Once or twice a week, depending on what her hair looks like, Peggie changes color. Peggie never lets age define her, she is the first out the door on outings, shows up for every Bingo game, gives me the strongest hugs when I see her, loves all animals and insists on seeing the world outside of her room.
This weekend, she told me at the Mansion tonight, she was heading for Boston, a friend was taking her to see the Boston Aquarium tomorrow. She is excited, and eager for the boat trip and the aquarium trip to Schenectady that we are planning in a few weeks.
Her face is filled with character, joy and an appetite for life. She is a great life force, she defies everyone’s assumptions about aging. She told me today she might have a boy friend soon, there was someone she had her eye on and she was going to see what happens. I hope he is prepared, Peggie is not easily discouraged.
She told me she wants to take him out on a date to the movies and dinner at Appleby’s, dutch treat. She several of her Army Of Good pen pals are urging her to go for it, she is encouraged. I told her she was a remarkable woman.
You can write to Peggie c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. There have been a number of changes at the Mansion – another new resident is coming next week. You may notice a number of names on the former list are gone, I am not permitted to say what has happened to them, or if they will return.
The names on the list are people who wish to receive your messages, letters and photos – Sylvie was reading hers tonight in the dining room and answering as many as she can – you can write any of them at the same address, 11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.
The names are Bob, Allan, Winnie, Jean, Art, Ben, John D., Alanna, Peggie, Ellen, Joan, Brenda, Jackie, Slvie, Alice, Madeline, Mary, Blance, Bill, Diane, Helen, Doris, Dottie, Ruth, Kenneth, Gerry, Guerda, Wayne, Matt.
Thank you for supporting this work at the Mansion. They love receiving your packages and letters. The Mansion is planning a July 4 celebration and would welcome any help with decorations, gift bags, favors or cookies, etc. balloons, banners, etc. You know the drill, and thanks.
And thanks for cleaning out the Mansion Amazon Wish List for the fourth time in a week. Julie put out an SOS for paper cups, napkins and forks and spoons for the July Mansion picnic, they are expecting more than 100 people for their annual picnic for the Mansion and members of their family.
She still needs a few things, I think, but I told her I would get anything that wasn’t on the list. There is nothing on the list at the moment, you bought everything you asked for , and many blessings upon you. As my friend Ali loves to say, this is the greatest thing.
Today, James (not his real name) talked to me for the first time. I’ve seen him almost every time I’ve been to the Mansion, several times a week for at least six months.
Without any conversation or prompting, he told me the most wonderful story.
He was furious with me when we first encountered one another. I had put him on the list for people on the blog to write to, and he was angry about it. He didn’t want any letters or photos or presents. He didn’t want me. He didn’t want Red.
He had never been to a holiday celebration, or an activity in the Activity Room.
He didn’t want to paint, draw, do puzzles or work in the garden. I’ve never seen him with a visitor.
James has never come on an outing, or a boat ride, or trip to a restaurant. He has never asked me for a thing, spoken to me, acknowledged me, touched Red or glanced at him.
When I thought of James, I always thought of Boo Radley in To Kill A Mockingbird, James was always in the shadows, never the light. If you looked straight at him, he was gone.
I would often see James when I came to the Mansion, he was invariably bundled up with a hooded sweatshirt pulled over. He would go outside many times in a day, sit on a bench, take a walk on the path in the back.
Sometimes, I saw him walking in town. He never asked me for anything, or accepted any kind of help or gift. He never seemed to even see me.
I knew nothing about him. I don’t know where his room is (I know it’s upstairs), how long he’s been there, or what he does all day.
Once in awhile we would come face outside on the porch or by the door. We never made eye contact or spoke, I always felt I needed to respect his wishes, I just got out of his way. There are several people in the Mansion like that.
James, I was told, was adamant about having no contact with the outside world.
No books, no gift bag, no desserts or chocolate. I always am careful to scratch his name off of the resident mailing list. I never offered him help.
I never heard the staff speak about James, I never see him talking with them, I’ve never seen him go to the doctor’s, I believe he smokes outside, I only think so because I see the red embers at night.
To my knowledge, James has never eaten in the dining room, I’ve never seen him there.
He came into our Friday Bingo game once to say he had permission to turn the overhead fans on at night, the noise disturbed him up above. He turned off the fan, and then he left, without saying a word to anybody.
He was a person of complete mystery, and i could feel what I thought was his anger a long ways away.
But I had never spoken to him, or seen his face up close. I never try to sell myself, or push anybody into seeing me or Red. If James didn’t want to, he deserved to be left alone. But still, he seemed so beyond reach, and I wondered if he wasn’t lonely. I thought he had to be.
This afternoon, i went over to the Mansion to bring some residents some things they needed.
As I walked up the handicapped ramp to the porch, Red just ahead of me, I almost walked right into James. He was coming down the ramp the other way, there was no space for either of us to squeeze past the other.
I saw that James’s hood was pulled down, which was unusual. He had a well-groomed beard, his hair was rich and combed and dark. I was startled to see piercing green eyes, and a handsome, kind face.
This time, he didn’t lower his head or walk away. He stood in front of me and looked me in the eye. I was surprised, off balance.
We both started at one another for what seemed the longest time. Truthfully, i wasn’t quite sure what to do. I decided to be silent and let him reveal himself. I sensed he wanted something from me.
After a few minutes, James looked me in the eye – he had a beautiful face, really I thought of some of those paintings of Christ i see in churches. James beard and hair was almost the same, I thought. His eyes were piercing, I had never seen them up close before. Red, ever tuned into me, walked slowly over to James and leaned against him.
James leaned down and patted him on the head, he asked me if Red was an Australian Shepherd. No, I said, a border collie.
I decided not to reach for my camera. I decided to stand perfectly still.
I was elated that James had decided to talk to me, I’m not sure why.
I decided to stay very quiet, very still. Why now?, I wondered.
Then James told me this beautiful story about his dog. He just started talking, with no explanation or introduction.
He told me the name of his dog, but I forget it, I think I was just stunned by this moment. I could tell by the way he said his dog’s name that he is a dog lover. James was so careful to avoid Red that I had trained Red to keep away from him, to keep moving or move around him when he approached.
I sometimes do this with frail people who could be easily knocked over.
The story James told me was this:
He lived on the ocean once, he said, right near the beach. He and his dog would walk on the beach every morning, right where the seagulls loved to gather, break clam shells and cry out to their friends. His dog seemed to love the seagulls and always walked up to them, but then they would flee.
Day after day, his dog would approach the seagulls, but one day, after months of trying, the seagulls decided to trust the dog, and didn’t fly away. His dog loved to sit down next to them and watch them dive for fish and squabble and search for food. Sometimes he would take a nap right into the middle of the birds.
After awhile, they wouldn’t even move for him, and when he wanted to go home, he would gently bump into them to get them out-of-the-way, while they squawked and cried out. It was amazing, he said, to see how close the birds and his dog became.
One day, his dog died, he was quite old, James said. When he walked on the beach alone, the seagulls shrieked and complained and followed him up and down the beach on his walk, for days, they circled over and around him and wouldn’t leave him alone. He thought they were demanding that he bring the dog back, he could not explain the truth to them.
Eventually, they stopped following him him and returned to their work diving for small fish or breaking clam shells on the rocks. Sometimes people left good stuff on the beach and the seagulls lucked out.
But after a while, James said, he stopped walking on that beach because it reminded him too much of his dog.
I understand, I said, the first words I spoke to James, then or ever.
I thought you would, he said, and I stepped back away from the entrance to the ramp. Red stood with James.
James nodded, pulled up his hood and walked down the ram and down the path to the park behind the Mansion, and he vanished into the mist, he slid out of sight like a ghost. I thought he had been blushing.
“Thank you for the story,” I said. He didn’t turn around.
I had to blink, and wonder for a second if this was a dream, an illusion. But I knew it wasn’t. I did feel a shiver go down my spine, something important had just happened.
People who have had genuine spiritual experiences always know that they don’t know. They are humbled before mystery. The live in awe of the abyss we call life, and wonder at eternity, death and love.
Wayne has more fun in his wheelchair than most people have in their ordinary lives. He was in a good mood Friday night, sporting one of the new colorful tie-dyed T-shirts we got him a couple of weeks ago. He is, I think, a love child at heart.
Much of the fun Wayne loves to have is at my expense, if possible. Wayne loves to plot tricks and surprises on me, and last night, Maria.
When we came in to call the regular Friday night bingo game, Wayne was smirking and blocking the door. The wooden bingo balls, the ones we use to call the numbers, were missing he said, they had disappeared from the activities room. This alarmed both of us, who headed down the hallway before we heard Wayne guffawing and laughing, and tell Red with great delight, “we fooled them, didn’t we Red?”
Red seemed delighted wagging his tail and getting excited (for Red.) We came back and Wayne was pointing to a corner of the dining room where he had hidden the cage where the balls from which the wooden numbers are turned and called, as one ejects from the bottom of the cage.
Wayne was beside himself for having tricked us, he was laughing and chuckling all night.
Wayne teased me about the trick and then taunted me as I called the bingo numbers. If he didn’t get his numbers, he yelled out, “new caller, let Red do it!” I think Red is on all this. You can write Wayne at the Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge,, N.Y., 12816. He loves getting letters, but he doesn’t have full movement of his arms, so it is difficult for him to reply.
The other residents of the Mansion who would like to receive your letters are Bob, Allan, Winnie, Jean, John, Alanna, Peggie, Ellen, Joan, Brenda, Jackie, Sylvie, Alice, Madeline, Mary, Blanche, Bill, Diane, Helen, Debbie, Dot, Ruth, Kenneth, Gerry, Guerda, Wayne, and Matt.
A fierce windstorm and possible tornado tore through our town last night, flattening dozens of big old trees and knocking power out to much of the town, and to our farm. The cable went out just as our Bingo Night was concluding at the Mansion and we came home to sit on the porch and were quickly driven inside by howling winds and rain, clocked at 90 miles per hour in some parts of the area. It sounded like a tornado was roaring over the hills, and we think that might have been what it was.
Trees fell all over houses in town, and the power is till out in many outlying areas. Anyway, the blog is back up, I get nervous when I can’t write. We had the most wonderful day anyway, the refugee soccer team showed up with Ali and their new van, we had lunch at the Round House, then went to see Ed Gulley – it was the kids idea – and their connection to Ed and Carol and their farm was immensely powerful.
The team came to the farm and gave some carrots to the donkeys and watched Red work.
I have some catching up to do on the blog, I’ll spread it out over tonight and tomorrow. After bingo, I helped Jean and Joan to their rooms and went to say goodnight to Madeline, who was sitting in the lounge along, watching TV as she does every night. From dinner on, the Mansion is s quiet place, Madeline likes to watch game shows on cable. She is in her 90’s, Maria and I are taking her out to lunch one day this week.
I thin this photo captured the feel of the evening.
I am not quite whole without my blog, and never at peace if I can’t write something. It’s good to have the blog back on, I’m grateful there was no serious damage to our farm and thinking of all those people whose homes were battered and damaged by falling trees.
We have a lot of big old beautiful trees in our town, and the dark side of that is the havoc they cause when they fall on homes. The town was filled with state and county trucks and utility vehicles cleaning up the trees and getting them off the power lines.
I have a new list of Mansion residents for people to write too. You may notice some names are missing. This is the nature of life at the Mansion. This week, several people familiar to me, and perhaps you are gone. The staff is not permitted to tell me where they have gone or if they are coming back, and I know not to ask. I’ll figure it out over time or some of the other residents might tell me.
Some residents die. Some go the hospital, some to rehab, some to nurse homes, some leave for undisclosed reasons. I get attached but not too attached and learn to let go. There is alway someone new, someone needy. Someone up whom to commit small acts of great kindness.
One resident had her savings spent by a family member and has no money. One needs a stuffed animal to sleep with, another needs new bras after her breast surgery, another needs notecards so she can answer the letters you send her, another needs new shoes, hers are falling off of her feet.
Small acts of great kindness, no miracles.
Time is precious at the Mansion, it passes in a different way.
Several weeks ago, we gave Diane, a Mansion resident, a realistic doll. It has worked out beautifully for her, giving her an object to love, care for and look after. I often ask the staff who else might benefit from a similar gift. We all came up with Ellen’s name one day, she loves stuffed animals and at our weekly Bingo games, I’ve seen her love the dogs and other stuffed animals that some of the residents have.
So I asked the staff about getting her a rabbit or dog and they agreed it would be useful to her. She keeps to herself at the Mansion and sometimes seems lonely. I found this very soft stuffed rabbit the other day and got it for Ellen. I gave it to her tonight before the Bingo game.
She clutched it to her chest and held it tight and her face was transformed, it had a look of great satisfaction. and also of love and gratitude. Before going to the Bingo game, she took the rabbit – she called it “Ginger” – down to her room so it would not be lost or displaced.
I’m still working to understand the power stuffed animals and realistic dolls sometimes have on the elderly and those residents with memory problems.
One thing I have seen is how much the residents being touched. Except for being changed and occasionally hugged, few of the residents are ever touched at all. And they miss it.
Another is that these realistic dolls and animals are almost like having a real dog, in a way. The residents project great love and loyalty on them. They are seen as protective, unconditionally loving and absolutely dedicated, words are not needed for this instantly deep and loving relationship.
And they are clearly an antidote to loneliness, another hazard of asisted living.
After the Bingo game, Ellen rushed back to her room to see Ginger, with whom she would sleep tonight. Seeing Ellen’s face was a great lift for me, that is the look I wait and hope to see in my work there. “My God,” she asked, over and over to me.
“Can I keep her?”
One of my projects is to put a realistic doll or stuffed animal in the hands of every resident might need one, from the observations of the staff and my own observations. I’ve seen that Diane’s life has been transformed by her baby Sue. Ellen showed the same depth of passion and need for Ginger. We’ll know more in a day or two.
You can write Ellen by sending your letter c/o Ellen, The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge N.Y., 12816. If you wish to support my Mansion work, you can send a contribution to the Gus Fund, c/o Jon Katz, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or to me via Paypal.
You can also contribute to the Mansion directly, via the new Mansion Amazon Wish List. There are only ten items left.
