weekends. There is no one else to take the child for weekends, no siblings, parents, cousins, aunts who can share the burden of care. It is a situation that leaves me worrying for this patient, how they will make it through the next few years without being broken and burnt out.
And yet, they are still able to teach me lessons. They pointed out, how it has made them appreciate that, when interacting with others, that they don't really know the depths of suffering or sadness that the other may be dealing with, in the dark, in the private spaces, and has helped them demonstrate, shall we call it "grace"? to others and treat them gently. And that, I found stunning. That even in this hellish home, ravaged by this illness, my patient can still find grace for others. I don't think they would call it that, I don't think that they would even recognize the word, but, despite all their suffering, it is humbling for me to be reminded of their ability to remember that others may also be walking similar paths...

Need to rant on a few pet peeves

I've realized there are two things that bother me a lot: Tardiness and ambiguity.
Tardiness: I think it has to do with a "let your 'yes' be 'yes' and your 'no' be 'no'" business, or I'm just an incredibly uptight, anal-retentive Westerner that is more concerned about the clock than the time, but, I think because I tend to be on time (or early) to a fault, it irks me all the more. I think if someone tells you that they will be at X by such-and-such a time, and then are consistently late, it only communicates (to me) that my time is less valuable than theirs. It, in fact, makes me feel that they don't value my life and ways that I use it.
Ambiguity: See above. I think being unsure and wary of people's motivations or inclinations becomes exhausting. I wish people were a little bit more up front about how they really felt about things, or would not try to be nice for the sake of harmony.
That's it. Just needed to rant a bit.

One year later

It's already been about a year ago now that the global Church came together and discussed, debated and deliberated about critical issues of our day. I can't believe it's been that long already. Certainly, we've gotten emails, FB posts and twitter feeds reminding us of where we've come from and where we are at today. Certainly, it is equally amazing (some movements of God around the world, including the Arab Spring, have been awe-inspiring), and equally tragic (several delegates present in South Africa have subsequently been martyred) as to what happens in a year. Incidentally, in larger society, many other things have also occurred - a quirky example of that was how the world was apparently supposed to end -twice!- over the past year.
It's a funny place to look back. I think, had I known that this is where I'd be at this point, I think I would have been incredibly reluctant to go. I think I would not have been totally thrilled with the description, in the mindset that I was in, of what I'd be doing, thinking, feeling, being by this point.
On the other hand, having had to go through it anyways, it's been stretching. I think the enlargement of the territory that God has demonstrated His sovereignty over, despite my biases and prejudices, has been good. I think it's still a journey of watching how my biases limit God. I think it's been good to be with people, that likely with all the brainwashing, that even a few years ago I would have been uncomfortable sitting in the same room with. I think it has been good to be reminded, and not just to 'talk' about it theoretically, but to actually 'be', with the many of those who will be called to the wedding banquet table, when those who were "expected" to be there will disinvite themselves, or be cast out. I think it's been good to remember to try to stay humble, to poke at my blindspots, to remind myself that I am not God and I am not the only one privy to His thoughts. I am thankful for those who have been walking with me along the journey, for those who have walked partway along the way, for those who stand by the roadside and point out directions, for the 'innkeepers' who have invited me in for refreshment, for those journeymen and women who have been joining the path this past year. It is good to be reminded that His people are all over and they are more and do more than I could ask or imagine...

FFT

Vicarious Wounds

"Maybe no one had thought of it," he said. "Or maybe they had, but didn't want to say it. Whatever the reason, no one warned me about the pain medicine inflicts." he reflected.
It had crept up on him over time, this sadness. The product of his compassion; this despondency oppressed his every day.
"I thought I'd save lives and help people; that I'd feel great about my work," he lamented.
Instead, his patients' sadness, their despair, their suffering and their remorse lived within him. Concentrated in his soul. Poisoned his spirit.
Empathy can be a double-edged sword.
"Talk to someone, they say..." he snickered with irony.
"Useless solution," he answered himself with disdain.
"How can anyone understand what I feel?" he cried.
"Can you really describe to anyone the silence in the room, as a woman, exhausted, pushes to deliver what she knows is a dead baby? Or the sorrow in her eyes when she sees his macerated skin? How do I convey the apprehension I felt when I closed the door after I wheeled a toddler into a fridge for the night? Will anyone stay awake like I did, thinking of his mother imagining her baby; alone, cold and in the dark, without his blankie? How do you describe your shock, at the unnatural coldness of a body at autopsy? Can anyone even imagine trying to work, distracted by visions of your own child, cut from neck to pubis under the glare of police flashes? Can you imagine my unease, knowing that beneath that pretty dress, her organs are unceremoniously stuffed inside a garbage bag and hidden in her chest; sewn with cotton string? Can someone really feel the gruesome shock I felt when I took off the stiff collar on that little boy whose broken neck gave way under the weight of his head, spilling a mouthful of blood onto my shoes?"
So much resentment. So much grief. A litany of examples. I listened.
"That's not what I signed up," he whispered, pressing his hands to his temples, as if to prevent his head from bursting.
"Can anyone understand the dryness of my mouth the first time I had to tell someone their husband had died? Can someone ever be as nauseous as I am every time I hear the music that played in that child's room the evening he died? Can anybody understand what it means to be unable to erase the skeletal face of the boy I watched take two agonizing weeks to die after we stopped his fluids? And what would that mother say, serene in her gift of vision, if she saw how corneas are actually harvested? Shame on me for jumping on the learning experience!"
I didn't tell him, but he was sharing. Finally, after years of amassing pain, he was sharing; paving the way to his own recovery.
Medicine provides a privileged glimpse into the most tragic hours of humanity. Quietly, stealthily, we accumulate hundreds of lives' worth of sorrow into our own; seeing, hearing, smelling and feeling death like no other. Indeed, no one can understand or experience death like we do.
Perhaps, it is the pound of flesh we owe for the privilege of sharing a father's joy as he cuts his newborn's umbilical cord.
Perhaps it is the price of the tearful gratitude of the mother whose child you resuscitated.
Perhaps it is what we must bear in exchange for the satisfaction of having relieved an old man's pain.
Vicariously, we suffer. But perhaps, just perhaps, it is what distinguishes the healers from the doctors.

-Dr. Steven Bellemare

I could make a bad pun here

I've been feeling fuzzy in the head for months now, and the clarity that is usually there is slightly out of focus. It's been a bit annoying.
Part of it is bias and experience, of course, contributed by the last few months. Usually, being able to see Kingdom with a clear eye and being able to declare it is supposed to be my gifting. That being said, the gifting is kind of not a big deal. People of our sort are simply saying what is true, what has been said before, and what people will continue to ignore. That's it.
I sometimes kind of wish it would be the determining the lottery numbers kind of thing instead. Then, I imagine, I would gradually win, over and over again, and give it all away to people in need and that's what I would do for a living. On the other hand, like most people, perhaps a feeling of avarice, fear and selfishness would take over and I'd buy ten iPads or something.
At any rate, I had to confess to a few people that I haven't been able to see as clearly for the last little while. Understandable. It's been distracting, maddening and heart-breaking all at the same time for the last little while. And, rarely are there baskets of figs, valleys of dry bones or overturned pots to look at. Sigh.

Epicness

Honestly, I don't think it would necessarily rate as 'epic' if it wasn't for all the ways that God showed His face, but 'epic' is what I will call this weekend. I'm tired as heck, but I think it has been well worthwhile.
One thing I realize is that, as a quote from CS Lewis, "The next best thing to being wise oneself is to live in a circle of those who are"... and I realize the more that I try to keep certain linkages, the more unwise I am being, and it brings up exasperation and prophetic despair at how terrible those linkages are, like chains that drag you deeper into the abyss, rather than freeing God to work....
At any rate, spent a good chunk of Saturday with a diverse group of Christians, all working to demonstrate the full gospel (like, really, the full gospel, not the 'four spiritual laws', not 'atonement theory', not 'justification'), in word and deed, here to those that we would generally not associate (or 'be') with. To struggle to figure out how we can speak to the Church about getting out of an 'us/them', serve the poor mentality, but to something greater than this. To see how God has worked in so many different nations, to see the world reflected in the faces around the room, for us to share our giftings in being strategic for the Kingdom - exciting! God demonstrated His face in the faces all around me.
To see a good friend do a kick-ass job at guiding us through prophetic visions of Isaiah, and having even myself gleaning more out of passages that I thought I was quite familiar with - that was exciting to watch her discipling and teaching us and truly being released to use her gifting to bless the Church! God working through her to demonstrate His voice and calling on our lives!
Wandered through Nuit Blanche, and totally blissed out by the creativity that this city holds. How much artists demonstrate and envision for us what our city could be, weaving dreams and potentials, if only we would see them.... God demonstrating the extent of His gift of creativity, of His gift of transformation and vision!
Worshipping alongside a very old friend (a kindergarten friend!), and then having lunch with a pastor, who wanted to know about how I saw how evangelism and mission could be transformed in the church today to make radical inroads into society.
Headed to the Slow Food Picnic, and reconnected with chefs and farmers that I had not seen for a while - it was good to talk about collaboration, and transformation and advocacy with them. It was exciting to develop new relationships with chefs that I totally admire for their vision and passion about making food an issue about justice, and talking about how justice drives what we do. To see how God works here, even if they themselves cannot name Him, at least not yet.
Headed to a international health and politics dinner, filled with frigging brilliant minds who are all visioning for a better world. Sat down with one guy, and we talked about God. He wondered what was up with all these missionaries coming to the developing world, and what was up with them. Explained both the incredibly bad way that we 'do' missions and the attitudes that we bring, and explained why, a lot of the time, this doesn't jive with the God who loves us through our brokenness, to the God who transforms the human heart, to the God who loves the littlest, the least, the last and the lost, to the Jesus-God-man who broke through and calls us to following Him into the Kingdom. Explained our issues in the Church, our very-hard-to-see motivations, and completely transformed his viewpoint of Christianity. Had spent much time overseas working and, with all of his encounters with Christian missionaries, had never had the gospel explained to him like that. Had never seen what we should be (though fail a lot at) like, and could see how God could work in the world in this way. Transformed his mind, though not his heart, and can only pray for him to reconsider Christ. That so blessed me out. God is here. Emmanuel. Praise be to Him through whom the whole world holds together, waiting with baited breath for His full glory...

FFT

‎I think it's important to be able to laugh at oneself, but I also think it's important to not be armed with an overwhelming amount of material.
- Vic Lee

Tourist in 'yer own city

It's funny how you can live in a place almost your entire life, and know it only partly.
This week has been funny in how many places I've been that I have rarely, or never been to before, in my life. I made it out to the Beach, which I have been to probably once or twice before, and walked a bit on the Boardwalk. I'm sure I've been there before, and I have been 'around' the Beach area, in other neighbourhoods a lot, like Leslieville, but that was novel. In a way. I realized some of the reasons that I'd rarely been was because many of the same shops and services out there are pretty similar to what I grew up with, and friends I knew from the Beach growing up would meet me half-way, downtown, at the Eaton Centre.
I also managed to get all real urban hipster by finally getting to Nuit Regular's restaurant and catching a show a Yuk Yuk's, other things that I had, for whatever reason, also never been to.
Whoo. You'd think I was becoming a tourist in my own town at this rate... :P

Harry Potter and the smack upside the head

I know I keep mentioning that I'm over a decade late to the party, but I finally tore through the entire Harry Potter series - it's awfully helpful if you have a bunch of semi-busy ER shifts all together, nearby a friend's farm who happens to own the whole series. So ripped right through them, even Order of the Phoenix, as honestly folks, it's a children's series. Not too hard to read.
So? Was I scandalized (as was the evangelical church was) with the sorcery and witchcraft, worried that children all over the place would get the Imperius curse upon them, and follow the dark lord? Did I think it was the best cultural phenomenon of this century?
Um, no and no. To be honest, I found the writing poorly done; as one critic put it, "There is no adverb that JK Rowling doesn't like." The quality of the writing headed further downhill the further into the series one went. That's understandable; there was an enormous amount of pressure to keep pounding out those tomes as quickly as possible.
In addition, Harry's annoying. Yes, I know he's an adolescent, and certainly he acts like one. Yes, I know he lost his parents when he was a baby and was raised in a semi-abusive home. But in comparison to all of his other friends (Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and the rest), he's a smug, stupid boy with an attitude. Snape is right in his assessment of the boy, and really, at some point, Dumbledore should've smacked him upside the head.
I've kind of characterized it as Danielle Steele or John Grisham for children; massively popular on a societal scale, not incredibly challenging reading, definitely has a plot that keeps moving and one interested in what's going on, but definitely not classic, nor grand, literature. Sorry, folks, I know Harry has a rabid fan base, but this is not Tolkien, Dickens, L'engel, Alcott nor Hodgson Burnett.

FFT

The Garden

Ol' man Simon, planted a diamond.
Grew hisself a garden the likes of none.
Sprouts all grown', comin' up glowin',
Fruit of jewels all shinin' in the sun.
Colors of the rainbow,
See the sun and rain grow
Sapphires and rubies on ivory vines,
Grapes of jade, just ripenin' in the shade, just
Ready for the squeezin' into green jade wine.
Pure gold corn there,
Blowin' in the warm air,
Ol' crow nibblin' on the amnythyst seeds.
In between the diamonds, ol' man Simon
Crawls about pullin' out platinum weeds.
Pink pearl berries,
All you can carry,
Put 'em in a bushel and
Haul 'em into town.
Up in the tree there's
Opal nuts and gold pears -
Hurry quick, grab a stick
And shake some down.
Take a silver tater,
Emerald tomater,
Fresh plump coral melons
Hangin' in reach.
Ol' man Simon,
Diggin' in his diamonds,
Stops and rests and dreams about
One...real...peach.