Search Results for: Madeline

Can good people have ideas that are hateful to me?  Should that matter in my therapy work?

It’s the kind of question that always sends me back to the writing of Hannah Arendt, the great, late moral philosopher. She believed that good people are quite capable of ideas that others find hateful.

She also believed, as I do, that moral choices are personal, it matters what I believe, not what others believe.

In my work with the Mansion residents, and sometimes even with immigrants, I am confronted with ideas and beliefs that are so different from mine.

But there is a boundary there for me, the residents’ beliefs are not my concern, I am not there as a judge. I do not believe that compassion and empathy only go to people I like and agree with. I think the very point of empathy is to feel what other people feel, especially if they are very different from me.

I believe part of the sickness in my country is this deepening idea that people who think differently than us are our enemies, and must be hated. I am not a good hater, for all of my troubles.

I’ve been raising money for Mansion residents and refugees for some time now, and Art is the first person I’ve tried to raise money for that almost no one wanted to help. I bought a portable air conditioner, an audio reading of the Bible, a CD Player and a reclining chair.

For the first time since I’ve been seeking donations for this work, people did not rush to contribute to Art. In fact, nobody wanted to contribute to Art.

I got a $50 today for Mansion work from a good woman who worked hard for it, and she stipulated that the money should go to the Mansion for any purpose I wished, but she did not want a penny of it to go to Art.  She is not the first. A gay man sent me an angry message yesterday saying it was wrong for me to be helping Art, his said his beliefs were offensive and he would never send him a nickel.

I do understand why people would not wish to send him their money.

I respect that, that is part of the deal, nobody should ever feel any pressure to spend a dime for anything purpose they do not believe in or feel comfortable about. I don’t generally like to be told what to do, but people who work hard and send their money have every right to say where they want their money to go.

If their stipulations makes me uncomfortable, as they sometimes have, I will send it back, as I have sometimes done.

Art is responsible for his words and deeds, just like me.

With the arrival of his reclining chair in the next few days, Art will have what he needs, or at least what it is that I can give him. The Army of Good is interesting, because even though few people wanted to send money to help Art, a number of people of faith have written to him.

That has helped him tremendously, he feels as if he has a ministry (Art, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.)

Art is a fundamentalist Christian, he is well aware that his views are offensive to many, and sees himself as something of a martyr, warring on behalf of God.

I believe he is comfortable in that place, people can’t get too close that way. There are no fellow believers at the Mansion, not in Art’s fire-and-brimstone way, and he admits he has angered or troubled many people on his journey. He says he has no choice, he has been called to this work by God. It is his fate to suffer for his beliefs.

But his choices have left him very alone.

I got an e-mail earlier today from someone in Oregon, she asked me if working with Art make me uncomfortable. It doesn’t. I am there to help, period, and if I help him in any reasonable way, then I feel good. I don’t get to judge who is worthy and who is not, that is not something I do.

Art says he hopes to save me. I wish him luck with that.

I find a number of his religious beliefs to be offensive, yet I do  not find Art to be offensive.

He is a person of great integrity and commitment, he has suffered terribly in his life, and is now very much  isolated and alone, far from home, and without the brother he moved to the Mansion to be near.

John died almost as soon as Art got here. He believes that everything he feels comes from a place of love, he is, he says, where God wants him to be.

This week, I brought my friend Sandy, to talk to Art.

She is an evangelical whose views are very different from Art’s, as are mine. Sandy follows that I believe to be Christ’s teaching, she is not a political Christian, but a true Christian, at least in my eyes. Art  was very happy to talk to her.  And as importantly, to listen to her.

She said she wanted to work with him to help him soften his beliefs and manner. He said he would be happy to work with her. He asked me to invite her to come back.

You don’t have to be a therapist to see that Art is lonely, and isolated, that he pushes people away, that he was terribly abused in his life, and that some of his prayers are beautiful and soft.  I believe beneath the dogma there is a good heart. His views may cause pain to some, but he has also known pain almost all of his life. His first wife left  him for a woman, he has only good words for her.

Art is a different man when he is praying. He was a maintenance worker in Montana, he is always trying to help residents who need work done in their rooms. He also complains loudly to the staff if he thinks things are not right. We are showing him ways to speak more softly and patiently.

Art and I have made a connection with one another, he knows how I feel, i know how he feels, but human to human, we are able to talk with one another.

He likes praying for me and talking with me, he insists I am a man of God. Sandy is going to come every week to talk with. It is good for him to talk to people. “She’s been to Africa helping people there, so she can handle me,” he confided to me with a wink. Yes she can, I assured him. She is tough as nails, and not the least bit afraid of you.

Art is estranged from his family, he has nine children, none of whom speak to him.

Tomorrow I am going to call one of them and see if he wishes to reconnect with his father, Art would dearly love to talk to him, even though he sometimes denies it. He said they had to call him first, but that is just a posture, I think. He did readily agree to give me his son’s number. I saw his eyes tear up when he spoke of him.

It’s going to be a difficult call, I imagine. I hope to persuade his son to call Art, perhaps plan a visit here, he lives far away.

So I will keep on working with Art, hoping to make him more comfortable and connected. We have found a good Church for art, they are gentle and welcoming and would love to work with him also.  They are not troubled or intimidated by him, he is a big man, he can be loud. They have been coming to pick him up on Sundays and bring him back.

I don’t need to seek donations for him, which is a good thing, because I don’t think I would get too many. I think Art has what he needs right now. If the church can’t pick him up permanently, we can arrange for a taxi.

But I do wish to keep working with him, to keep trying to make him more comfortable, less judgmental perhaps, more connected to people who might care for him at this lonely time at the edge of his life. Art is complex, all the more creative I need to be.

Perhaps it is our own kinds of wilfulness that connect us to one another.

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If you wish to support my work at the Mansion or with the refugees,  you can donate either through my Post Office Box, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or via Paypal, [email protected]. Please mark your checks or donations for the Mansion/Refugee Fund.

The most valuable things you send the residents are our letters, messages, photos and thoughts. They feel connected to the wider world, it means everything to them. The current list of Mansion residents who wish to receive your messages is as follows:

Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, Bill, John K., Helen, Connie, Robert, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dottie, Tim, Arthur, Guerda, Brenda, John Z, Brother Peter.

We had a “pizza party” at the Mansion this afternoon to celebrate the beginning of Assisted Care Week. The Army Of Good bought 22 pizzas from the Round House Cafe and Bakery, they were delivered at 11:30 this morning at the Mansion. The dining room was festooned with balloons and banners sent by many of you,  and beautiful flowers from Lisa Hatch.

The residents were very happy to get this fresh and interesting food, they had a choice of pepperoni, plain, veggie, mushroom and sausage and tomato pizzas. I finally met Jane the nutritionist and we opened up another avenue of support for the Mansion residents.

I have to say, they sure loved the pizza, they devoured about 16 pies, the rest will go to the staff or be frozen.

We decided today to support monthly theme dinners – we’ll do an Octoberfest sausage and bratwurst lunch at the end of October, and Chinese food – the residents love Chinese food – to celebrate the Chinese New Year in January. After that we’ll help the staff buy special foods for special meals at regular intervals.

I learned today and on other days just how important meals can be at the Mansion, people look forward to them all day, and special themes and foods are exciting to them, healthy and stimulating.

An important week for the Mansion work. Wednesday, there will be a memorial service for Bruce, the much loved long-time resident of the Mansion who died last week. Red and I are going. Thursday, our trip to Lake George for lunch and a steamboat ride. The residents who are going are excited and a bit nervous.

I talked to one resident who conceded that he needed some new clothes. I will see if we can help him. The kitchen air conditioner blew out early this summer and it needs replacing, it gets awful hot in there in July and August.  That’s a project to do before next summer.

Jane’s electric lift and massage chair is coming the first week of October, she is thrilled and full of gratitude. I am  still figuring out Art’s chair, I’ll write about that later, it is more complex.

Robert loves his National Geographic photo books, he looks forward to his subscription to Builder Magazine.

If you wish to help with the Mansion work, you can donate money in two ways. One via Paypal, [email protected], please note the money is for the Mansion. Or you can send a check to Jon Katz, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, please note the funds are for the Mansion.

A number of people message me regularly seeking a list of Mansion residents. I cannot respond to these requests from the many people who seek updating of the lists. I update the residents list at least once every week,and the best I can do is to ask you to follow the blog posts.  The list changes often, and there are a lot of you and one of me.

This new list: Art, Brother Peter, Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, William, Helen, Connie, Robert, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dorothy, Guerda, Brenda, Bruce, John Z. The address is The Mansion, 11 S.  Union Avenue,

Thanks so much.

Bruce, the longest living resident of the Mansion died Tuesday.

At the Mansion, every man and woman is followed by a shadow, his or her own death. For every person, there is a reflection, a face mirrored into ground and memory. What haunts them sometimes follows them and becomes their companion. When Red and I came into the Mansion this afternoon, we both sensed that something had happened.

It was not difficult to see. People were sobbing, there was a deep and pervasive silence as thick as a fog.

Kelly and Logan, two of the most devoted staffers, workers on the night shift, were both in tears hugging one another. It is always a surprise and revelation to me to see every day how attached the Mansion staffers are to the residents, how hard they root for them, how deeply they feel their suffering and pain.

Care givers for the elderly in nursing homes and assisted care facilities  are notoriously underpaid, they work long hours in difficult conditions, yet they seem to be angels, I see them hugging and helping and laughing with the residents all the time, they seem to go up and down with them, empathy is not a concept for them, it is their life and work.

Death goes cast a shadow, and I saw it in their faces. On the way in, a staffer who looked stricken told me that Bruce had died, he had been living there for ten years. He was gentle and kind and courteous, he knew everyone and greeted everyone, and was unfailingly polite. I most often saw him sitting on a bench out on the grounds behind the main building.

We didn’t talk much and he didn’t need much, he was quiet and uncomplaining. “We need Red,” said Kelly, but first, I said, you need Red, and he sat with Logan and Kelly for a while while they hugged him and stroked him. Red is there for the staff as much as anyone, and they need him as much or more than anyone.

I am always touched by the comfort a dog like  Red can give people in pain.

“We need you both, everyone is very upset.”  But they especially needed Red.

One staffer had to go home, she was so affected and everyone had red eyes. The residents were just beginning to get and grasp the news, everyone knew Bruce and loved Bruce. Death has a particular meaning at the Mansion, it is felt by everyone. it is not something you read in the paper or online, it is right next door, the suddenly  empty seat in the dining room.

We went to the Activity Room and saw Jean and Barbara and Madeline, then we went down to see Art and we prayed together for Bruce and then we went to see Peggie who had asked for us, she just got back from the hospital, her back was hurting her. She threw her arms around Red and showed me a new dog stuffed animal someone from the blog had sent her.

“Did you hear about  Bruce?,” she asked, looked crushed. Peggie is the most outgoing person in the Mansion, she never looks crushed. She and I joke about it, she has the best smile in the Mansion. But no smile today.

Sylvie was waiting in the hallway for Red and I, we talked about Bruce. “A nice, nice, man,” she said.  She shook her head. She wanted to go to the memorial service, she said. His death was like a cold wind, it was blowing through the Mansion, everyone seemed quiet, reflective, down. There will be a memorial service for him, and the Mansion is putting a plaque on the bench where he always sat.

It felt especially good to be at the Mansion today, we were needed, and that always feels good. Red did his work with special focus and intensity, it was a wonderful thing to see. I think the Mansion residents would love to get some letters from you, they see you as family now, and they have just lost one of their own family.

I visited with Red and every staff member who wanted to see him, they all said what a tough day it was, and I thought of the roller coaster of emotions their work is, death and suffering is not a stranger to them. They had all been crying. How hard it must be to do hours of caretaking and cheering when your own heart is heavy.

All I could think of to do for them was to order a pizza for them so that they didn’t have to cook their own food. They can, of course, take care of themselves, they do it all the time, they see this all the time. At least they’ll have something to eat.

Bruce had been at the Mansion longer than anyone, and he loved being there. He had a special meaning for the staff, he was the memory of the place in some ways. Ten years is a very long time to be there.

I talked to Bruce a few times, Red and I sometimes sat with him on the bench,  I did not see  him that often or know him that well. I know he was much-loved and was a good and kind man. I am careful not to take in the suffering and loss I see, it would make my work impossible, but the sadness in the Mansion was permeable, it seeped through and into my own consciousness.

I do know he got your letters, I often saw him reading them on the bench.

I was happy to be there, it mattered. A number of the residents asked for Red, or even for me.

All you can really do is talk to people and listen to them. It does matter.

When I left, they were trading stories of Bruce and trying to figure out which of the residents most needed a hug and some company. I told them the people downstairs, where Bruce lived,  were in a bad way, but they already knew. I think we need to go back tomorrow.

I think they would love some letters or messages. The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge. N.Y., 12816. Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, Bill, John K., Helen, Connie, Robert, Shirley, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dorothy, Tim, Arthur, Guerda, Brenda, John Z.

I suppose there comes a point in many of our lives when we know we will never have another dog. It is not something I have thought a lot about it, although as I grow older, it is a factor in my thinking about what kind of dog to get. Jean brought this home to me this morning at the Mansion.

She is one of the sweetest people I know, and she loves Red dearly. She practically melts when she sees him, and she always bends over to him to touch him and kiss him on the forehead. He is very attached to her, this morning, we went to the Mansion early to drop off 100 copies of the Mansion short stories book, “Tales Of The Mansion.”

I knocked on Jeans’ room and she told me to come in, she was making her bed. I saw a dog bed on the floor next to the bed, with a stuffed dog lying in. Jean and Red talked to one another for a few moments – I usually try to be silent during those times – and then Jean stood up and said.

“I so want to have a dog.” She sounded so uncharacteristically sad. Then she paused, and said with resignation and considerable dignity, “I guess it’s just too late. I know it’s too late for me…”

I see that sometimes the reality of their lives is close, sometimes it fades, and is jarred to consciousness. Red can bring happiness, but also sadness sometimes. Because he always goes away. The Mansion is a happy and loving place, the residents are very grateful to be there, but of course there is a sense of loss that sometimes appears like a dark cloud, and then drifts away.

I did not have a response for that, her pain and sadness were palpable, and I wondered if that day would come for me, and how I would react to it. Jean and I talked about it for a few minutes, she said it was the end of a kind of life, a part of life when you could not have a dog.

In this therapy work, you learn or are taught to never try to cheer anybody up or tell them things will be fine, you can’t promise that and it isn’t your job. I just nodded and let her hold Red for a while.

I see more and more of the bravery of the Mansion residents, they have given up almost all of the things they love in the world to come to a safe place and relieve their families of increasingly intolerable burdens. But I can see in the longing way they look at Red their sorrow at finding themselves too late in life to have a dog, and their joy at seeing a dog like Red. You can write Jean c/o The Mansion 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

I have a new and updated list of Mansion residents who wish to receive your letters and photos and messages. A reminder that I can’t and shouldn’t update people on when letters and gifts have been received, or how and when they are being used. Asking is a kind of pressure, and privacy is important there.

When we give to the residents, it is of course a selfless thing, we let go. Sometimes they can respond, sometimes they can’t.  I can tell you that your letters and messages are the most precious gifts these people ever  receive, and they are grateful. 

I cannot list birthdays, that’s private information I am not authorized to write about unless told, nor can I publish photos with the residents name. I only take photos when people agree to it, and I always ask permission. The list changes all the time.  And such a chore would be very burdensome.

The new list is as follows, you can write to them c/o The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, William, Brother Peter, Helen, Connie, Robert, Shirley, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dorothy, Art, Guerda, Brenda, Bruce, John Z.

September 11 to 15 is Assisted Care Week, and the Mansion is one of the few facilities celebrating it that I know of.  I am proposing a week-long series of events,  supported by the Army Of Good.

I’m sponsoring a “Pizza Party” at the Mansion on September 11 to kick off the week. We have invited the 30 current residents and 15 staff members, most from the Mansion, some from its sister facility a few miles away. I’ve asked the Round House to provide a mix of pizzas for a lunch-time celebration beginning at 11:30 that day.

I’ve been invited, and Red of course. We checked with the staff nutritionist, we are ordering three kinds of pizzas, some with sausage and/or pepperoni, some plain, some with vegetables.

Scott Carrino is giving me an estimate this week.

On Thursday of that week, I’ve arranged for the Mansion residents who can handle it to go on a boat ride  from the Lake George Steamship Authority, the Lac Du Saint Sacrament. It will be a tour of Lake George and lunch in the boat’s big dining room, from noon to 2 p.m.  The residents have wanted to do this for a very long time.

I’m going to help out and take some photos. Everyone would like Red to come, and as a certified therapy dog, he could go, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Red has never been on a boat, and I won’t wish to find out that it spooks him, not on that day. That trip, for 14 people, cost around $425 dollars. I find that I am enjoying helping out with the resident’s care when it’s appropriate and non medical. One of the staffers says I have a nurse in me.

There’s also a chance that week that our new book “Tales Of The Mansion” will be printed and available for the residents to have, they are excited about the book, so am I. (You can pre-order a copy (I will sign them if  you wish at Battenkill Books, right here online, or on the phone, 518 677 2515, the book is $10 plus shipping, they take Paypal and major credit cards, they’ve already sold 150 copies.)

If Connie’s rehab continues to go well, she may also be back at the Mansion during that week, which would be fitting.

I’m thinking some of your creative and much appreciated decorations and balloons and favors and gift bags would be much appreciated during these celebrations. So would your cards and messages and photographs, the greatest gifts of all. The residents on the list for letters, etc. are Winnie, Brother Peter, Bruce W., Brenda, Tim, Dorothy, Barbara, Alanna, Shirley, Robert, Connie, Helen, John K., William, Allan, Joan, Madeline, Jean, Alice, Diane, Jane, Sylvie, Gerry, Mary, Ellen, Jean. The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

We hope to pick a winner at the end of the month for the winner of the best animal photos contest. The members of the Army of Good and readers of the blog have been invited to send photos of their favorite animals – theirs or anyone’s – to Julie Smith, Activity Director, The Mansion, 11 S.  Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. The three top winners will be chosen at the end of the month, they will each get a prize. The residents wanted to pay something back to you good people who have been so good to them.

But we’d love to display the photos during Assisted Care Week, so feel free to send them in. I have funds for the pizza party, and the boat trip, thanks. Donations for this continuing work are welcome. There is about $1,500 left in the fund. If you wish to donate, you can send a contribution to me at P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or via Paypal, [email protected]. You are doing a lot of good, and thank you.