21 December

What Is Christmas Without A Kelly Portrait?

by Jon Katz
What Is Christmas?

I went to the Bog Wednesday night hoping to get a portrait of Kelly, but she was off. So I drove back there tonight – Maria was at her Belly Dancing Class – got there early, before the crowd, Kelly was at her usual station, behind the bar, surrounded by lifelong friends.

She is often surrounded by lifelong friends, I’ve known my oldest friend for about three years. Kelly is a friend, it is almost impossible to know her without becoming a friend.

I was relieved to see her there, I couldn’t imagine Christmas without a Kelly portrait, and I loved this one, her very radiant and warm self seems to  be written all over her very beautiful face. Merry Christmas, Kelly, and thanks for all the photos,  you are an inspiration and joy to many.

And I was more than a little pleased when you told me how many letters and cards you have been getting this week from the people who love your photos as much as I do, from all over the country.

It’s a good idea, and  I think she was pleased by it: You can write Kelly c/o Kelly Nolan, c/o Foggy Notions, 52 E. Main Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, and wish her a good New Year if you’d like.

Her smile sends a lot of light out into the world. I am so glad I got a photo of her, I could not have rested this weekend.

21 December

Mawulidi’s Birds

by Jon Katz
Mawulidi’s Birds

These are the five birds Mawulidi  Diodone Majaliwa sent to me today for Maria and I to sell for him. More than 50 people have written to Maria saying they wanted to purchase the next available carvings, so we will give them the first opportunity to buy these and the ten or so other pieces coming next week.

He is coming her on Wednesday to get more wood from Bedlam Farm and Pompanuck Farm in our town of Cambridge, N.Y.

At the moment, these are not for sale. Maria, who is handling the sales, plans to contact the people on the waiting list first to see if they still want to buy them.  She can’t get to that until sometime after Chrsistmas.

My guess is they are all sold, but we won’t know for sure for awhile. If you wish to get on the list, you can e-mail Maria at [email protected]. You might not get a replay right away.

We are committed to helping Mawulidi figure out how to sell his work independently. He cannot yet afford a car. He does this work in a tiny apartment which he shares with his wife and two  young children.

It may take awhile for him to figure out how to sell his work himself.  He is learning English and has yet to work with a computer.

This is a Christmas story, and I am excited and grateful to be a part of it, along with the increasingly formidable Army Of Good. We do good rather than argue about what good is.

21 December

When People Disappear: The Best I Can Do For As Long As I Can…

by Jon Katz
When People Disappear

Joan is gone. I went to her room and knocked on the door to bring Red in to see her, and give her a fluffy stuffed cat, but the room seemed different to me, still and bare in a way I recognized. And Bill is gone.

I should say up front I have no idea where they have gone, or why. And I will not be told.

The other day Joan, one of my favorite portrait subjects and one of my favorite people, was right there, showing me the Spring she saw out the window, the next day she was gone.

Bill, the 84 year old gay man struggling bravely with the harsh effects of a serious stroke, seeking to connect with members of his community, is gone also.

So many of the people in his community did connect with him, write to him, send him books and cards, after an appeal on the blog. That meant the world to Bill.

I was just beginning to read him a bit from the works of Armistead Maupin, the famous chronicler of gay life in San Francisco before and after the plague of AIDS.

Bill couldn’t yet read for himself, but he was beginning to focus on stories he could follow. He is gone, I could see this in his room too, untouched for several days.

Working with the elderly, with people at the edge of life, always takes an emotional toll  – on the staff, the families, the volunteers, the friends. People get sick, and leave. Sometime they go to hospitals for emergency treatment, sometimes to nursing homes for rehabilitation and extreme care, sometimes to visit with their families. Sometimes they die.

In hospice care, I learned people were gone when I knocked on the door and nobody was home That’s how I knew, there are no goodbyes or hugs or advance warnings for people like me. I don’t know where Joan or Bill went or why.  I will figure it out eventually, or when it is okay for me to be told.

I can write about people’s lives and their health if they give me permission. I always ask them, and also the staff. Otherwise, I can’t be told anything.

The only reason I knew Connie died was that the family asked the Mansion staff to call us and tell us. Otherwise, it would be unethical, even illegal, for anyone to tell me. So you have to have your own way of dealing with it, or you will “bleed out,” as I call it, just run out of steam and heart. I guard my heart.

As a volunteer, I am in my comfortable space as a perpetual outsider, I am never an insider anywhere I go, that is just my nature. It feels like family, but it is not family, I am not family. I can go home, I can walk away. They can’t.

I am something in between staff and family and friend. I don’t really have a name for it. Neither does anyone else.

There is a wall that is always between me and them, as it should be – family, staff, doctors, social workers – are inside, people like me are outside. I have a right to help, no right to know. Privacy laws and many federal regulations meant to protect the elderly quite often isolate and surround them, but I respect those boundaries and walls and never try to get around or over them.

Much of the time, I don’t want to know. It would get in the way.

I get to do my work there because I honor these boundaries and would never willingly violate them.

Lately, Joan always  asked me to dance when we met, we would waltz around the hallways and she would give me a big hug and kiss when we were done. I could see her memory failing rapidly, she was often disoriented, but she always recognized me, even if she didn’t know who I was.

But she never stopped smiling.

And she always remembered Red.  I loved the stories and poems and memories that somehow came out of her, several are hanging on my study wall. Joan was  beautiful and sweet. She is beautiful and sweet. So was Bill, all he wanted to was to find his community again. This was an uphill struggle for him.

Under the law, the Mansion staff cannot and does not reveal any medical information to me. Joan and Bill might be in the hospital, in rehab or a nursing home, they might be gravely ill. I think I would know if they had died, that would be more apparent. The rooms would be emptied out, a new person would appear.

I sometimes ask the staff how people are, especially if I haven’t seen them, but I usually get a blank stare or a mumble. They’re away for awhile.  I don’t ever push it, that would make everybody uncomfortable, I just move on.

the truth will always reveal itself in one way or another.  There could be a hundred reasons, but anything that takes that long suggests a serious problem, and the Mansion can’t handle serious problems beyond a certain point, and is not allowed too by law.

Assisted care facilities are meant for the mobile and reasonably healthy, they are residences, not nursing homes. The staff isn’t licensed to provide continuing and extreme medical care for people who need it.

When the residents need it, they usually have to leave. And they rarely come back. The residents don’t fear death as much as they fear leaving the Mansion. It has become home and family for them, the next stops along the chain of life are frightening and laden.

Connie was tough and determined, she fought her way back. But not for too long.

Those who disappear are rarely mentioned, unless there is a memorial service, or members of the staff go and visit them in their new homes, which they often do. They do get to say goodbye, and it is important to them.

I rarely do see the residents beyond the Mansion, I think it’s over the line for me, my job is to full the holes I can fill, I can’t take on more than that I could be useless and spent. I need to keep my focus, it is easy to fall in love there, and that is a surprise to me. I used to avoid assisted care facilities.

Many of you out there have been writing to Joan and Bill and others for a  good while now, but I will not be able  to tell you how they are or where they are. When people disappear, I take their names off of the resident list. That’s about all I can say or do.

I couldn’t say how they are even if I knew. It’s a question of letting go. It sometimes feel’s unnatural, but you do get used to it. It’s where I belong.

But I can tell you what I see with my own eyes, and Joan and Bill are gone, at least for now, and I don’t know if I will be dancing with Joan again, or reading stories to Bill.

We did good while we could, we followed my motto: I do the best I can do for as long as I can.

And then I do the best I can for somebody else. And there is always somebody else.

If Joan and Bill can come back, I will be happy. If not I will be sad. But not for long. The moving finger writes, and I write with it….

As much good as you do, you are outside the circle too, and that is the rightful place for us to be.

Here is an updated list of Mansion residents, if you care to write them at The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816:

Winnie, Jean, Bill, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Allan, John K., Helen, Robert, Alanna, Barbara, Joan, Peggie, Dorothy, Tim, Debbie, Art, Guerda, Brenda, David, Kenneth, Ruth.

I want to wish all of you a wonderful Christmas, and meaningful holidays. You are the best.

 

21 December

More Wood Carvings From Mawulidi Diodone Majaliwa

by Jon Katz
The Carvings Of Mawulidi Diodone Majaliwa

Mawulidi,a refugee from the Congo and a member of the RISSE, refugee and immigrant support center in Albany, sent us five more of his remarkable wood carvings today. He has asked us to sell them for him, he speaks no English and has no computer.

Mawulidi, who entered the United States last year after 22 years in a U.N. refugee camp had been a wood-carver in his native country before the civil wars and genocide there. He was not permitted to bring his carving tools, handed down from his grandfather, into the U.S.

He takes a long bus ride back and forth to the Albany bakery where he bakes bread every day.

I met him at RISSE several months ago and offered to help him once I heard his story.

The Army of Good raised enough money to replace Mawulidi’s carving tools, and it seems it was money well spent. Mawulidi came to get wood from Bedlam Farm and also Pompanuck Farm nearby, owned by Scott and Lisa Carrino.

He is coming her again next Wednesday for more wood. His first works – a crane and several birds, sold immediately and there is now a waiting list for his work. He has another ten pieces to bring us next week, they need painting.

Today, he sent  this beautifully detailed chicken and four blue birds. We haven’t settled on a price yet, I proposed to Maria that she charge $250 for the chicken, it is quite unique.

She’s mulling it, it’s her decision. The shipping and bookkeeping and e-mailing is taking up much more of our time than we anticipated, we we have decided to take a commission of $25 per piece, this will go to Maria. The shipping  and packaging alone is quite extensive and complex, and Mawulidi’s work has drawn a great deal of interest online.

Mawulidi is relieved we are taking something, he was uncomfortable that we were not taking anything.

My friend Ali, a teacher and driver at RISSE and coach for the RISSE soccer team, drove the new pieces down to me.

Sometime over the holidays – not right away –  Maria, who is handling the sales of Mawulidi’s work, will contact the people on the list and ask them if they still want to buy these pieces.

We think all of the pieces are sold, but if not, we will go down the list and if any become available, we’ll post them for sale on our blogs.

For now, they are not  for sale. If you wish to get on Maria’s waiting list for Mawulidi’s work you can e-mail her at [email protected]. I’ll post the blue birds shortly. This is a wonderful Christmas story, we are very happy to be a part of it.

Many thanks for your incredible support for the winter clothing drive we launched two weeks ago for the refugees, many of whom have no clothes to get them through what is already a tough winter. Dozens of people have shopped sweaters, jackets, snow pants, wool hats, winter socks, jackets, gloves, winter boots and scarves.

The need is great and continuing, a number of refugees from Afghanistan and Asia have arrived recently. Your are helping them navigate their first harsh winter. New and used clothing is very welcome, you donate directly to RISSE or send new and used clothes in good condition to RISSE, 715 Morris Street, Albany, N.Y., 12208. Thanks.

They are a bit in shock, they were not prepared for the focus and energy of the Army Of Good, the clothes keep coming. But they are very grateful. And the need is very deep.

I am proud of Mawulidi and proud to be helping him return to his life’s work and his destiny. I believe America is a welcoming place that opens its hearts to the vulnerable and oppressed of the world.

Clearly, many others agree.

Maria and I are committed to supporting him until he is able to sell his work on his own and navigate the mechanics of selling on the Internet. That will take a while, and he is hard at work producing  more wonderful work.

This is a miracle, really, he had given up on ever carving again, but this is just the beginning, I think, more good news to come for him. We will stand with him.

He has a special gift.

21 December

Holiday Images From Bedlam, Maria

by Jon Katz
Holiday Images From Bedlam, Maria

when I move up to the country more than a decade ago, I had no idea there was a Maria. So it is strange for me to come to understand that she was the reason I came in the first place. The simple truth is that I was looking for her.

I looked in the wrong places, and in the wrong ways, but it eventually became clear to me that she was the reason I came here, she was what I was looking for. I guess you can’t really know what you are looking for until you find it.

And then, a voice goes off in your head, it says something “oh, so this is it…this is why I came here.” I still can hardly believe that I found this person, or she found me, in this remote hamlet where there are many more cows than people.

She was there all of the time, we often say we conjured one another up. I often joke that I am kind of person people never invite to dinner twice, I’m not entirely sure why this is so, but it does seem to be so. I’m okay with it.

When I told Maria this she laughed, and then stopped, and said, “you know, when I think about it, I think this is true.”

We were both laughing then,and I said I expected her to open her eyes one night, look across the bed and scream in shock: “what am I doing here?.” So far, so good.

It is true about the dinner invitations, but I told her I was very grateful she wanted to see me again and again and again. You have to keep hope alive, what you want might be right in front of your nose, waiting for you to see it.

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