It takes a very special kind of person to work in a place like the Mansion.
They don’t earn much money, the hours are long and often grueling, they perform all kinds of intimate tasks most people aren’t even aware of, and they are brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers to the people they care for, many of whom go many months without seeing anyone from the outside world.
These people – the residents and the staff – come to mean the world to one another. This is a lifetime calling, and for special people. I saw that love all day this afternoon. Here, Ruth and Bonnie hug out on the deck, “I love you!” Ruth announced.
“I love you too,” said Bonnie. You can write Ruth if you’d like, she’d love to hear from you. Her husband Ken is sick. You can write her care of Ruth, The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.
You can write Bonnie too, at the same address, and let her know she is appreciated, even by people far away.
I hope I have the words to capture the joy and bravery and love and feeling I witnessed today on a Lake George river boat called the Lac Du Saint Sacrement, owned and operated by the Lake George Steamboat Company.
Thanks to the Army of Good, I purchased tickets for 14 residents and staff members of the Mansion, a Medicaid Assisted Care Facility in my town of Cambridge, N.Y.
It cost a few hundred dollars, it was worth so much more.
This is the second year we have taken this boat ride, and it has brought as much emotion. happiness and pure love of life as anything we have done so far. I loved seeing the residents – only a handful could actually make the trip physically – and the staff, dance, brave the sun and the wind, smile and laugh as I have never seen them do before.
There was a generous buffet lunch, cake for dessert, and a disc jockey with some loud speakers and a shiny dance floor. We used all of these things.
I was moved by so many things, but especially the bravery of these people on the edge of life, their courage at stretching the boundaries of what they could do, their determination to live life fully, knowing full well their days are not endless.
At the end they begged to promise we can do it again, and I promised we would, in the Spring of 2019, and the Fall of the same year. “Oh, good,” said Peggie, “I will make it a point to be alive.
It was a beautiful day. The cruise is a lunch and dance cruise, we boarded at noon, had a buffet lunch, braved the wind on the lower decks, and then marched together (some had to be pushed) to the dance floor.
I saw Alice, who can barely walk with a walker, or pull open a door, come bravely out to the dance floor to do the twist, I saw grumpy Allan and quiet Mary get up to walk in a congo line, I saw Peggy dance for a few minutes, sit down to catch her breath, and get up to do the twist. And we were astonished to see frail Jean, who can only walk a few feet by herself, somehow up on the balcony watching the dancing and clapping.
I saw Wayne, dance with some Red Hat women in his wheel chair, his grin was almost wider than his face. The staff – Julie, Kassi, Bonnie – seemed full of love and joy, they were so attentive, loving and supportive of these brave people, who moved past bad hearts, sore legs, arthritis and a dozen other severe health problems to dance, let the wind blow their hats off, stare thoughtfully at the water, think of better days, revel in this day.
The staff is so selfless and so patient and giving, the boat ride made them radiant, they glowed.
I never felt better about what I do than on this beautiful day on the water with these simple and good people.
For all of the good deeds we set out to do, this one felt so warm, was so much fun to watch, was so uplifting and touching and beautiful in so many ways, I am running out of words to describe it, so I’ll put up a bunch of photos that I think might help capture what I saw perhaps more eloquently than I can express.
Come along and feel good on this ride, as I did.
At the end of the day, I asked the people on the trip if anyone wanted to go to the Gift Shop across the street for a souvenir. I saw some hesitation.
“How many of you have no money today?,” I asked.
Five hands went up.
“So you are winners of the days special contest,” I said. “I will pay for a souvenir for each of you to buy.” They could hardly believe it. Peggy got a pink sweatshirt, Wayne bought a bottle for one of the aides, Ruth bought a cap for her sick “hubby” Ken, and a keychain for herself.
I loved see them heading off to the Mansion van with their plastic bags. We all were contest winners today, the contest was how to live our lives in fullness and joy, no matter what we face.
Come along and see, this was one of the best days of my life, and I thank you for helping make it possible. I believe good deeds are selfless and selfish, but if there is a heaven, they will be glad to see you for doing this. I hope you can know how much good it will do.
For people pushed to the very edge of life, this was a day so worth living for and sharing.
Now, pictures.
You can help me continue this work by sending a contribution to Jon Katz, c/o P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or via Paypal, [email protected]. Please mark you donation “The Mansion.”
I had the best lobster roll of my life – Maria also – at a place called the Rye Harbor Lobster Pound in Rye, N.H. on Monday. I was shocked by it, it was so good and so different.
We ordered a warm lobster roll (I dislike the mayonnaise slathered cold rolls) and we found this small shack on the harbor in Rye. They were out of the Lobster Gaspacho, alas, but the roll. They stuffed the fresh hot dog roll with sweet chunks of fresh lobster – the lobster stuck out way over the top.
The roll was grilled in butter and the lobster chunks were warmed in butter and sauce. The thing literally melted in my mouth. It was delicious, no lobster roll I have ever eaten even came close. I think I would like to go back and get another one, Maria and I both agreed it was a mystical experience.
We came back the next day for more, but they were closed. I’m not sure I can ever eat a lobster roll from any other place again.
I used to spend a lot of time in Provincetown, Mass. during the summer, hanging out with my poet and artist friends, reveling in the creative life that was once so powerful a part of the summer there.
The artists were always talking about “Seagull Art,” the paintings and drawings of seagulls the artists used to sell to tourists all summer so that they could afford to paint what they wanted – “real art” – in the Fall and Winter.
They used the term in a negative and derogatory way, they hated having to paint the seagulls over and over again just to make a living. It was not what they wanted to do.
I understood how they felt, but they did seem a bit snooty to me, people really loved the seagull art, they wanted to take it home and hang it on their walls.
I have always avoided taking photos of seagulls and animals like deer, they seemed such great cliches to me. But there are reasons cliches are cliches, it is because they are so popular. Artists want the money being popular brings, but they would rather be original, creative and bold.
Maria and I sat on a stone wall in Rye, N.H. this week and a bunch of seagulls took a liking to us and sat down close to us, grooming their feathers, dozing on the sand.
I liked watching them gather and gaze at the water. They were quite peaceful.
One of the birds kept circling over me again and again, and so I finally picked up my 85 mm lens and took a shot of him flying right over my head.
I like it, it’s my version of “Seagull Art,” and I remember how much people loved the Seagull Art in Provincetown, maybe people will like seeing my Seagull. Hope so.
As it stands, Bud is due to come up my way on a truck on September 29, one day after he is (hopefully) found to be free of any heartworm infection. Most dogs are cured after two shots, some need more injections.
Carol Johnson of Friends Of Homeless Animals FOHA keeps me posted on Bud’s emerging confidence, playfulness and personality. He does more and more like Gus every day, God help us. The other night, he and his playmate Albert started wrestling in Carol’s bed at four o’clock in the morning.
She says she told them to stop.
Did he?, I asked.
“No,” she said. Carol is an admitted softie.
Bud and Albert, a spunky Chihuahua soon to be transported to Rhode Island on the FOHA truck, are great pals, they play all day, and Carol thinks Bud will sorely miss Albert. Once Fate gets her paws on him, he will be fulfilled. Fate knows how to be intrusive and playful and loud, and she has more energy and a nuclear power plant.
I did have this passing fantasy – as did so many of my readers – to adopt Albert as well as Bud, it seems a shame to separate them. But that would be a mistake on many levels. I don’t want more dogs than I can pay close attention to, and I don’t want four dogs at all.
I love dogs, but I also want a life around and beyond them.
I am excited about Bud, about two week to go before he arrives in Brattleboro, Vt. on Saturday, the 29th.
I am glad he is coming, and happy he is coming in time for the Open House, medical tests successful. There are many animal lovers at the Open House, and I remember the reception they gave Gus, it was a warm welcome to our farm.
I’d love Bud to have that.
Maria and I have begun talking about Bud and how we will acclimate him, and where he will be much of the time. We are both ready to love him. Sixteen days to go.. Sixteen days to go.
