26 September

Weekly Meeting. Art’s Lonely Quest For Truth

by Jon Katz
The Search For Purity

Art is almost a medieval figure to me, he reminds me of the ancient monks I used to read about who trod the earth with anger and determination, seeking out heretics and infidels and challenging them to be saved.

Art and my friend Sandy and I are moving towards a weekly Tuesday gathering. Sandy is an Evangelic of great faith, but very different from Art, a fundamentalist looking for purity and strict adherence to the letter and spirit of the Bible.

Art and I joke all the time about what a pain in the ass he can be, he twinkles and laughs and tells me he loves me and will one day save me. Sandy is a listener Art trusts, she  and he can trade Bible verses and  stories and parables and lessons.

Art likes me, but I have not yet been saved, so we are in very different places.He always turns to Sandy and says “you know what I am  talking about,” I almost never do;

Today we talked about intimidation and vengeance, and it was a revealing and honest exchange. He told some of his blood-and-gory Bible stories of vengeance and retribution.

I asked to tell me why it is he needs to challenge people so forcefully. Art is a big and intimidating men, he can sometimes frighten people without his even knowing. He admits to alienating almost everyone in his life in pursuit of the purity of faith and the letter of scripture.

Sunday, Art went to a local church to see one of the Mansion residents get baptized. Art’s visits to churches can sometimes be fraught, he is often displeased by what he sees. He was upset because the preacher said that oil was once used for baptisms instead of water, and Art said that was not true. He was also angry because the preacher left out a warning about damnation and death for sinners.

The Mansion staff prevailed upon him to choose a different day to talk to the preacher, everyone was joyous over the baptism. (Art felt she should have been fully submerged, not just sprinkled with water, we pointed out that she needed a walker to move, and a total submersion would have been painful and impossible? Was God merciful, I wondered? No, said Art, not really.)

Art was still stirred up about it, I asked if it would help if I called the preacher and relay arts concerns. “That would be a great blessing,” he said. I will talk to the preacher sometime this week.

Art and I talked honestly about his need to challenge others, his own sense of himself as a “troublemaker.” He often complains about some of the staff and maintenance people at the Mansion, he says they don’t work hard enough and he should be allowed to oversee hiring.

Art’s outbursts are tempered with laughter and sly smiles, he is well aware of his role as an iconoclast and disruptor, he relishes it. Sandy is a wonderful listener, patient and encouraging. I am more challenging, I think it is what he sometimes wants and needs. She is a calming presence for him.

Art has revealed his true self to me, I don’t doubt his faith and conviction, but I also see the torn-up father who misses his children, and the lonely man seeking connection and purpose. At the edge of life, there is sometimes an urgent need for purpose, a desire to be heard.

I know Art can be an intimidating person, he is larger than life in many ways, as vibrant as he is in pain, I’m not sure the Mansion staff has ever seen anyone just like him. I am not put off or intimidated by Art, even though we both know we have little in common, and my faith is on the other side of the earth from his. I know not to be meek around Art, I don’t hide my feelings, as I would usually do in the Mansion.

Nor will I argue with him or seek to change  him, that’s not my purpose. I won’t take any stuff from him, either.

I have no interest in saving him, neither am I afraid of him. We are honest with each other.

Perhaps it is the reporter in me, I have seen it before, many, many times. I am glad people are beginning to see the meaning in helping Art, I feel it strongly. He needs help and compassion. He is a genius for pushing people away.

He is not the easiest person to help, nor does he always want to be helped. He is a fiercely proud man, but also an achingly vulnerable one.

We talked about his son, with whom i talked again last night, and Art was almost speechless with hope that he will call.

I was happy to see that the Mansion staff put a rug under his new recliner to keep it from sleeping. He enjoys it, he says, and with the carpet, he can even stand up without swaying, he said, with a wink and a smile.

Art teaches me to listen. He reminds me that I am no better or wiser than he is, and that human beings have a common connection that can transcend argument and  suspicion, even believe. Art and I never forget to laugh more than once during our talks. He needs to laugh, he has had a world of suffering in his life.

I asked him today if he needed anything else. He said next week, the eye doctor said he might be able to see normally with his new glasses. Art said he might be able to read books again, not just listen. What kinds of books?, I asked, my ears perking up.

“Bible stories, ” he said. Of course. Once his eyes are cleared I’ll round them up.

Somehow, there we are, grateful for one another, a quite unlikely friendship, each of us teaching the other (I hope) something about the world, making a connection through all of the division and conflict.

Art says God is at the table when we talk. I hope it’s true.

If you wish to write about faith, you can write to Art c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

26 September

Reading Time, At The Mansion. Time Is Different There

by Jon Katz
Reading Time, Alice

At the Mansion, time means something different.

Life moves slowly and deliberately there. It is often quiet, punctuated by the crises of life in assisted care – trips to doctors, to the hospital, to nursing homes. Sometimes people, neighbors, friends, return, sometimes not. Sometimes they come back, and are different.

At meals, the dining room is quiet, there is little conversation.

The days revolve around meals and medical issues, most people move slowly and deliberately, almost in slow motion. Food is important.

The activity room is always open, the TV is almost always on. There is an activity every day, arts, crafts, talks, drawing, sketching, painting, puzzles. The residents sit around a small table and work together, others nap on the big sofas.

The staff is always circulating, always moving, checking, laughing and cajoling or consoling. There are many needs to meet. They say that as people get older, some get more childlike, the circle turns. I see that sometimes.

This Thursday,  Maria will teach a crafts class to Mansion residents at Bedlam Farm, and next week I will teach a poetry workshop  at the Mansion along with Jackie Thorne, a local poet.

I ordered six beginner books of poetry and will get some more at Battenkill Books.

At the Mansion, Alice has lunch, rests, and then in late afternoon, she goes to the Great Room and sorts through a pile of magazines. She says it doesn’t really matter what they are about, she just likes to  browse through them. When I came up to her with my camera, she laughed shyly, as she always does.

Alice moves very carefully, very slowly, her balance always an issue. When I see her, I always take her hand and walk with her.

“You take a lot of photographs,” she said, “what do you do with them all?” Alice has heard about the blog, but not actually read it, she doesn’t go online, or use a computer. She loves the letters she gets (11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y. 12816).

She is coming to visit the farm in a week with a group of the Mansion residents. They are going to make something with Maria. And she is my date when we go to a play in November. My sense of Alice is that she is at peace, at home with herself, most of the fights of life behind.

She has an easy smile, and a quiet way.

I told her about the blog, and the Army of Good, and her eyes widened. “They must be such nice people,” she said, “to care about us.” They are.

At the Mansion, a sense of the now. Yesterdays crop up now and them, but mostly fade, or are recalled in private. Few people talk about the future, it feels sometimes like a dark and empty place.

There is laughter at the Mansion, and love and memory, and as with people anywhere, gossip and intrigue. Some quarrels. Everyone misses their family, living and gone. There is much talk of who visits and who can’t or won’t. I am shocked by how many of the residents have not heard from their family members or seen them in a long time.

I should not be surprised, I suppose, or judge anyone. I ran away from my family a long time ago and have rarely seen any of them.  Several residents have told me that they have no idea where their children live, they can’t find them and never hear from them.

Memory is a fragile thing here, for some it is beyond reach, for others something that can sometimes be retrieved.

I love drifting through the Mansion in the late afternoon with my camera, there is always life to capture there.

There is also a sense of relief, of release, nothing to prove, just a sense of letting go of so many of the burdens of life. Some of the good genes die as we get older, some of the bad ones too, I think.

Time is different there, but sometimes sweeter. Life moves slowly, like a late summer stream, but still beautifully.

If you want to contribute to the work at the Mansion, you can send a check to P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or to paypal, [email protected]. Please note the money is for the Mansion. Thanks.

Here is a list of Mansion residents who wish to receive mail or gifts or messages: Brother Peter, Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvia, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, William, John K, Helen, Connie, Bob, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dorothy, Tim, Arthur, Guerda, Brenda, John Z.

26 September

Portrait: Gus. The Little Man

by Jon Katz
The Little Man

I’ve taken to saying, “hello, my little man,” when I see Gus. He adores Maria and follows her everywhere, but we have a deepening relationship, I like it just the way it is. Red is the absolutely perfect dog, because he is always there, always with me, and when I need to brood, think, write or take photos, he seems to melt into the earth.

He is just my dog, he goes everywhere with me, and you can’t have two of those at once, at least I can’t.

Still, Gus and I are right with each other. I do love him.

When he comes into the house, he tears through the rooms looking for me, and when he finds me, he leaps into the air, lands somewhere around my chest or shoulders and showers me with licks. Boston Terriers make the strangest noises of any dog I have known – grunting, snorting, groaning, wheezing. They are also reliably flatulent.

Sometimes, he looks like a bat, or Yoda. Or Winston Churchill.

When Boston Terriers are interested in something, their ears go straight up in the air, their eyes get wide. You have to pay attention to different things. Border collies move and run two feet or more off of the ground BT’s run around six inches off the ground.

Although Red and Fate are both much bigger and stronger than Gus, he does not seem to acknowledge that, he puffs up his chest, barks, steals their treats and toys, runs them in circles, hides under sofas and launches sneak attacks.

Gus was biting and scratching around his tail and rear so much that I finally took him to the vet.

He is so low to the ground, she said, all kinds of bugs – flies, fleas, mosquitoes, no see’ ums (tiny flies) can easily jump up onto him and bite him. We gave him some oral and spray medication, and the itching stopped. That has rarely happened with my border collies, they are high to the ground and have long and thick coats to fend off the bugs and burrs.

Gus is defenceless out there, although it doesn’t seem to faze him much. He is very serious around the sheep, modeling Fate and Red and he delights in getting right in front of them, barking and standing his ground. Most of the time, it works. Gus runs like a rabbit, if he needs to get out of the way, he does.

People I know – still surprised I got a small dog – often ask me what Gus is like. Sweet, busy and bright is what comes to mind. We held him out of bed for four months, and now we let him out just before dawn and he hops into bed for a few hours, burrowing into small spaces like a mole.

He misses nothing, loves food (which makes him trainable) and adores strangers, old people and children.

He hops around like a frog and  can hop up four or five feet in the air from a standing position. He is a pretty good watchdog, in that he makes a lot of noise when strangers come by. As long as they don’t see him, he is a deterrent.

He has woven himself into our lives with determination and smarts. In the day time, he hangs out with Maria in her studio, going in and out as he pleases into the fenced in yard. At night, he likes to crawl onto my feet while I write and doze or chew things.

He is a character, we laugh and smile all the time when we see him. He takes good portraits, if I howl like a dog he looks right into the camera, ears up and eyes wide.

I am not afraid to look ridiculous in the service of my photos. And Gus is a rock star on the Internet.

26 September

Art In Tears. His Son Will Call. Crossing Great Divides

by Jon Katz
Crossing Great Divides

I find myself in the fascinating and compelling position of working hard to help two men who live only a few feet from one another but who could hardly be more different. They are each at one side of one of the great divides tearing at our country – the assault on gay men and women by religious fundamentalists who believe any kind of homosexuality is a sin worthy of damnation.

Oddly enough, I am close to both of them, looking for ways to help each of them. Art is a fundamentalist evangelical most recently from Montana. Bill is a former actor and a gay man recovering from a severe stroke. Both men are in their 80’s.

Art things Bill’s soul is in peril, Bill is seeking to connect with his community and working hard to heal.

The Army of Good, great hearts all, balked at contributing money to Art, for reasons I completely understand. I was able to get him a new reclining chair, an air conditioner, a CD player and a big boxed set of the Bible on audio discs.

I am working to re-connect him with his family, from whom he has been long estranged.

We got Bill an air conditioner also, and have asked people from his community to write him, which they are. He is getting some of the most wonderful letters.

People are also writing Art, and they have lifted his lonely spirits. Both men feel isolated from their communities, I am trying to help each one connect in their own way.

This week, a dozen people sent small contributions to help Art. “He is a human being, he needs help even if I find him offensive,” wrote a gay woman from Minneapolis. I feel the same way. It’s not for me to judge or argue, not in an assisted care facility where people live on the very edge of life.

Yesterday, I went to the Mansion to give Art important news. I made contact with his son, who works in Montana and Wyoming, and asked if he would be comfortable calling his father. We had two different conversations, both went well.

I told Art I had spoken to his son, and I can’t promise anything, but his son told me he would call his father, he wanted to speak with him. Art has alienated almost everyone in  his former life, his religious views are so intense and sometimes extreme.

It is a great creative and spiritual challenge for me to get close to both of these men and to figure out the very different ways in which I might help them.

When I told Art this news, he began to cry and couldn’t talk for a minute. “God is here,” he said, “he is here with me, he must be.”

I told him i couldn’t speak for God, but I am here, and would stay with him and perhaps we could help his son to come and visit him here in upstate New York. Art was overcome, he closed his eyes, I think he was praying.

Today I am going to see both of these men again, my friend Sandy, an evangelical of softer cloth than Art, is coming to join us. I  hope his son calls, I will keep gently trying to persuade him, Art says he has good reason not to call. But he hopes and prays that he does.

I believe he will call. He has talked to me twice, and I think he knows I will not pester him, but neither will I go away. And I strongly believe he wants to hear his father’s voice.

I am a student, I think, and both of these men are unconscious teachers. They teach me about listening, compassion and the great joy of doing good rather than living in fear and anger.

If you seek to be empathetic and compassionate, it makes no sense to me to only be compassionate to people you like and agree with. That is something other than empathy, which I take to be the highest human calling.

And the curious thing about it, is the more I see and speak with both of these men, both quite different from me, the more I care about each one.

26 September

Fiber Works: Beautiful Knitting At The Open House

by Jon Katz

There’s an enhanced fiber theme at our Open House in two weeks. Susie Smith and Susie Fatzinger, two gifted knitters, will be spinning and knitting at the farm, October 7 and 8, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Come and take a look at Susan’s beautiful work. As  is our custom, Maria is offering people who can’t come to the Open House a peek at some of the art that will be sold there, as Christmas looms.

People who see something they like can e-mail her at [email protected], they can buy it now, or have it saved for the Open House. We will have belly dancing, sheepherding, sheep shearing, knitting and weaving, a lots of classy and affordable art from the gifted artists of rural America.

I’ll have Gus and Red and Fate out for the herding demos. The only promise I can make is that Red will be right on his game, as always. You never know with the other two.

Come and see.

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