Note: If you need it, the RISSE mailing list is RISSE, 715 Morris St., Albany, N.Y., 12208-2208. Phone is 518 487 4912.
There are some new items up on the RISSE Amazon Wish List this morning, and some are as inexpensive as $7. That doesn’t mean they are not needed. There are plastic leak-proof spray bottles, some paint brushes and tempura paint color.
They need one more walkie-talkie and I sent another juice and drink holder yesterday. The Bean Chairs are purchased and on the way and off the list. The Army of Good is a great wave, that comes ashore and washes us in goodness. Wish list items are disappearing almost as soon as they are put up.
Every morning, I start my day on the RISSE Wish List and do whatever good I can afford that day. Today, I bought the water color kit for $7.99. It took me four seconds. For me, this sets the tone for a productive day.
Your gifts are arriving and the people at RISSE – there are 200 kids in their after school program alone – are somewhat stunned, but are seeing the true heart and soul of America.
Good people, thanks. The new page went up this morning, the items are quite inexpensive, I doubt it will last long.
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If you wish to support my refugee program, you can donate to Jon Katz, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816 or via Paypal, [email protected].
I am negotiating with the Powell House Quaker Retreat and Conference Center in Chatham, N.Y., to bring the soccer team and other RISSE children to some weekend retreats on empowerment and community. These conferences (as a member of a Quaker Meeting, I’ve been to several) are wonderful and very empowering. The setting is beautiful and very peaceful, and the retreats are also inexpensive.
If you need it, the RISSE shipping address is 715 Morris St., Albany, N.Y., 12208-2208. Phone is 518 487 4912.
“Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Gus loves the snow, a surprise to me and many others. Most Boston Terriers don’t, I am told, but I live in farm country, and many farmers seem to have tough little Boston Terriers who love the snow. Farmers don’t put sweaters or blankets on their dogs, I do when it gets into the single digits.
Tomorrow it will be close to 70, and the snow is already mostly gone. Gus had an excellent day today, no spit-ups of any kind for the first time in a long time. My new new, new, new, new, new diet seems to be working.
One person read my piece yesterday on the emotions I felt about Gus’s illness and she said I would just have to “bounce back.” Another suggested I should change my attitude, another told me Gus was not the right dog for Maria and I, and she said we should give him away because he wasn’t always wearing a sweater in the snow.
Another said she knew I didn’t want advice (but) the thought Gus might have a parasite, and that the long string I pulled out of his butt might be a tapeworm.
Life in the fishbowl. If nothing else in my life, I am a bouncer back. I am one bouncing ball. Bouncing back is my passion, my sport, one of the few things in life I am really good at.
Isn’t all of life about bouncing back, every single day? To me, bouncing back stops only at death.
I can’t imagine changing my attitude more than I do or have. When I moved to the first Bedlam Farm it was the first time I ever set foot on a farm in my life.
My friends gave up on me and ran for their lives. I haven’t seen them since.
I will never forget the distinguished analyst, fresh from a trip to India with his son, looking at me and shaking his head and telling me he had never met anyone my age undertaking so much change.
I’m just getting started, I said.
A year ago, I never would have gotten a Boston Terrier. Six months ago, I would never have kept a dog with a chronic and messy disease like megaesophagus. Now I am a mixer of exotic food and recipes, poring through Gus’s vomit to see what he ate now.
And I have a snail named Socrates. And a wife named Maria.
How much change can a person have and still be standing?
I am not nearly done with change. I am bristling with attitude. I have been bouncing back like one of those magic putty balls all of my life. I often bounce back when I should remain still.
I prove every day that writing openly about my life does not mean anybody will actually know me. Sometimes, the Internet is just an illusion.
Is it not a great challenge then, for me, to worship the integrity of my own mind? No idea or word in this world can live but a minute without being challenged or rebutted. This makes me sharp as a new blade.
When men show emotion, people freak. Some days I want to throw Gus into the river. But I am up at 6:30 every morning mixing a magic potion like some deranged old mystic. What part of that attitude ought to change?
I know men are a mess these days, and I’m embarrassed for them, but we do have feelings, and we do have emotions, however suppressed. Don’t be afraid of them, we need to show more of them. It doesn’t mean we are going to pieces.
Gus and I are having fun together, we are taking on the conventional wisdom of the world. We are already doing things we are not supposed to do, not doing things we are supposed to do, ignoring what everyone tells us to do, and trying things nobody has done.
Whatever else, I feel quite alive.
At our age, one woman wrote (this awful phrase), with all of our aches and chronic pains, things sometimes look bleak. My age has nothing to do with it, I wrote back somewhat archly, and I am not in chronic pain. Old talk kills, I don’t do it, it’s worse than megaesophagus.
I see every day that people will not ever stop telling me what to do and think. I surrender. There are millions, even billions of them, and one of me. If I take my finger out of the dike, I’ll be swept away.
I am happy, content, finding my ground. I think I am learning how to turn straw into gold. Donald Trump gave me the gift of learning how to actually do good rather than talk about it at dinner parties.
These messages make me strong and sure.
Am I inarticulate? Or just misunderstood?
Trust your heart, wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson, every heart vibrates to that iron string.
Gus has taught me a lesson in love and commitment, and one can never get enough of those. Through his illness, I am learning resilience, patience, and empathy, and empathy is the highest calling of humanity.
Megaesophagus, like President Trump, is a gift to me. I am beginning to understand what I believe and what I value. I can handle more than I thought. I know more than some might think.
I am so grateful I did not leave the world before I knew those things. I believe I would actually miss both – Trump and megaesophagus – if they were gone.
Change my attitude? Every day? Bounce back? Five times a day? Give Gus away? Never.
We had our second rehearsal for “Night Of Four Skits,” a production we are producing at the Mansion on April 5.
Madeline has signed up, she is a natural, there is no doubt she has had some drama training. And we were all shocked and pleasantly surprised when Allan accepted my invitation to join the cast – he is often quite quiet and withdrawn.
We chose “The Couple”, a funny skit about an older married couple telling a lot of truth to one another. The skit is funny and relevant, and the actors and dozen or so residents playing the audience loved it. Come see Madeline and Allan at the first run-through rehearsal.
I’m using four skit books from reading2connect, the publishing house whose books I have been using in the reading program. I have some decisions to make about how far to pursue my reading program. To be truly effective, one has to take the special course in helping the elderly to read independently.
It costs $3,000 and I have decided against taking it. It’s too much money, the Mansion can’t afford it, and neither can I, and I don’t want to raise money for it, I can go further with the reading materials I know have. Maybe in a year or so, if I’m’ still doing it.
I can go further than I have with what I have. Take a look at the rehearsal video, I’m not sure any of this would have been possible six months ago. Come and watch. Madeline is a natural ham, Allan is right for this part.
We had three dogs herding the sheep out into the back pasture this morning. Red was right behind them, Gus was just ahead of him, and Fate was doing a brilliant job circling them with great enthusiasm.
Gus has his muzzle on, he is doing well this morning with his new diet. Fingers crossed.
