I looked out the window this morning and saw the thick fog over the pastures and the Red Barn, I ran outside naked with my camera and took some photos. This is a picture you can’t wait for because the sun will burn the fog off and I love to see the farm shrouded in mist.
How beautiful it was out there, and how cold. As the mist began to lift, I scrambled back into the house.
About eight years ago, I spotted this leather jacket in a thrift shop and I bought it for Maria. We both loved it, but it ended up in a closet and she forget about it. Yesterday, she found it and it was covered with grime and dust, even some mold.
She fell in love with the jacket all over again, and I’m hell bent on restoring it.
I spent a good hour scrubbing it with soap and water and am heading to the hardware store this morning to get some leather oil. I love this jacket, and am determined to bring it back to life. It belongs on Maria as the chill weather comes.
It’s less than a week when Bud comes to us, assuming he passes one more heartworm test on Friday. We are ready – dog beds, crates, all we need is some treats.
Carol Johnson, who has been nurturing Bud back to health, says she is cracking down (dog biscuits only!). I’m dubious, Carol is one big squishy heart, she has a hard time resisting Bud’s imploring us, he loves to snack.
And I don’t blame her, she seems the awful ways in which some of these dogs have suffered, it is hard not to spoil them a bit.
But there is other news today from Carol and South Arkansas regarding Boston Terriers.
Carol says she is going Monday to pick up a female Boston Terrier found a few days ago starving in the woods in South Arkansas, where Carol lives.
Carol works with Friends Of Homeless Animals, a rescue group I support. And it will be a lucky dog if she falls into Carol’s care.
She said it seems the dog was abandoned in the woods – this happens often in Arkansas she says – and was living there for weeks or months, she is emaciated down to less than 10 lbs, she is all bones and cuts and sores.
Carol says sometimes when she gets to a home where a dog is being held, the dog has already been given away.
But if the dog is still there, she will bring it to the vet for testing, it is almost sure to have heartworm like Bud. And she may suffer from other health issues as well, Carol doesn’t know how old she is.
I must admit when I heard this story, I wanted to adopt the dog on the spot, but there is much to be learned about her first, assuming she falls into the loving and capable hands of FOHA and Carol.
Maria and I are both agree that three dogs are enough for us, given what else is going on. Still, I am a bit wobbly on this. But she will find a home, I’m sure. Lots of people wanted Bud.
The poor dog will be in good hands with Carol and FOHA, know how to bring dogs back from the edge of life, they are patient and committed and loving.
Carol says she will let me know about the dog when she sees her and gets her to the vet, if that happens. I’ll follow this story and let people know, this is a dog, I feel, that must get to a good home.
In any case, if all goes well with his tests, Bud will be on a big truck heading to Brattleboro, Vt. at noon Saturday, when we will go and meet him and bring him home. I am excited.
From Gus to Bud, though megaesophagus and loss and Bud’s own struggle, this is a rich and powerful tale. From the minute I saw him on the FOHA website and spoke with Carol, I felt Bud belong at Bedlam Farm and so did Maria.
I have a strong feeling we shall see him on Saturday. Come on home, Bud. You’ve had enough trouble and stress for any dog this year, time to find peace and safety and love here at Bedlam Farm. Like Gus before you, you’ll get to meet a lot of people at the Open House, if you’re up for it.
And who knows what the fates have in store? Maybe there will one day be a BT sister.
A novelist wrote in her book recently that the important things in a marriage are not the big events, but the little tensions.
Maria and I are soul mates, we see the world in the same way, but we have been together for a decade now, and we deal with the little tensions often.
There was one this week, and it is helping me better understand my life, and also me.
Some good friends of ours took a trip recently and Maria was telling me about it and she said she would take a trip like that.
I thought I replied that our friends took a trip I would not wish to take, it seemed uninteresting to me. She seemed annoyed with me, and I asked her why, and she said that she heard me saying something quite different: that it was a silly trip, and they were foolish for taking it.
I was surprised, and irritated. I didn’t recall saying anything like that. It was not how I felt.
She said that was what I was quite clearly implying, and she added that she thought at times I was judgmental and disapproving of people. She said that was quite at odds with her view of me as being open to new experience, which was something she loved about me.
She clearly didn’t love the judgmental part.
I started to protest, and defend myself, deny her interpretation. I felt myself getting annoyed and defensive. I told myself to stop. Be quiet, Jon.
One lesson I’ve learned in recent years is to consider criticism of me carefully. Initially at least, I believe every bad thing said about me is true. That way I will at least consider it. How else can I learn what I want to know? How else can I grow?
Before rushing to argue or defend myself, I try (sometimes I even succeed) to pause and assume, even for a moment that criticisms of me are true before I deny them or argue about them.
Just shut up, i tell myself and consider what you are being told. Rather than deny that I am judgmental or disapproving at times, it would be better, I thought, and more productive, if I instead considered why this might be so and what I can do about it.
Every time I watch the news, I am reminded of my belief that arguing has never solved any problem I know of in the world or in my life.
So I said nothing and thought about it.
I am beginning to get older, and I have noticed that I am sometimes impatient, and sometimes frustrated by the things I can’t do any longer, by clerks in stores rushing to open doors and help me carry bags out to the car. I resent the number of pills i take for my heart and diabetes, and the inevitable side effects they cause.
Maria is 17 years younger than I am, and that sometimes matters. I have many more years behind me than ahead of me, and getting older is not something younger people can always understand. And how could they? They are not old.
Given my own upbringing, I learned to be wary and judgmental reflexively, it was what I saw around me the whole time I was growing up.
I read through some literature about Dyslexia online, some from the doctor who first diagnosed me, and I reminded of how much trouble I had with issues related to spelling, frustration in classrooms, responding to information quickly, organizing thoughts, flexible thinking and working memory.
Dyslexics often have trouble translating their emotions into the words and sentences that most people use. It is quite possible that I might have one thought and expressed it in ways that sound quite different to other people, event those who know me as well as Maria. When I first met Maria she said she always saw through my troubles and into the inner soul. The real me.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t sound judgmental or disapproving or rigid to her.
Sometimes my words sound harsher and sharper than my heart. That could be related to Dyslexia or to my own history of emotional turbulence, I was often angry and frightened, and both of things can often be connected. This confusion about thinking and language can make one seem judgmental or sound judgmental.
I was intrigued at this disconnect with Maria, a person with whom I rarely disconnect. And I was also thinking back on many of the conflicts I have had which surprise me, people getting upset with me over things I did not understand or intend.
Honestly, my friend’s trip did not bother me at all, nor did the fact they took it. I am very fond of them and believe quite strongly that they should take any trips they wish anytime they want, just like I would do myself.
I think what I thought I was saying was that I hoped they had a good time, but it was not a trip I would wish to take. It seemed dull and boring to me. Is that judgmental? It could sure sound that way, it doesn’t sound that way to me.
Since Maria is so honest and forthright, I fully accept that I said it in the way that she heard it, and this was something I could handle if I paid attention to it.
Something I want to take responsibility for. I don’t wish to hide behind Dyslexia or my raggedy childhood, but Dyslexics often have trouble communicating precisely what I mean. In my writing, I think I do a good job of that, but I do stumble at times.
The answer for me, as always, is to take full responsibility for my life. I recently read an interview with TV and movie star Jennifer Aniston, sho was diagnosed with Dyslexia in her 20’s. “I felt like all my childhood trauma-dies, tragedies, dramas were explained,” she told a reporter.
Me too I was diagnosed in my 60s – but explaining them doesn’t mean they are forgiven or miraculously disappear.
I have to work hard, perhaps harder than some people, to see myself as my truthful friends and family sees me. As long as I remind blind or unaware of my own truth, I will feel badly about myself, and puzzled about other people’s concerns for me.
I will, the shrinks warn, keep putting myself down and seeing everyone else as better, holier, and more loved than I am. The Dyslexic, like the abused or troubled child – I have to say I am all three – will look up to everyone in whom they see goodness, beauty and love because they do not see these qualities in themselves.
That is a toxic formula for judgment and resentment, it causes me to turn to others for things I need to learn and do for myself. That has been my work of recent years. A therapist told me that many people have more severe problems than I do, but no one worked harder at dealing with them. I was proud of that.
I can’t force this kind of truth or self-awareness or declare myself miraculously healed. I cannot force myself to see what others see in me. I can only do the hard work of self-awareness.
What can I do?
Work very hard to see myself truthfully, acknowledge the worst parts of me, affirm who I am and who I wish to be. And yes, for all that, I must always be willing to live my loneliness, my brokenness, my incompleteness, fearlessly and without equivocation.
I am learning to trust that God, or whatever passes for God in me, will continue to bring me the people who will not be afraid to show me the truth about who I am. That is how we heal.
Audio: The Truth About Who I Am
I’ve decided to publish a continuing portrait series of Joan, a close friend and a resident of the Mansion Assisted Care Facility. Joan has severe memory loss and I imagine she will be one of the first residents of the Mansion’s new Memory Unit under construction in the same building where she lives now.
I want to show the beauty and life that is such a part of the memory-deprived and of those often beautiful people whose disease we so cruelly call Dementia. Most of the memory-impaired in America are locked away behind closed doors, out of sight and mind.
But they have the most beautiful thoughts and souls. Joan is a great testimony to that.
There is nothing demented about Joan, she does not know my name, what I do, or where I live, but there is a love and trust between us that comes close to or surpasses people around me with their full memory.
She always remembers me, she never loses her memory of me.
We just love one another, we smile at each other, dance with other, and at Bingo Friday night, we sang Broadway shoes together. Monday, we are assembling a new built into-the wall CD player for Joan along with five CD’s – the Beatles, Willie Nelson, Fleetwood Mac.
Joanie thinks she is going home every morning, so she packs up her belongings every night. Her room is bare of anything but sheets and a blanket and the things the staff unpacks for her every night. Joan loves music, it calms and soothes here, and I will be so happy to sit with her while she listens to the CD’s. So will the Mansion staff, she is much loved and cared for.
Joan’s head is full of stories and ideas, some of which she struggles to express. She gets frustrated, restless, confused. It can be awfully frightening and disconnected to lose one’s memory, and understanding of the world.
I am planning (with family approval) a series of rides around the area while listening to music, Joan’s absolutely favorite thing. She has lost much of her memory, but none of her sweetness, joy and passion for life.
I am happy to say that like so many others who know her, I love Joanie, and I’m not sure, but I think she loves me back. She loves to pose for photos, and I make sure she has the clothes and other essentials she needs.
I’m devoting this photo series to memory, and to the good people who care for the Joanie’s of the world, and the good people who have lost their memory but not their soul. I’ll put one photo of Joanie up each day for a while. Memory is important, memory is us.
I can’t do the Mansion work without your support. Please consider contributing by sending a check to Jon Katz, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816., or via Paypal, [email protected]. Please mark the payment, “The Mansion,” so I can be sure it goes where you want it to go. And thanks. Our fund is getting pretty low. My next project is to purchase a Karaoke Machine for $200. Believe me, the videos will be worth it.
