Day: July 30, 2017

Gus has already touched many people, he has challenged many of own stereotypes, and opened my eyes to many things.

Small dogs are working dogs, but their work is people and families, and they take it seriously and are good at it. Gus is already doing much good.

I appreciate the way he loved my granddaughter Robin this weekend, and keeps an eye on Maria. He has lifted the hearts of the Mansion residents and staff and has many friends and admirers all over my town, from the vendors at the Farmer’s Market to the dental techs to the staff at the Round House Cafe.

I am especially touched by his friendship with Bob, a worker at the town recycling center (the dump) and one of the most loved men in our community. Bob is what of those men – very rare in my experience –  who radiate good will and love, he is a generous spirit. Still, he is a big tough man in a truck,  a skilled hunter, as at home in a tractor as in a car.

I couldn’t list all of the people who know Bob and love him, he has done so many good things for people here.

My friendship with him is so far limited to the dump, where he is always waiting with a biscuit for Fate, and now, for Gus. Since my open heart surgery, which he read about on my blog three years ago, I have not been able to haul a trash can from the car to the big garbage bin. Bob is right there, brushing me aside. I have never asked him to help, and I insist I can carry the can myself, but when he is around, there is no chance of that.

Fate starts squealing with joy when we get a mile from the dump, and Bob is especially sensitive not to leave her out because Gus is there. Both of them dogds are crazy about Bob, and it is worth a lot to see Bob’s face when I take the puppy out of the car and hand it to him. If a big touch man could melt, Bob would be all over the ground.

He loves dogs and animals, and I smile at the way he always goes and gives Fate another biscuit after he cuddles with Gus. “You know I love you, honey,” he tells her and she is beside herself, wagging and flirting with him. She certainly isn’t left out.

I have always been more comfortable in the company of women than men, I just do not make a good regular kind of guy. I don’t like sports, I hate to talk politics, I’m bad at small talk and have never understood how the mechanics of the world are put together. Men usually have to educate me or help me.

I am completely at ease with Bob, I think it is fair to call him a friend. I give him copies of my book and other books, and he keeps me informed of things I ought to know about in town. He  always tells me when pheasants are hiding in my meadow, or when a Bald Eagle is flying near the farm. He also warns me when bad weather is coming.

He is an Army of Good all of his own.

Seeing him with Gus lifts my heart, though, I see them as two men who know how to love and do good for people. A natural friendship. In our small rural town, we know one another, we find community even at the dump. It makes all of the difference.

We may not all love one another, but we know one another. Now everybody knows Gus.

It is a beautiful thing to catch the sun hitting the think and graceful poppies in the afternoon.

It was cold this morning, the first chilly morning of his time here,  but Gus is skilled (like a cat) at finding the sun. He went upstairs – is is climbing up the stairs now, and lay down on the laundry in the sunlight. Gus has a mind of his own, and goes where he wishes.

Art came to the Mansion a month ago to be near his brother, a resident there. Art was assigned a room upstairs, his brother was on the first floor. Both rooms are warm in the summer, the upstairs one is especially uncomfortable. Because of the windows and wiring, the upstairs rooms can only be cooled by window air conditioners.

The lower floor rooms need portable air conditioning units, they are more expensive. Two months ago, we bought a portable unit for Connie, it has worked well for her, and enabled her to start her knitting again (when her back heals up.) Two weeks ago, Art’s brother John died.

Art is moving downstairs into his room. I was going to get a window  unit for Art, have switched that plan and am purchasing a portable unit from Amazon, the unit is arriving on Wednesday.  It is an LG 8,000 BTU unit. I’ve asked the Mansion to conduct a room by room survey of the facility to see if anyone else needs or wants an air conditioning unit for their rooms.

One or two rooms simply cannot be wired up for them.

We haven’t checked with all of the residents, but I think  there are two more possibilities for room conditioners. I have enough money for Art’s unit and for one more, if it’s a window unit it will be much less than the portable. My goal by the end of the summer is to have air conditioners for all of the residents who want one and need one.

Last week, we bought a 10,000 BTU unit for the Activity Room, it will be installed this week. And thanks.

I’ve learned a lot about many things working with the Mansion residents, including air conditioning and toiletries, one of them asked if I would be the building super. I passed.

Other good news. I sent off the Mansion stories to the artist and book designer  Abrah Griggs who is assembling these evocative stories in book form. I’ve decided against an e-book format, we’re going with print books only, including 10 of my photographs. The books will be printed by Create Space, and I’m ordering 150 to start.

The Book will be called “Stories From The Mansion.”

They will be distributed free of charge to the Mansion residents and their families.  Connie Brooks of Battenkill Books has agreed to sell them at her bookstore for those of you who might want to purchase one. We have not yet set a price, but it will not be high.

Any revenue from the books will be evenly distributed to the writers. I hope to expand this project. (The Mansion residents are coming to the October House, so is the RISSE soccer team.) They are practicing their songs.

This is such an important thing for the residents, their stories are important, and they need to be told. Thanks again for the books and soap and shampoo. We are good.

A good chunk of money is going out of the fund this week, if you wish to donate in any amount, you can do so by sending payments to P.O. Box 2015, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, and also via Paypal, Friends and Family, [email protected]. Please mark it Mansion or Refugee so I can instantly keep track of it, thanks.

Letters are precious to the residents, many say they feel connected to the world again. Here is a list of the residents who wish to receive your letters, photos and messages, they can be sent to The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

-Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, William, John K., Helen, Connie, Robert, Shirley, Alanna, Charlotte, Barbara, Peggie,  Dorothy, Peter, Arthur, Brenda, John R., Bruce, John Z.

Thanks again.

Albert Camus wrote that there is no love of life without despair of life. Like life and death, and light and darkness, and sickness and health, I can either embrace the human condition or drawn in fear and self-pity. Life is a mess, wrote Joseph Campbell, life has always been a mess.

We find our own hope and promise, or we choke in a sea of regret and self-pity. This week, someone write me a lengthy piece on the illness of her dog, she sad it was unbearable for her, and she hoped I could counsel her or offer words of encouragement to help her get through it. She spentds every night weeping, she said, she barely has the strength to get to work or spend time with her children.

What could I tell her to help her get through this time?

I told her to read the story of Devota, an African women who spent a year walking barefoot across Central African to get to America. The skin burned off of her feet and she was raped four times and stole food from farms to keep her and her daughter alive.

I urged her to read that story before feeling sorry for her self because her dog was sick. Was that cold of me? Heartless? Judgmental?

Perhaps, but it was what I felt and what I feel is my whole identity as a writer. Dogs are nothing but a gift to me, a source of joy and connection, I will never make them into a misery because, they, like us, will inevitably get sick and die. That is what life is about. What did she think would happen?

Sorry for your loss, sorry for your loss. A Facebook chant.

Perspective is a great gift given us humans.

I wish I had said the same thing to the woman who posted a message on Facebook commemorating the death of her dog more than a decade ago. She promised her dog in the message that she would never get over her death. But this is precisely what she needs to do, what we are all called upon to do. What Devota does without anybody’s help.

I love my dogs dearly and intensely, I hope I never ask for pity because they get sick or die. That seems so indulgent of me, especially in our world. The sickness and death of animals is a part of our lives, those of us who love animals, like breathing and walking, and I will never speak poorly of my life or let myself forget what binds all of us together – we live and we love and we die.

Suffering is not a shock or surprise to me. It is part of the human experience, and I am grateful for life, every day.

This week will be an important week for me, I am permitting comments on the blog for the first time. They will be moderated, and no hostile or personal attacks will be permitted. It will be a safe place to share thoughts and ideas and comments. My life is not an argument, neither will your ideas be an argument on my site. No hostility permitted.  Look for this on Tuesday and Wednesday. People can continue to post comments on Facebook.

Today, I am sending a check for $900 to RISSE to buy new uniforms and equipment for the soccer team, composed entirely of refugees and immigrants, new to America. They have decided, over my objections, to call the team “The Bedlam Farm Warriors,” and what an ironic thing that is for a nerd boy like me, to have a sports team named for my farm. Can’t get my head around it.

Also this week, I have offered to treat the soccer team to a Saturday matinée showing of “Spiderman” in a theater near Albany, drinks and popcorn included. I will continue to fund raise for Devota Nyiraneza, who walked across 2,500 miles of Africa to get to America, and who is working to pay off a $10,000 student loan for her son that she thought was a financial aid package.

I am hoping to get as close to $10,000 as possible. You can donate through my post office box, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., or Paypal Friends And Family, ID [email protected].

By Sunday, and before I even asked, I had received $1,500 for the fund. Thursday, I am meeting another refugee, Mawulidi, an African artist, a wood-carver who left his tools behind when he came to America. Someone has already messaged me to say she wishes to pay for new tools. I’ll know more this week when I meet him.

And I today, I am ordering a portable air conditioner for Art at the Mansion, his brother died there two weeks ago and he is moving into his room, which gets very  warm on summer days. The Mansion is a Medicaid facility, there is little extra money there.

Selfishly, this has been a good year for me, despite all of the anger and worry for so many others.

The election in November, disturbing to me, has been an open door, not a gate. It paved the way for the Army of Good, and selfishly, I have never felt more energized, or better about myself, or more meaningful about my life. The blog is nothing but a gift to me, and hopefully, to others. I am committed to telling the story of the Mansion residents and the refugees and immigrants, so critical a part of our national soul.

Life will always offer us setbacks and challenges, we cannot always get our way, and our dogs and friends and family members will get sick and die, but it is our choice how we wish to respond. I see my life as a series of choices. Self-pity and lament are not among them for me.

Grace is not the avoidance of trouble and suffering, but the manner in which we respond to it.

There is no love of life without despair.