Day: March 28, 2017

I went to Albany Tuesday evening to meet two remarkable people, Solange Mandego and Francis Sengabo, both agreed to meet me at the offices of the Refugee And immigrant Support Services of Emmaus (RISSE) Church.

Solange came to America from the Congo a decade ago, her family fled the Rwandan genocide. Sengabo, a gentle and easy going man, is now operations director of RISSE, he was in a refugee camp for 10 years, and was one of a handful of people – there were 400,000 people in the camp – who made it to America.

Solange saw her brother and cousin shot during massacre that occurred in her refugee camp. Solange and Francis say they would not be alive today if they did not make it to America. Neither has drained our social services or been a threat to anyone. Solange just became the first refugee in the history of the program to get her college degree (Sienna College), and she is going to join the board of RISSE.

In her country, women did not often get photographed, and she smiled and was just a bit shy, so I took this photo, and then other photos of her face with her permission.  I will post them tomorrow morning on the blog.I thought this photo was a fitting symbol of the terror that has gripped immigrant and refugee communities all over the country. They came her to escape terror, and found more here.

They give the lie to the disgusting idea that they are all violent parasites come to harm us. They are us.

RISSE is an amazing organization, wrapped around a Methodist Church second floor and an ashphalt playground. I want to write about it in the coming weeks and months.

They are overwhelmed with need, and I am going to try to help them in any way I can.I hope to bring them to life here, and follow them closely. We brought some art kits for refugee children, and they were a huge hit. I need to get more to them.

First, I want to help by writing about the refugees and showing that these are not terrorists or job stealers people who drain our resources. We have read a good deal about the small numbers of people who commit crimes and hurt people, but we have read little or nothing about people like Solange or Francis, who come her to work hard and live freely and raise themselves up.  They have all worked to learn English, get an education, find jobs, pay taxes. They love our country and are grateful to be here. It is wrong for them to feel fear and  hatred here.

They are just like my grandparents and perhaps yours. Talking to Solange and Francis, I felt a deep shame for my country. I owe them my support.

The first need of RISSE that I hope to fill – there are many more – is to supply 80 plus art kits (I brought 10) for the 90 children in their after school arts and English program. For that, I will need to raise $1,200 so Rachel Barlow can put them together. RISSE needs everything, school supplies, a new fence for the playground, a new van.

But I want to start with the art kids. They need 80-90 more. Their tiny classrooms are crowded.

In 2014, arsonists burned their building and slashed all of the tires on their aging vans. The new building just opened a year ago.

I’ll write more about these two remarkable people tomorrow. Solange is happy for me to show her face. We could use some help in putting together these art kits for very needy refugee children. You can see them and donate here. More tomorrow.

Christie wrote me this afternoon from the Indian River Nursing and Rehabilitation Center this afternoon, she said she just got back from physical therapy (PT).

“I had a very bad night, I have to say the night crew tried everything they could think of to help me. I was having back spasms one after the other. I was feeling down.

And then the mail came.”

Christie said she got more than a dozen cards and letters.

“I wish I could answer them but I don’t have any writing paper or such. I did have a pretty good day. I slept for two hours after breakfast and then I worked PT all day. I am exhausted, so I am going to put my feet up and rest.”

Thanks for writing Christie, as you can see, these messages are important at a critical time for her. She needs to be mobile and healthier in order to get back to the Mansion rather than a nursing home. She is working very hard to get  home, which is what she considers the Mansion.

If you wish, you can write Christie at this address: Christie L., c/o The Indian River Rehabilitation Center and Nursing home, Granville, N.Y., 12832.

She and I have been having a dialogue these past couple of weeks, she symbolizes the struggle of the elderly to keep control of their lives in the face of health challenges and their own attitudes towards life. I hope to see Christie before the end of the week, i do not care to forget her plight. Red means a lot to her, she and I have a connection and your letters are shoring her up.

People like Christie are the forgotten voices in the system, I don’t want her to be forgotten or feel forgotten. Thanks for your letters and messages, I know these are the first batch, I expect more are coming tomorrow and the rest of the week. The Address is Christie L., The Indian River Rehabilitation Center and Nursing home, 17 Madison Avenue, Granville, N.Y., 12832.

I walked in the deep forest today,

I could hear the trees crying, whispering out to me,

they can love power all they wish,

and make all of the money there is,

but now, they have turned our

living bodies, into a funeral pyre,

which will light up the sky,

with out pain and sorrow,

they will draw the wrath of

Mother Earth,

with their greed and anger,

those heartless men in Washington,

how much money do they need?

they have turned their backs on life,

our cries rise from the tangled web of

rage and blindness,

we scream from the bowels

of infinite existence.

Love is the burning pyre,

from which the heart must

turn to stone,

and lay its body down.

We will weep until we wither..

This was our third meeting of the Fabulous Old Men’s Club, we met in the Sugar House at Pompanuck Farm, Scott and Lisa Carrino’s beautiful retreat.

On our first meet in the Sugar House, we invited my good friend Paul Moshimer, he committed suicide shortly afterwards. In his honor, the club  really never met again after that, but I think of my annual sit downs with Scott as a celebration of friendship among men, a rare and complicated things.

Our idea was to gather a group of men who are beginning to be old and Scott and Paul loved the idea, we spent hours sitting in front of the steaming vats doing what most men rarely do and don’t know how to do – talk openly and authentically with one another.

After Paul’s death, I gave up on the idea of friendship, recently a man I disagreed with about something sent me an e-mail telling me to “fuck off,” and that is too often the way friendships with men end. We are vulnerable, and opening up to other men just seems to make me more vulnerable, and for good reason.

Scott and I, on the other hand, have overcome that trial. We have become good and close and trusted friends, we talk often and quite honestly with each other. We each have told the other things we have not told anyone, we root for each other and support one another. When Maria went to India, Scott called me every day just to make sure I wasn’t lonely or in need of help.  I didn’t need anyone to do that, but it is also true that no one else did so that.

I count on Scott, we argue often, but he would never tell me to fuck off. We trust one another.  Scott is a complicated, sometimes difficult man, as I am. He also is a man of great heart and talent. He runs the Round House Cafe, is obsessed with serving his community, even at the expensive of his own time and health, and is a Tai Chi Master.

I think Scott and I have come to that unusual place with me, we truly love one another and would happily sacrifice for each other. That, I have to say, is new to me in my life with men. I am grateful for it

It is a good thing Scott is a Tai Chi Master, otherwise, the top of his head might blow right off. We are both driven man, but also two men who have been opened up by life and who seek to know the truth about ourselves. I very much appreciate our hours sitting in his sugar house, vats boiling, fires burning, bottles of sweet syrup getting filled up.

We are at peace there, with one another and with the world. I wish it were bubbling all year. I might get back one or two more times this year, or yesterday might have been it, I left with a small bottle of Scott’s maple syrup, it is quite special.

As I sat in the car outside, I thought of Paul, and said a little prayer for him. Paul, I remember your promise that we would do great things together, and I hope that will still come true, in one way or another. The Fabulous Old Men’s Club still meets, and Scott and I are doing what we all talked about doing, we are working hard to be better and more sensitive and supportive men.

That is, as you know – you were a big tough First Responder for years – easier said that done. Were you kidding, I wonder, when you said you look forward to our meetings, or were you hiding your great pain and sorrow from the very people who wanted to hear about it? I suppose I will never know. Wherever you are, I wish you every happiness and fulfillment.

For me, the road to authenticity is long and hard. For me it seems to lead to the sugar house, and Scott.

Poor Fate has to sit by the gate for the next several days, she sprained or pulled a muscle in her right foot and she is barred from running or working. She is very unhappy with us and is good at projecting misery. She’s not getting back in at least until Monday, providing her leg heals quickly. Otherwise, to the vet and hundreds of dollars of tests like to show nothing and many pills likely to do nothing.

Is there anything sadder than a border collie who can’t work?