Alma

Alma is a beautiful woman who works in the dining room of the assisted living building where my parents now live. When she works at our table, I exclaim, "Buenos dias, como estas!"

She smiles, and answers. "Muy bien, gracias, y tu?"

When she takes my mom's dinner order, she squats down low to be at face level, and close because Mom's voice is quiet and a bit weak from the Parkinson's. I adore this dear woman, even if she did not let me speak my childish Spanish, and look gratefully and happily upon my endeavors to play at language.

 I look 'Alma' up, and see a definition that means 'core'. I think soul and grace also define Alma. When I see her face, I want to thank her own kind parents for bringing this lovely soul into the world, who made it somehow from Mexico City and Estado Hidalgo, MX to Bellevue, Washington, USA. She is not alone, there are many staff at Overlake Terrace who are not ethnically white, European, US born. This is a plus, because it seems that every culture values the elders more than my own.

When I watch Alma I think of how I am with small children in a classroom, I bend low to have my face at the same level as theirs. It is a response of heart softening, of grace for all beings to feel equanimity. It is instinctive for a mother, a father, a person who feels empathy and respect for those most vulnerable. When I see the staff do this with my parents, I want to jump up and hug them, I want to leave a tip, I want to call their parents and rave about how much I appreciate their kid. I want to write about how good people are, how very good and kind.

Alma tells us we are her favorites, because we are "sociable, amigable". My Mom and Dad smile. We all smile. It is a lovely life moment, to feel such universal love.