As I grow older, I have come to grasp the power and beauty of simplicity. Confusion said life is really quite simple, but human beings insist on making it complicated. The animals teach us that simplicity is eternal, and one of the great lessons of life.  I am only beginning to see it.

I have been working at the Mansion for more than a year now, I can hardly believe that much time has passed, and I have seen so much life come and go there.  So much love and loss and courage and acceptance. And so much sickness and death.

The work there, which began before the Army Of Good, has touched a deep chord in people, and I am grateful and also recently engulfed in ideas for expanding the work, adding to it, trying new ideas.

They speak to the love and generosity of people from everywhere, and I appreciate them, even when they sometimes make me sigh. People don’t suggest new ideas for things the residents don’t need or don’t care about.

There are calls to nationalize the program, urging me to advocate similar programs all over the country. Ideas for new technical systems for distributing and reading books, including e-books. Ideas to form new groups to facilitate the movement of gifts and messages, new social media pages to share ideas and support, more details about personal lives to make letters more relevant, an Amazon gift page.

Questions about shipping old clothes and shelves of books regularly, boxes of puzzles, soaps and shampoos from hotels. They come every day.

I couldn’t list them all  really, and they all have got me thinking and once, even praying.

I realized a couple of weeks ago that I had done a poor job of describing life in the Mansion. I need to capture the feel of the place. People are needy there, they are sick there, and frail. Many struggle to walk, others have memory problems, some have breathing and balance problems. There is a reason they are all in the Mansion, it is because they can’t care for themselves any longer.

The residents are diverse, but one thing unites them, they have little money, because the Mansion is a Medicaid facility, they must have lost or given away all of their resources. No two residents have the same needs, or are the same. No two residents have the same kinds of families.

I thought long and hard on these ideas.

Uncharacteristically for me, I am against much change. This week, I talked to some of the staff and some of the residents as well. I think our program is working well. The Mansion residents have what they need, and then some.

That is the point for me. I am not playing God, we will not part these waters.

When there are problems – like the soap and shampoo or the residents in need of clothes – I am hearing about them now, and more quickly than before. If the challenge is to provide them with what they need, an even greater challenge may be not to give them what they don’t need or more than they need. Big hearts want to give big gifts, but the lives of the Mansion residents have shrunk, they live in small rooms with little space.

Their lives tend to be narrow and devoted to routines.

Reading is a struggle sometimes, even with large print. They need clothes, but not too many. Most are not going anywhere except to the doctor’s. My idea is that we fill the holes in their lives, but we can’t alter the nature of their lives, and shouldn’t try.

I care for them, but don’t wish to be ambitious on their behalf.

Some are frightened of change, and easily overwhelmed. It was frightening and difficult for some of the residents to receive letters from strangers at first, they had never heard of such a thing, they couldn’t figure out how to accept and trust them, or even believe people would care that much.

But they have learned and are learning.

Two residents need some clothes. The others do not. Two want more books. The others don’t. There is one Kindle reader in the building, and she plays games and does puzzles. The others shudder to even think of one.

Survival and acceptance are the challenges of the Mansion. Two residents passed me in the hallway the other day.

They had this conversation:

What time is it?

I don’t know.

What day is it?

I don’t know, does it matter?

What’s going on?

I was going to ask you.

Nothing is going on, really.

Just like yesterday.

Just like every day.

Do you know what the hell is going on?

Not for years. See you at dinner, whenever that is.

So I think our system is working well. So far, the residents have gotten everything they might have needed, and everything they have asked for or that the staff  has suggested. They usually get more than they need, which is nice. When that happens, we take the overage to other institutions and donate them.

The Mansion basement has enough soap and shampoo to last until next summer, and that is a miracle.

I am looking for small things, not big things. A table here, a painting there, a book here, coloring books there, letters and cookies for the holidays. And some larger things  occasionally – a picnic table, a van, an air conditioner or two. I am pretty fussy about those.

We have done very well, the Mansion is somewhat transformed.

Your donations are small and effective, they come in slowly and quietly and steadily as needed. They go out quickly and carefully, it is really a beautify rhythm, a dance of trust and connection.

I am not a politician or social worker, people should give whatever they wish to any institution they like, but I only recommend things that I see and know, not that I haven’t seen and don’t know. Our knowledge of these people is what makes us want to help them, without that, they are just another faceless cause in need of money.

And many facilities are not like the Mansion, many that I have visited with Red or Izzy do not care to be as open or caring. I can’t recommend them all. They aren’t all alike. I’ve never seen one like the Mansion, not a Medicaid facility.

People should make their own decisions and do their own research.

The residents dread sudden change and new technologies. Many just can’t use them. They have no space for lots of shoes, blouses, pants or other clothes. They don’t remember things, they stress easily.

I don’t want to create or join any new organizations, except possibly one that is for politicians who will get things done and work together and help the poor. The Mansion isn’t Goodwill, some things are needed, some things are not.

So that is what I have been thinking. We do the best we can for as long as we can.

This is not broken, we don’t need to fix it., add to it, or change it.

I don’t want to make it more complicated,and I don’t think they could handle it, or that I could handle it. The drive to make things more complicated is very human, as Confucius suggests, and very generous.  And I will be forthright: I am busy, busier than ever before in my life.

But it is the simplicity is just what makes it work.  A lot of people give a little and it works. So I’d prefer not to make it more complicated. That’s my simple and mundane idea.

Every staffer says the same thing: the best things to give are the simplest: letters, photos, notes. And they are free.

If you wish to write to the Mansion residents, here are the names of those who wish to receive gifts:

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

Many of the residents try to answer as many of the letters as they can. But letters, like gifts, cannot carry any expectations.  You might get a response, you might not. That is the nature of life in the Mansion. And the nature of selfless giving itself. We do it for us.