I may blog occasionally:
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Where I'll be for the next few months
I've left the Post-Star and am heading to Frankfurt, Germany for the next few months, thanks to an Arthur F. Burns Fellowship from the International Center for Journalists!
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Helping him find his way
Update: This story received a first-place feature writing award in NYSAPA's writing contest for 2007-08.
--
The Post-Star
June 10, 2007
Helping Him Find His Way:
Siblings pull together to care for parent with Alzheimer's disease
By AMANDA BENSEN
Alzheimer's Association of Northeastern New York: http://www.alzneny.org/
National Alzheimer's Association: http://www.alz.org/, 24-hour helpline (888) 272-3900
Office for the Aging, Warren County: 761-6347, Washington County: 746-2420, Saratoga County: 884-4100
U.S. Alzheimer's Disease Education and Referral Center: http://www.alzheimers.org/, (800) 438-4380
--
The Post-Star
June 10, 2007
Helping Him Find His Way:
Siblings pull together to care for parent with Alzheimer's disease
By AMANDA BENSEN
~~~
Bernard Bondzinski is looking for something, but he can't remember what. The feeling has been nagging him for a long time.
It's not in the napkins, the package of hamburger buns, or the bag of chips set out on the kitchen table for the Memorial Day barbecue.
It's not in the pattern of the tablecloth, although he studies it closely.
He looks at the face of the woman across the table. She wants something -- what is it?
"Let's go outside," she is saying.
He doesn't know her name, but he accepts the support of her arm and moves slowly toward the yard. Maybe it's out there, this nameless missing thing that makes its presence known only by its absence.
Who are these people leaning down to kiss him on the cheek, hold his hand, offer him a mug of root beer?
Nice bunch.
MORE ABOUT ALZHEIMER'S DISEASE
Alzheimer's disease was named after the German doctor Alois Alzheimer, who described the first known case of the disease in 1906. In the hundred years since, the number of cases diagnosed has risen dramatically.
According to the national Alzheimer's Association, Alzheimer's disease is currently eroding the brains of more than 5 million Americans, which is 10 percent more than five years ago. At this rate, the U.S. population may include as many as 16 million senior citizens with Alzheimer's disease by 2050 unless more effective prevention and treatment methods are developed.
The disease's prevalence increases sharply with age.
Most Alzheimer's patients are older than 65 and the disease affects 42 percent of people 85 and older. Age is the biggest risk factor for developing the disease, but a family history of Alzheimer's and poor cardiovascular health may increase that risk.
Some studies have also shown that people who suffered a serious head injury at some point in their life may be at a higher risk for developing Alzheimer's.
It is a fatal disease that currently has no cure, although some prescription drugs can temporarily slow the symptoms.
It destroys brain cells and neurons, starting with those that control memory and thinking skills.
With time, it progressed to areas of the brain associated with physical functioning. In the final stages of the disease, patients become completely incapacitated and require constant care.
WARNING SIGNS
1. Memory loss, particularly short-term.
2. Difficulty performing familiar tasks.
3. Problems with language and vocabulary.
4. Disorientation to time and place.
5. Poor or decreased judgment.
6. Problems with abstract thinking.
7. Misplacing things.
8. Mood swings or behavioral changes.
9. Changes in personality, such as sudden confusion, suspicion or fearfulness.
10. Loss of initiative, increased sleeping and passivity.
Source: Alzheimer's Association
Bernard Bondzinski is looking for something, but he can't remember what. The feeling has been nagging him for a long time.
It's not in the napkins, the package of hamburger buns, or the bag of chips set out on the kitchen table for the Memorial Day barbecue.
It's not in the pattern of the tablecloth, although he studies it closely.
He looks at the face of the woman across the table. She wants something -- what is it?
"Let's go outside," she is saying.
He doesn't know her name, but he accepts the support of her arm and moves slowly toward the yard. Maybe it's out there, this nameless missing thing that makes its presence known only by its absence.
Who are these people leaning down to kiss him on the cheek, hold his hand, offer him a mug of root beer?
Nice bunch.
~~~
"Nice bunch" is how Bernard described his own family recently when his oldest daughter, Pat Frederick, showed him a framed family portrait. She pointed out faces that were once familiar: his wife, Lena, and their seven children, their smiles preserved beneath glass.
"That's you right there," Pat told him.
"Me?" he asked in surprise.
"Yep," she replied.
He looked at the faces a while longer, but couldn't find the memories.
"Huh," he said.
She sat down next to him and watched a movie on television, answering his questions about the actions on screen. Eventually, she would fix him supper, then help him get ready for bed. If he woke in the night feeling confused, frightened or restless, she would be there.
Parents are supposed to take care of their children, not the other way around.
But as Pat puts it, "Life plays dirty little tricks on us sometimes and changes us in ways we don't want."
Frederick and four of her six siblings are in-home caregivers for their father, Bernard "Pete" Bondzinski, who has Alzheimer's disease. They have developed a rotating shift schedule, like nurses, so that someone is with him in his home 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Most of them have full-time jobs and families of their own, but they have been keeping up this arrangement for three years, starting in 2004 with their mother, Lena, who died in 2005. The children knew she didn't want to go into a nursing home, so they had family meetings and agreed to share the burden of caregiving.
"We decided we would do what we could, as long as we could, and that's what we did," Pat said.
As Lena entered the final stages of Alzheimer's, Bernard was slipping into the disease's grasp almost unnoticed.
"He was always very private, in control of his world. If he resisted something, we would say, 'Oh, Dad's just being stubborn,' " Pat remembered.
But the signs were there. They took away his car after noticing that he drove at excessive speeds and got lost in familiar places. He started burning his eggs in the mornings. Sometimes he refused to change his shirt for days at a time, like an obstinate child. That was one of the toughest phases to go through, Pat said.
"Where do you say, I'm taking over? Where do you say, you have to do something, and where do you say, I respect your right to do as you please? That's the hard part," she reflected.
As she spoke, her father dozed in his armchair, as he had been doing all morning. He sometimes sleeps all day, or simply sits in silence, petting the cat and watching television.
"Where he's at right now, it looks hard ... but it's easier," she said. "What we focus on right now is keeping him contented, feeling secure. Instead of trying to bring him back to our world, we go into his world ... You just expect that whatever happens, that's the normal for that day."
Pat works weekdays as a receptionist and spends Friday night through Sunday morning at her father's house. Her five sisters -- a sixth lives in Florida -- take the other shifts, while their brother handles things like bills and yard work. They don't want Bernard to have to leave the house he built himself, using wood from the scenic swath of land in South Glens Falls where he used to run a dairy farm. He has lived on the property since his Lithuanian immigrant parents moved there when he was 6 years old.
"My dad is so tied to this land. There's no way he would ever feel good being anyplace except where he is," Pat said. "Would we ever consider an alternative? ... It would have to be a last resort."
In many ways, Bernard's children feel that they are watching their father's life in reverse. He's slipping backward through time, into corners of his memory they've never encountered, giving them a glimpse of the child his own parents knew long ago.
"He's getting younger. I've seen him act down to probably around four, where he would say, 'Pick me up,' " said Carol Kennedy, one of his daughters. "And yet he will snap back into the adult, telling you what to do -- it keeps you on your toes."
A few weeks ago, Carol stopped by her father's house during Pat's shift on a Saturday afternoon.
A relative had died suddenly the night before and the family was trying to cope with that loss without disrupting Bernard's calm routine, but Carol was visibly stressed.
She collapsed with a sigh in a kitchen chair between her father and sister.
Bernard was in a good mood. He had spent the last 10 minutes opening and closing a musical birthday card, jumping slightly and chuckling each time the tune exploded from the unfolding paper.
"Nice bunch" is how Bernard described his own family recently when his oldest daughter, Pat Frederick, showed him a framed family portrait. She pointed out faces that were once familiar: his wife, Lena, and their seven children, their smiles preserved beneath glass.
"That's you right there," Pat told him.
"Me?" he asked in surprise.
"Yep," she replied.
He looked at the faces a while longer, but couldn't find the memories.
"Huh," he said.
She sat down next to him and watched a movie on television, answering his questions about the actions on screen. Eventually, she would fix him supper, then help him get ready for bed. If he woke in the night feeling confused, frightened or restless, she would be there.
Parents are supposed to take care of their children, not the other way around.
But as Pat puts it, "Life plays dirty little tricks on us sometimes and changes us in ways we don't want."
Frederick and four of her six siblings are in-home caregivers for their father, Bernard "Pete" Bondzinski, who has Alzheimer's disease. They have developed a rotating shift schedule, like nurses, so that someone is with him in his home 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Most of them have full-time jobs and families of their own, but they have been keeping up this arrangement for three years, starting in 2004 with their mother, Lena, who died in 2005. The children knew she didn't want to go into a nursing home, so they had family meetings and agreed to share the burden of caregiving.
"We decided we would do what we could, as long as we could, and that's what we did," Pat said.
As Lena entered the final stages of Alzheimer's, Bernard was slipping into the disease's grasp almost unnoticed.
"He was always very private, in control of his world. If he resisted something, we would say, 'Oh, Dad's just being stubborn,' " Pat remembered.
But the signs were there. They took away his car after noticing that he drove at excessive speeds and got lost in familiar places. He started burning his eggs in the mornings. Sometimes he refused to change his shirt for days at a time, like an obstinate child. That was one of the toughest phases to go through, Pat said.
"Where do you say, I'm taking over? Where do you say, you have to do something, and where do you say, I respect your right to do as you please? That's the hard part," she reflected.
As she spoke, her father dozed in his armchair, as he had been doing all morning. He sometimes sleeps all day, or simply sits in silence, petting the cat and watching television.
"Where he's at right now, it looks hard ... but it's easier," she said. "What we focus on right now is keeping him contented, feeling secure. Instead of trying to bring him back to our world, we go into his world ... You just expect that whatever happens, that's the normal for that day."
Pat works weekdays as a receptionist and spends Friday night through Sunday morning at her father's house. Her five sisters -- a sixth lives in Florida -- take the other shifts, while their brother handles things like bills and yard work. They don't want Bernard to have to leave the house he built himself, using wood from the scenic swath of land in South Glens Falls where he used to run a dairy farm. He has lived on the property since his Lithuanian immigrant parents moved there when he was 6 years old.
"My dad is so tied to this land. There's no way he would ever feel good being anyplace except where he is," Pat said. "Would we ever consider an alternative? ... It would have to be a last resort."
Going back in time
In many ways, Bernard's children feel that they are watching their father's life in reverse. He's slipping backward through time, into corners of his memory they've never encountered, giving them a glimpse of the child his own parents knew long ago.
"He's getting younger. I've seen him act down to probably around four, where he would say, 'Pick me up,' " said Carol Kennedy, one of his daughters. "And yet he will snap back into the adult, telling you what to do -- it keeps you on your toes."
A few weeks ago, Carol stopped by her father's house during Pat's shift on a Saturday afternoon.
A relative had died suddenly the night before and the family was trying to cope with that loss without disrupting Bernard's calm routine, but Carol was visibly stressed.
She collapsed with a sigh in a kitchen chair between her father and sister.
Bernard was in a good mood. He had spent the last 10 minutes opening and closing a musical birthday card, jumping slightly and chuckling each time the tune exploded from the unfolding paper.
"Celebrate good times, come on!" the song declared.
When he seemed to be losing interest, Carol leaned in close to her father and sang a snippet of a children's song to him.
"The itsy bitsy spider ..." she sang, then made a funny face.
He grinned.
"Woof," he said, with a glint of mischief in his bright blue eyes.
"Meow," she answered, laughing.
"We get goofy sometimes. We all have our own special ways of connecting, and that's mine," she explained to the others in the room.
"It works, doesn't it Dad?" she added.
"Did it?" he asked. Most of his answers are questions.
"Well, it gave me a laugh, and I needed that," she said.
"That's good, isn't it?" he asked.
The brain works in mysterious ways, and fleeting moments of clarity can emerge from the fog of Alzheimer's. Seizing this one, the women began to sing their father's favorite song, "God Bless America."
He joined in, and remembered all the words.
A few hours later, Pat made Bernard a grilled cheese sandwich.
"What do I do with this?" he asked her.
No one would ask for the situation facing the Bondzinski family, but they have discovered rewards amid the challenge of caring for their parents.
It has brought the siblings closer than they ever were and taught them to let certain differences go. There are four or five types of butter and margarine in Bernard's fridge, and as many kinds of bread on the counter -- it's not worth fighting over the "right" way to make a sandwich.
"This forced us to experience the strength of each other," Carol said. "And oh my goodness, have I learned! We've all learned."
As their father has become more childlike, his daughters say they have appreciated the chance to get closer to him. He was the kind of father who showed his love by always being there, not by flowery displays of emotion or physical affection, they said. Now, they feel free to hold his hand or say "I love you, Dad" -- things that would have made him uncomfortable in the past.
"It's like getting to look at someone who has dropped all their defenses. You get to see the core person," Carol said. "I have found beauty in it. I have found healing in it. And yet -- do I want my children to parent me? Absolutely not. I know that sounds like a contradiction. But I know the emotional toll it can take."
They share their thoughts with each other in a notebook, keeping track of everything from Bernard's sleeping and eating habits to their own moments of grief, anger, joy and exhaustion.
"He becomes confused as to day and night -- forgets if he's eaten, never remembers who we are, forgetting in an instant what we've just said to him ... and what we once thought we'd established over a lifetime," Gail Kenyon, another sister, wrote in June of last year. "It's old and new all at once. The disability of the brain, its ability to make the known unknowable, family into strangers, is old. This terrible affliction was expressed in more colorful, detailed, heartwrenching ways in our mom. Dad's world is more black and white, just as he's been over the years."
The most important thing they can do for their father, the Bondzinski children believe, is to simply return the gift he gave them for so many years -- a quiet, supportive presence.
"I think even if you can't take care of your parents, even if they have to go into a nursing home -- you can be a presence. Be fearful if you need to be, be sad if you need to be, but be it there," Gail said. "In the last hours of my mother's life ... she didn't have to know our names, or even that we were her daughters. She just knew that we were there."
Bernard met his wife, Lena, when the two were teenagers in a local accordion band. They were married for almost 65 years and in the last several years Bernard was Lena's caregiver as she was increasingly disabled by arthritis and Alzheimer's.
By the time she died in 2005, Bernard was in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and in some ways, that eased his pain, Pat said.
"He knew she died, he was with her when she died, but then a part of him sort of closed off afterwards, except to sometimes wonder where she was," Pat said. "Every once in a while now, he'll say, 'Where's my woman?' And we'll have to say, 'Well, she's not here right now.' "
Lena and Bernard had a favorite song, as many couples do -- Barry Manilow's "In Apple Blossom Time."
Pat sang a few bars of it to her father the other day, as she looked out the kitchen window at the yard where her parents once strolled beneath apple trees.
"I'll be with you in apple blossom time, I'll be with you to change your name to mine. One day in May, I'll come and say, happy the bride the sunshine's on today ..."
Her voice broke as she remembered all that was lost -- the apple trees, her mother, and now her father, slowly disappearing.
The kitchen clock ticked out several long measures of silence while she wept.
Bernard watched his daughter with the steady, curious gaze of a child trying to unravel the mysteries of grown-up behavior. He leaned forward in his chair slightly, as if he wanted to say or do something, but wasn't sure what.
"It's difficult," he said at last.
Pat looked at him thoughtfully, surprised at this moment of coherence.
"Yes," she replied. "It is difficult."
~~~
When he seemed to be losing interest, Carol leaned in close to her father and sang a snippet of a children's song to him.
"The itsy bitsy spider ..." she sang, then made a funny face.
He grinned.
"Woof," he said, with a glint of mischief in his bright blue eyes.
"Meow," she answered, laughing.
"We get goofy sometimes. We all have our own special ways of connecting, and that's mine," she explained to the others in the room.
"It works, doesn't it Dad?" she added.
"Did it?" he asked. Most of his answers are questions.
"Well, it gave me a laugh, and I needed that," she said.
"That's good, isn't it?" he asked.
The brain works in mysterious ways, and fleeting moments of clarity can emerge from the fog of Alzheimer's. Seizing this one, the women began to sing their father's favorite song, "God Bless America."
He joined in, and remembered all the words.
A few hours later, Pat made Bernard a grilled cheese sandwich.
"What do I do with this?" he asked her.
Unexpected blessings
It has brought the siblings closer than they ever were and taught them to let certain differences go. There are four or five types of butter and margarine in Bernard's fridge, and as many kinds of bread on the counter -- it's not worth fighting over the "right" way to make a sandwich.
"This forced us to experience the strength of each other," Carol said. "And oh my goodness, have I learned! We've all learned."
As their father has become more childlike, his daughters say they have appreciated the chance to get closer to him. He was the kind of father who showed his love by always being there, not by flowery displays of emotion or physical affection, they said. Now, they feel free to hold his hand or say "I love you, Dad" -- things that would have made him uncomfortable in the past.
"It's like getting to look at someone who has dropped all their defenses. You get to see the core person," Carol said. "I have found beauty in it. I have found healing in it. And yet -- do I want my children to parent me? Absolutely not. I know that sounds like a contradiction. But I know the emotional toll it can take."
They share their thoughts with each other in a notebook, keeping track of everything from Bernard's sleeping and eating habits to their own moments of grief, anger, joy and exhaustion.
"He becomes confused as to day and night -- forgets if he's eaten, never remembers who we are, forgetting in an instant what we've just said to him ... and what we once thought we'd established over a lifetime," Gail Kenyon, another sister, wrote in June of last year. "It's old and new all at once. The disability of the brain, its ability to make the known unknowable, family into strangers, is old. This terrible affliction was expressed in more colorful, detailed, heartwrenching ways in our mom. Dad's world is more black and white, just as he's been over the years."
The most important thing they can do for their father, the Bondzinski children believe, is to simply return the gift he gave them for so many years -- a quiet, supportive presence.
"I think even if you can't take care of your parents, even if they have to go into a nursing home -- you can be a presence. Be fearful if you need to be, be sad if you need to be, but be it there," Gail said. "In the last hours of my mother's life ... she didn't have to know our names, or even that we were her daughters. She just knew that we were there."
What was
Bernard met his wife, Lena, when the two were teenagers in a local accordion band. They were married for almost 65 years and in the last several years Bernard was Lena's caregiver as she was increasingly disabled by arthritis and Alzheimer's.
By the time she died in 2005, Bernard was in the early stages of Alzheimer's, and in some ways, that eased his pain, Pat said.
"He knew she died, he was with her when she died, but then a part of him sort of closed off afterwards, except to sometimes wonder where she was," Pat said. "Every once in a while now, he'll say, 'Where's my woman?' And we'll have to say, 'Well, she's not here right now.' "
Lena and Bernard had a favorite song, as many couples do -- Barry Manilow's "In Apple Blossom Time."
Pat sang a few bars of it to her father the other day, as she looked out the kitchen window at the yard where her parents once strolled beneath apple trees.
"I'll be with you in apple blossom time, I'll be with you to change your name to mine. One day in May, I'll come and say, happy the bride the sunshine's on today ..."
Her voice broke as she remembered all that was lost -- the apple trees, her mother, and now her father, slowly disappearing.
The kitchen clock ticked out several long measures of silence while she wept.
Bernard watched his daughter with the steady, curious gaze of a child trying to unravel the mysteries of grown-up behavior. He leaned forward in his chair slightly, as if he wanted to say or do something, but wasn't sure what.
"It's difficult," he said at last.
Pat looked at him thoughtfully, surprised at this moment of coherence.
"Yes," she replied. "It is difficult."
~~~
MORE ABOUT ALZHEIMER'S DISEASE
Alzheimer's disease was named after the German doctor Alois Alzheimer, who described the first known case of the disease in 1906. In the hundred years since, the number of cases diagnosed has risen dramatically.
According to the national Alzheimer's Association, Alzheimer's disease is currently eroding the brains of more than 5 million Americans, which is 10 percent more than five years ago. At this rate, the U.S. population may include as many as 16 million senior citizens with Alzheimer's disease by 2050 unless more effective prevention and treatment methods are developed.
The disease's prevalence increases sharply with age.
Most Alzheimer's patients are older than 65 and the disease affects 42 percent of people 85 and older. Age is the biggest risk factor for developing the disease, but a family history of Alzheimer's and poor cardiovascular health may increase that risk.
Some studies have also shown that people who suffered a serious head injury at some point in their life may be at a higher risk for developing Alzheimer's.
It is a fatal disease that currently has no cure, although some prescription drugs can temporarily slow the symptoms.
It destroys brain cells and neurons, starting with those that control memory and thinking skills.
With time, it progressed to areas of the brain associated with physical functioning. In the final stages of the disease, patients become completely incapacitated and require constant care.
WARNING SIGNS
1. Memory loss, particularly short-term.
2. Difficulty performing familiar tasks.
3. Problems with language and vocabulary.
4. Disorientation to time and place.
5. Poor or decreased judgment.
6. Problems with abstract thinking.
7. Misplacing things.
8. Mood swings or behavioral changes.
9. Changes in personality, such as sudden confusion, suspicion or fearfulness.
10. Loss of initiative, increased sleeping and passivity.
Source: Alzheimer's Association
~~~
RESOURCES
Alzheimer's Association of Northeastern New York: http://www.alzneny.org/
National Alzheimer's Association: http://www.alz.org/, 24-hour helpline (888) 272-3900
Office for the Aging, Warren County: 761-6347, Washington County: 746-2420, Saratoga County: 884-4100
U.S. Alzheimer's Disease Education and Referral Center: http://www.alzheimers.org/, (800) 438-4380
Friday, June 08, 2007
20something column: You can read this in under 5 minutes
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 6/7/07
"You are speeding," an electronic sign warned me as I drove home on the Northway one night.
I slowed down to match the speed limit in the construction zone, but not without grumbling. Forty-five miles an hour seemed like a snail's pace.
But then I reconsidered my reaction -- what was my hurry, anyway? I had no plans for the evening, other than making dinner and catching up on some e-mail.
Americans are always in a rush, it seems.
We zip through fast-food restaurants to consume calories, then pop "instant weight loss" pills to get rid of those calories.
We'll honk at the car in front of us if they take a millisecond too long to hit the gas after the traffic light turns green.
We don't like to wait in line at the grocery store, so we'll take the self-checkout option even though we're stymied when the computer demands the produce code for broccoli crowns. We prefer ATMs and electronic passes to potentially slow bank tellers and tollbooth collectors. Some of us have even tried "speed dating."
I admit it -- I'm addicted to speed, too. But I've found that travel can be an excellent form of rehab.
In France and Spain, I learned to enjoy long, leisurely dinners and savor every sip of wine. In Austria and Germany, friends explained that a waiter generally won't bring the check unless you ask for it, because they don't want you to feel rushed. How nice.
In Africa, I learned that everything follows a tangibly slower tempo, from the pace of pedestrians on city sidewalks to the schedules of important events. When my friends and I showed up on time to attend a 4 p.m. wedding in Kampala, Uganda, we watched four other happy couples leave the church before things finally rolled around to our friends' wedding an hour and a half later. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum, the waiting bride and groom just shrugged their shoulders and smiled.
And on a 30-hour train ride across the face of India, I learned to enjoy looking out the window, chatting with strangers, and just laughing when the train inexplicably creaked to a halt for long stretches of time. Simple pleasures, like eating an orange or playing a card game, gained a new sheen of fascination in contrast.
My most recent trip was much less exotic -- a weekend of camping on an Adirondack lake -- but it also reminded me that it's important to slow down sometimes. Separated from my laptop, cell phone (which also serves as my watch), and car, it simply wasn't possible to hurry anywhere or even check the time. It felt wonderful.
I woke at sunrise and sat at the edge of the lake for a while, listening to the gentle gulping of the water against the rocky shoreline. I didn't have to be anywhere else, or do anything else.
Eventually, I paddled out in a canoe.
I didn't have a destination in mind, but I knew I was definitely not speeding.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for The Post-Star. She only uses her car horn to scare ducks out of the road.
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 6/7/07
"You are speeding," an electronic sign warned me as I drove home on the Northway one night.
I slowed down to match the speed limit in the construction zone, but not without grumbling. Forty-five miles an hour seemed like a snail's pace.
But then I reconsidered my reaction -- what was my hurry, anyway? I had no plans for the evening, other than making dinner and catching up on some e-mail.
Americans are always in a rush, it seems.
We zip through fast-food restaurants to consume calories, then pop "instant weight loss" pills to get rid of those calories.
We'll honk at the car in front of us if they take a millisecond too long to hit the gas after the traffic light turns green.
We don't like to wait in line at the grocery store, so we'll take the self-checkout option even though we're stymied when the computer demands the produce code for broccoli crowns. We prefer ATMs and electronic passes to potentially slow bank tellers and tollbooth collectors. Some of us have even tried "speed dating."
I admit it -- I'm addicted to speed, too. But I've found that travel can be an excellent form of rehab.
In France and Spain, I learned to enjoy long, leisurely dinners and savor every sip of wine. In Austria and Germany, friends explained that a waiter generally won't bring the check unless you ask for it, because they don't want you to feel rushed. How nice.
In Africa, I learned that everything follows a tangibly slower tempo, from the pace of pedestrians on city sidewalks to the schedules of important events. When my friends and I showed up on time to attend a 4 p.m. wedding in Kampala, Uganda, we watched four other happy couples leave the church before things finally rolled around to our friends' wedding an hour and a half later. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum, the waiting bride and groom just shrugged their shoulders and smiled.
And on a 30-hour train ride across the face of India, I learned to enjoy looking out the window, chatting with strangers, and just laughing when the train inexplicably creaked to a halt for long stretches of time. Simple pleasures, like eating an orange or playing a card game, gained a new sheen of fascination in contrast.
My most recent trip was much less exotic -- a weekend of camping on an Adirondack lake -- but it also reminded me that it's important to slow down sometimes. Separated from my laptop, cell phone (which also serves as my watch), and car, it simply wasn't possible to hurry anywhere or even check the time. It felt wonderful.
I woke at sunrise and sat at the edge of the lake for a while, listening to the gentle gulping of the water against the rocky shoreline. I didn't have to be anywhere else, or do anything else.
Eventually, I paddled out in a canoe.
I didn't have a destination in mind, but I knew I was definitely not speeding.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for The Post-Star. She only uses her car horn to scare ducks out of the road.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Priced out: Affordable housing scarce
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (A1) 5/28/07
There’s a downside to economic upturn — housing costs can go through the roof.
The Glens Falls/Saratoga region has experienced significant growth in the past decade, and that’s good news for landlords, business owners and the local tax base.
But for people who live in the uncomfortable gap between government assistance and economic self-sufficiency, average rental prices of $700 a month can often mean choosing between paying the rent and buying other necessities.
"There is definitely an affordable housing problem, and it’s getting worse ... I’ve been here for 19 years, and I have been watching this change drastically," said Lee Cleavland, a case worker at the Salvation Army. "It’s truly pushing many of our low-income families completely out."
Federal guidelines for calculating assistance state that "total shelter costs," meaning rent or mortgage plus utilities, should be 30 percent or less of a household’s income. But Cleavland said those numbers don’t match the reality of the market.
"Most of the families we see pay at least 50 percent (of their income) just for rent, not to mention the skyrocketing cost of utilities," she said.
Limited help available
People who struggle to pay rent can get federal assistance through a program called Housing Choice (formerly dubbed "Section 8"), but they may spend up to two years on a waiting list first. About 600 people in this area currently receive rental vouchers through the program, with 200 more waiting, said Bob Landry, executive director of the Glens Falls Housing Authority.
Even for those who receive vouchers, finding an apartment can be a major challenge, Landry said. The program covers housing costs that exceed 30 percent of a recipient’s income — but only up to a point.
"For example, the most we can pay for a one-bedroom apartment is $525 a month, including utilities, and it’s next to impossible to find a $525 apartment in this area," Landry said. "Those places exist, but there’s not enough to satisfy the need."
Federal funding for the Housing Choice voucher program has been cut three times in the past five years because the government was "trying to get a handle on fraud," Landry said.
"They were afraid that there were a lot of tenants who had income they weren’t reporting, but in our case, locally we didn’t find a lot of fraud. And I think they’ve found overall that it wasn’t as rampant as they thought, yet the funding cuts have stayed in place."
The effect has been a kind of "double whammy" for low-income residents who have moved to Glens Falls from other parts of the county to gain better access to the hospital, public transportation and entry-level jobs, Landry explained.
"When those people migrated into this area, apartments were affordable," he said. "Now, the rents have gone up, and the funding (for Housing Choice) has gone down."
Affordable housing projects
The Henry Hudson Town Houses in Glens Falls are among the largest-scale affordable housing projects in the region, with 136 apartment units located between Hudson Avenue and Broad Street. The federally subsidized complex has a reputation for being rundown and crime-ridden, but many residents there said they are simply grateful for a place to call home.
"They work with you on the rent, based on your income ... so it’s good in that way," said Jack Newman, who lives at the townhouses with his fiancee and two kids. He had to give up his previous apartment because he couldn’t keep up with bills after getting sick and being out of work temporarily.
Across the cul-de-sac, a young couple with three children said they had spent about six months on a waiting list to get into the townhouses. Before that, they said, the only local apartment they could find in their price range was so small that the couple slept in the laundry room, while the kids shared two bedrooms.
The mother of the family, 25-year-old Katherine Kelley, said she doesn’t think their situation is unique.
"When I first moved out, when I was 18, you could find a four-bedroom for $500. Now, they’re more like $900," said Kelley, 25. "A friend I work with has two jobs and no car, and she still can’t afford her place. She just told me she’s two months behind on rent."
The one major drawback of the townhouses is the high cost of utilities. The buildings have little or no insulation, and many residents said they have paid $400 a month or more for heat during the winter.
The complex is slated for a major renovation soon, but Landry said that’s not a solution to the affordable housing issues facing the city.
"The quality of the structures is going to improve by 1,000 percent, but there’s 136 apartments and they’re going to be replaced by 136 apartments — it does nothing to ease demand," he said.
Learning from Saratoga
The housing crisis is even more dire in Saratoga Springs, where it’s becoming "virtually impossible" to live in the city on minimum wage or a fixed income, said Windy Wyczawski, case manager at Shelters of Saratoga.
"We’re dealing with more people who are simply working low-income jobs and are unable to keep up with expenses, and getting evicted," she said. "There are some more affordable apartments in outlying communities, but unless they can afford a car, that doesn’t help, because there’s not much public transportation."
Restaurants and hotels have faced staffing shortages at the height of tourist season because of the lack of affordable housing in the region. Landry said he heard of one case in which a restaurant owner actually bought an apartment building in Schuylerville and an old school bus to provide employees with affordable housing and transportation. (A waiter at the restaurant confirmed the story, but the owner did not return several phone calls requesting an interview.)
Landry and other housing advocates hope Glens Falls will learn some lessons from its wealthier neighbor before following its footsteps.
"I think we as a community sometimes get all wrapped up in our economic development efforts, the beautiful buildings, and how successful we are — but there’s another side of that, too," Landry said. "I want to make sure we look at this problem now, because the economy is starting to explode. And because it’s tourism-based, there are a great number of entry-level jobs. Those workers need to be able to afford to live here."
He could be talking about Jessica Thompson, 23, who works as a waitress in Glens Falls and Lake George. She and her boyfriend have been searching for an apartment for several months, but can’t find anything in their price range that’s centrally located.
"For a one-bedroom, I don’t think it should be anything over $500. But it’s not available in Glens Falls, South Glens Falls — I haven’t see it around here," she said. "And it’s hard being young ... landlords have told me that tenants my age don’t pay rent."
The housing authority manages four low-income housing projects in the region, three of which are exclusively for senior citizens. Among Stichman Towers, Earl Towers and the Cronin Hi-Rise, there are 256 senior apartments, Landry said. The fourth project, LaRose Gardens in Queensbury, is open to families and includes 50 units.
Claire Dingman, a spunky 78-year-old with a bad heart, has lived in Stichman Towers for 12 years and said she loves it.
"I’m a very lucky girl. You can live on a small amount comfortably in a place like this," she said. "But if it wasn’t for this place, a lot of people probably wouldn’t have a home. ... When I was married, years ago, we rented a whole house for $55 a month. Young people get married today, and it scares you to think about how much money they need to live."
Residents of LaRose Gardens describe their apartments as safe, well-maintained and conveniently located near stores and schools.
Jessica Thompson’s mother, Sheila Ellis, moved in about five years ago with her husband, who is disabled and out of work.
"We’ve lived here four or five years, and it’s ideal, but it was a long wait to get in," she said. "The housing shortage is crazy around here, it’s hard to find someplace affordable where you don’t mind living."
She looked at her daughter.
"I wish she could find a place like this, too."
---SIDEBAR: Where the homeless sleep out of sight
It isn’t common to see people sleeping on the sidewalk in this area, but there’s more to homelessness than meets the eye. A recent study by the National Alliance of Homelessness estimates nearly 400 homeless people live in this region.
Lisa Coutu, co-chairwoman of the Warren/Washington Housing Coalition, said that number might even be too low.
"I hear about a lot of people who are staying temporarily with a friend or relative, and those people would not meet HUD’s definition of homelessness. But for all intents and purposes, they are homeless," she said.
Coutu helps place people in Shelter Plus Care, a federally funded program that assists those who are homeless and disabled by mental illness, substance abuse or HIV/AIDS. But she often gets calls about people who are homeless for purely economic reasons and have exhausted the resources available from other agencies.
"Those phone calls are hard for me, because the person will say, ‘Well, do you know of any other program that’s available?’ And I have to say no, I don’t. It’s really an issue of affordable housing," she said.
She wishes there was an emergency shelter in the Glens Falls area open to the general homeless population, rather than just specific groups like youths, veterans or battered women. The Department of Social Service and other agencies "do an excellent job," she said, but "the need is greater than what these agencies are able to provide."
In Glens Falls, emergency housing usually means a few weeks in a cheap motel room. The Department of Social Services, Salvation Army and Community Action Agency all offer emergency housing assistance, but case workers said that gets harder as motels raise prices for the summer.
"You can usually get a family into lower-cost motels in the area, but come Memorial Day, that option will no longer be available. I remember one year when someone donated a bunch of camping equipment and we set up tent communities," said Lynn Ackershoek, executive director of Warren/Hamilton Community Action Agency. "Housing disappears in summer, but that’s also when they can find jobs ... and it’s hard to get up out of a tent in the morning to go to work."
Michael Lajeunesse, one of the agency’s case managers, said he sees at least one case a week involving homelessness.
"They’ve just run out of options," he said. "They can get on a list with the Housing Authority and wait for a voucher, but it could be a year or two. In the meantime, they’re really struggling ... we can do a week or two in a motel room, but it’s really just a Band-aid solution."
Lee Cleavland, a case worker with the Salvation Army in Glens Falls, said her agency faces similar challenges.
"Yesterday, I had four different homeless people to deal with, and it took several calls to different motels to find a weekly room we could afford," she said. "When your budget from FEMA is only $5,000 a year, there’s no way you can afford $300 a week for a motel...and even when we have the money, I can’t find a place sometimes."
Currently, Shelters of Saratoga runs the only general-population emergency shelter in the three-county region, on Walworth Street in Saratoga Springs. Apart from the sign in the yard that says "Saratoga Neighborhood Development," it blends into the residential neighborhood and offers a homey environment complete with bookshelves, a television room and a kitchen.
Case manager Windy Wyczawksi said the shelter’s 15 beds are almost always full. Homeless individuals can stay there for up to 60 days — paying $10 a night or 30 percent of their income if they are not eligible for county services — and often use that time to work and save money toward an apartment.
That’s what Stephanie Desadore, 29, did after series of bad decisions and bad luck left her homeless recently.
She was evicted from her apartment, separated from her children (she sent them to live with other family members), out of work and out of options when the shelter offered her its last available female bed. But during her two months there, she got a full-time job as a housecleaner and saved enough to move into her own one-bedroom apartment.
"Not everybody that comes to the shelter has an addiction. Sometimes they just fall short, or fall flat, like me," she said. "If it wasn’t for the shelter staff pointing me in the right direction, I never would have gotten a job. ... I’d probably just be bouncing around from place to place, blowing my money, because I didn’t know how to budget. I get it now."
--
Friday, May 25, 2007
20something column: Leave me alone...I think
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 5/24/07
I went to see a play by myself a few weeks ago, and got a free serving of pity with the candy bar I bought at intermission.
"You're all alone," said the guy behind the concession booth, in a tone of voice that suggested this was perhaps the saddest thing he'd ever witnessed.
As I headed back to my seat, I looked around. He had a point -- everyone else in the room was part of a couple or group of friends. Heck, even the play itself was about a couple. I started feeling a bit self-conscious. Was I supposed to have stayed home because my boyfriend had to work?
I remembered feeling this way at other times, often while traveling. Last time I went out to dinner alone, the waiter treated me like I was naked in public and should be ashamed.
"I'll rush your order, so you don't have to stay here alone for long, sweetheart," he promised.
So after the play, I decided to prove to the world (or at least myself) that there's nothing weird about a young woman going out by herself. I went to my favorite jazz bar and ordered a glass of wine, prepared to just relax and people-watch for a while.
Of course, I forgot that it was around 10 p.m. on a weeknight, and there were only about three people there to watch. Within about two sips, my bravado was completely gone, and my desire to disappear was battling with my innate sense of thrift (you shouldn't waste an $8 glass of wine).
I imagined that the two girls engrossed in conversation at the other end of the bar were peering at me with disdain, as though I was a kind of spider lying in wait to entrap hapless boyfriends. I've seen that look whenever I show up alone at parties.
I tried not to stare at the man chugging expensive scotch a few seats down -- you don't chug scotch unless you've got some serious problems -- and focused intently on the television instead. That is, until I realized that the object of my faux fascination was one of those embarrassing medical commercials.
Eventually, I caved. I reached for my cell phone, and texted a friend to see if she would join me.
"No, I have a headache," came the reply.
Okay, I thought, chugging my wine. Time to back out with my tail between my legs.
Suddenly my wine glass was full again.
The bartender's shift had ended, and he was on my side of the bar now, buying me a drink. I realized that my misguided attempt at singles empowerment appeared nothing short of pathetic, and I had to laugh. It was a relief to have someone to talk to.
My friend changed her mind and arrived a few minutes later. Maybe she figured that only a serious crisis could have landed me at a bar by myself on a Wednesday night. I was OK, but I'm still glad she showed up. Because, in the end, there's a reason people tend to go out in groups: Friends are fun.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for the Post-Star. She's not trying to steal your boyfriend.
Published in The Post-Star (G2) 5/24/07
I went to see a play by myself a few weeks ago, and got a free serving of pity with the candy bar I bought at intermission.
"You're all alone," said the guy behind the concession booth, in a tone of voice that suggested this was perhaps the saddest thing he'd ever witnessed.
As I headed back to my seat, I looked around. He had a point -- everyone else in the room was part of a couple or group of friends. Heck, even the play itself was about a couple. I started feeling a bit self-conscious. Was I supposed to have stayed home because my boyfriend had to work?
I remembered feeling this way at other times, often while traveling. Last time I went out to dinner alone, the waiter treated me like I was naked in public and should be ashamed.
"I'll rush your order, so you don't have to stay here alone for long, sweetheart," he promised.
So after the play, I decided to prove to the world (or at least myself) that there's nothing weird about a young woman going out by herself. I went to my favorite jazz bar and ordered a glass of wine, prepared to just relax and people-watch for a while.
Of course, I forgot that it was around 10 p.m. on a weeknight, and there were only about three people there to watch. Within about two sips, my bravado was completely gone, and my desire to disappear was battling with my innate sense of thrift (you shouldn't waste an $8 glass of wine).
I imagined that the two girls engrossed in conversation at the other end of the bar were peering at me with disdain, as though I was a kind of spider lying in wait to entrap hapless boyfriends. I've seen that look whenever I show up alone at parties.
I tried not to stare at the man chugging expensive scotch a few seats down -- you don't chug scotch unless you've got some serious problems -- and focused intently on the television instead. That is, until I realized that the object of my faux fascination was one of those embarrassing medical commercials.
Eventually, I caved. I reached for my cell phone, and texted a friend to see if she would join me.
"No, I have a headache," came the reply.
Okay, I thought, chugging my wine. Time to back out with my tail between my legs.
Suddenly my wine glass was full again.
The bartender's shift had ended, and he was on my side of the bar now, buying me a drink. I realized that my misguided attempt at singles empowerment appeared nothing short of pathetic, and I had to laugh. It was a relief to have someone to talk to.
My friend changed her mind and arrived a few minutes later. Maybe she figured that only a serious crisis could have landed me at a bar by myself on a Wednesday night. I was OK, but I'm still glad she showed up. Because, in the end, there's a reason people tend to go out in groups: Friends are fun.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features writer for the Post-Star. She's not trying to steal your boyfriend.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
For the love of dance
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (D1) 5/19/07
When choreographer George Balanchine hand-picked Pamara Perry to attend his prestigious School of American Ballet in New York City, the 14-year-old Perry didn’t know how lucky she was.
"I was in a master class taught by Robert Joffrey, and George Balanchine was there — I didn’t know who either of them were, really," she said. "Mr. B spotted me and said, ‘I’d like you to come study with me in New York.’ My teacher said I was too young, wait a year, so
I did. And everyone was like, ‘You turned who down?’ "
Perry was still just 15 when she left her home in Cleveland to attend the school on a full scholarship. A teenager living independently in 1960s Manhattan might seem destined for trouble, but Perry said she was oblivious to everything but dance at the time.
"I never saw anything wrong, I never did anything wrong — I felt like I floated around New York in a bubble," she said, although "everyone around me was on LSD and poppy seeds."
After school, she spent two years with the New York City Ballet’s educational department, traveling around the state to perform for schools and other groups, and was a principal dancer with the Joffrey Ballet from 1966 to 1970. She moved upstate after marrying Rick Leach, whose father was the executive director of the Saratoga Performing Arts Center, and soon had two children. Now, she’s married to Tim Hangarter, lead pastry chef at Mrs. London’s.
Looking back, she thinks age 22 might have been too young to retire from professional touring.
"Some dancers go on too long, but I think I stopped a little too soon," she reflected, her perpetual smile fading for a moment. "But then, everything started young for me."
The spotlight may have shifted, but dance still takes center stage in Perry’s life. Now 59, she has been artistic director of the Adirondack Repertory Dance Theatre for the past 26 years. Some of her former students have followed in her footsteps, like Stephen Satterfield, a 20-year-old Glens Falls native who now performs with the Miami City Ballet.
"I feel incredibly lucky to have found her, because there’s really no one else like her around this area ... I mean, she knew Balanchine!," Satterfield said last week, during a break from rehearsal at ARDT’s Glen Street studio.
He and a fellow Miami City Ballet dancer, Kristin D’Addario, will dance as guest artists in the ARDT spring dance concert tonight.
Satterfield trained with Perry from age 9 to 15, when he left to attend Perry’s alma mater, the School of American Ballet. He credits his success largely to Perry’s influence.
"She really pushed me when I was young, was really hard on me," he said. "But she’s really sweet."
Perry’s petite, pastel-clad frame is hardly what you’d call commanding. With sparkling eyes and a long, silvery ponytail, she looks more like a friendly fairy than a tough taskmaster, but there’s a bit of both in her.
"High energy, please!" she called out to her dancers at rehearsal Wednesday night.
As the first note of the practice music pierced the silence, the dancers’ arms flew up in a flurry, not quite synchronized.
"Nope," Perry declared. "You get one chance."
The dancers turned around and tried again, this time lifting their arms in time to the music.
"Better," Perry said, beaming.
Tonight’s performance will feature live music, something Perry has always insisted be part of ARDT’s productions, and, for the first time, it will include an added visual element. Roger Hangarter, Perry’s brother-in-law and a professor of biology at Indiana University, uses time-lapse movies and photographs to depict natural scenes like unfolding flowers and pulsing jellyfish. Those images will play in the background during several of the dances.
"Mr. B would always say, when you watch the ballet, you’re watching the music," Perry said. "This was a challenge, because I had two things to choreograph to — the music and the movie, but I think it turned out well."
Perry said she’s not sure what the future might hold for her, or ARDT.
"I’m 59. I probably could go on forever, but I need to listen to the needs of the community. How long is ARDT needed?" she asked. "That has to do, unfortunately, with money and commitment."
She fears that her particular brand of instruction, which emphasizes personal dedication and hard work, is at odds with the values that young people are learning in other areas of life.
"Ballet doesn’t come quickly, and that’s one of the things people find hard to swallow these days — it’s the fast-food era," she said. "Kids today are too busy, and have too many things offered to them to focus on just one thing and really get it."
Personally, Perry has been so focused on dance that she finds it difficult to imagine her life without it.
"It’s been such a huge passion in my life. I’d have to replace it with something else pretty big," she said.
IF YOU GO The Adirondack Repertory Dance Theatre presents its spring dance concert tonight at 7:30 in Queensbury High School on Aviation Road. The performance will include live music by local musicians Jonathan Newell, George Wilson, and members of the Lake George Chamber Orchestra conducted by Vincent Koh, along with time-lapse nature photography by Roger Hangarter. Stephen Satterfield and Kristin D'Addario of the Miami City Ballet will appear as guest artists. Tickets $20 at the door. Call 761-0873 for more information.Thursday, May 17, 2007
20something column: Why are women on TV so weak?
Published in The Post-Star (G2)
5/10/07
By AMANDA BENSEN
Where have you gone, Clair Huxtable?
I have to agree with a New York Times article I read recently critiquing the lack of strong female characters in current TV fare. There are plenty of women with powerful careers -- doctors, lawyers and cops -- but they've got some powerful neuroses, too. Do scriptwriters
believe viewers only like women with obvious vulnerabilities?
In "Grey's Anatomy," it's easy to forget that the leading lady, Meredith, is actually a doctor -- she's the one who usually needs to be taken care of. Her self-centered fragility has quickly morphed from endearing to annoying. Another main female character, Izzie, defies the stereotype of "dumb blonde," but seems to have the emotional impulse control of a 2-year-old.
And now Addison, the red-headed Ob/Gyn who showed signs of developing real character strength as she coped with the disintegration of her marriage, is crumbling into the kind of chick who talks to herself in elevators.
Rumor has it that she'll be the star of a new spin-off, and if last week's episode was a prelude to that drama, I probably won't be watching.
In that episode, Addison faced her own fears about ending up in middle age without a family, and tried to get pregnant by artificial means. When she couldn't, she wept that she was "all dried up."
The underlying message is: It doesn't matter if you are a highly skilled doctor with a shiny red convertible, good friends and posh jobs falling into your lap. As a woman, you need a baby to be fulfilled.
And if you can't have a baby -- because, in Addison's case, biology refuses -- well, you can settle for having sex appeal. That's right, her midlife crisis was miraculously resolved by a kiss from a handsome near-stranger in a stairwell. (To give her some credit, though, she turned him down when he offered a repeat performance later).
That will only work for another decade or so, maybe more if she gets some help from her ex-lover the plastic surgeon. But someday, Addison, and the rest of us women, are going to get old. It would be wise to base our self-worth on something less transient than sexiness.
And that's just "Grey's Anatomy." Don't get me started on "Desperate Housewives."
I don't mean to downplay the importance of motherhood, of course. Let's go back to Clair Huxtable for a minute, on "The Cosby Show," played by Phylicia Rashad.
She never experimented with drowning herself to get attention, although with five kids, her personal life was at least as challenging as Meredith Grey's. And although she was a warm, loving character, her brain had just as much power as her heart when it came to decision-making.
She embodied the marvelous notion that a female could be strong and successful -- and still be likable.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features reporter for The Post-Star. She thinks her mother deserves her own TV show.
5/10/07
By AMANDA BENSEN
Where have you gone, Clair Huxtable?
I have to agree with a New York Times article I read recently critiquing the lack of strong female characters in current TV fare. There are plenty of women with powerful careers -- doctors, lawyers and cops -- but they've got some powerful neuroses, too. Do scriptwriters
believe viewers only like women with obvious vulnerabilities?
In "Grey's Anatomy," it's easy to forget that the leading lady, Meredith, is actually a doctor -- she's the one who usually needs to be taken care of. Her self-centered fragility has quickly morphed from endearing to annoying. Another main female character, Izzie, defies the stereotype of "dumb blonde," but seems to have the emotional impulse control of a 2-year-old.
And now Addison, the red-headed Ob/Gyn who showed signs of developing real character strength as she coped with the disintegration of her marriage, is crumbling into the kind of chick who talks to herself in elevators.
Rumor has it that she'll be the star of a new spin-off, and if last week's episode was a prelude to that drama, I probably won't be watching.
In that episode, Addison faced her own fears about ending up in middle age without a family, and tried to get pregnant by artificial means. When she couldn't, she wept that she was "all dried up."
The underlying message is: It doesn't matter if you are a highly skilled doctor with a shiny red convertible, good friends and posh jobs falling into your lap. As a woman, you need a baby to be fulfilled.
And if you can't have a baby -- because, in Addison's case, biology refuses -- well, you can settle for having sex appeal. That's right, her midlife crisis was miraculously resolved by a kiss from a handsome near-stranger in a stairwell. (To give her some credit, though, she turned him down when he offered a repeat performance later).
That will only work for another decade or so, maybe more if she gets some help from her ex-lover the plastic surgeon. But someday, Addison, and the rest of us women, are going to get old. It would be wise to base our self-worth on something less transient than sexiness.
And that's just "Grey's Anatomy." Don't get me started on "Desperate Housewives."
I don't mean to downplay the importance of motherhood, of course. Let's go back to Clair Huxtable for a minute, on "The Cosby Show," played by Phylicia Rashad.
She never experimented with drowning herself to get attention, although with five kids, her personal life was at least as challenging as Meredith Grey's. And although she was a warm, loving character, her brain had just as much power as her heart when it came to decision-making.
She embodied the marvelous notion that a female could be strong and successful -- and still be likable.
-- Amanda Bensen is a features reporter for The Post-Star. She thinks her mother deserves her own TV show.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Lost momentum
Report says many Superfund sites not being cleaned
By AMANDA BENSEN
Published in The Post-Star (A1) 5/15/07
A new report by the Center for Public Integrity depicts the federal Superfund program as underfunded and sluggish, failing to clean up many of the hazardous waste sites that threaten communities nationwide.
CPI, a Washington-based, nonpartisan, nonprofit group that investigates public policy issues, used data from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and interviews with government officials to study the effectiveness of the federal Superfund program.
In a report titled "Wasting Away," researchers concluded that the program has "lost both momentum and funding" since its inception in 1980, especially under the administration of President George W. Bush.
"Nearly half of the U.S. population lives within 10 miles of one of the 1,304 active and proposed Superfund sites listed by the EPA," the study stated.
There are four federal Superfund sites in our area: the General Electric-Hudson River PCB site, a former GE plant in Malta where rocket fuels and weapons were tested and made, the Niagara Mohawk coal gasification plant in Saratoga Springs, and the former GE plant in Moreau. There are also numerous state Superfund sites in the region.
The study notes that cleanup work was started at about 145 sites in the past six years, but the startup rate was nearly three times as high in the previous six years.
Similarly, an average of 42 sites a year have reached what the EPA calls the "construction complete" phase of cleanup under the Bush administration, with twice as many sites reaching completion in the previous six years.
Joel Singerman, the EPA's chief remediation officer in central New York, suggested that the slowing rate of cleanups is actually a sign of the program's strength.
"The worst sites were probably captured in the beginning," he said.
New York has the third-most Superfund sites of all U.S. states, with 110 listed and only 23 of those completely cleaned up. Seventy percent of the state's sites contain at least one of what the government ranks as the top five most hazardous chemicals found on Superfund sites: arsenic, lead, mercury, vinyl chloride and polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs).
Singerman's division oversees the four sites in Warren, Washington and Saratoga counties that fall under federal Superfund jurisdiction on what is called the National Priorities List. The other 41 hazardous waste sites in this region are supervised by the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation's Superfund program, rather than the EPA.
Taking the 'fund' out of Superfund
The budget for the state Superfund program has risen 25 percent in the last four years, with two-thirds of that funding drawn from "responsible parties," the companies responsible for pollution at specific sites.
But at the federal level, Superfund seems to be drying up. In fact, the fund itself is largely a figure of speech.
It contained $3.8 billion at its peak 11 years ago, but lost its source of revenue in 1995 with the expiration of a law that levied fees and taxes on corporate polluters.
Now, the EPA has only general tax dollars to channel toward the nearly 400 "orphan sites" where no one else has taken responsibility for cleanup work, and those dollars are dwindling.
The EPA's budget for the Superfund program was $1.47 million in 1993, and shrank slightly in nearly every year since then, falling to $1.24 million in fiscal year 2006. That represents a 15 percent decline -- closer to 35 percent when adjusted for inflation.
Elizabeth Sutherland, director of the EPA's Superfund assessment and remediation division, said she disagrees with the CPI's claim that the program is underfunded.
"If you look at the statistics, our budget has stayed constant, relatively speaking, over the years," she said. "Of course, like any big public works project, we could absorb more money."
Singerman agreed that federal funding for the program has diminished, but said that hasn't affected sites in this region so far. He said that's because most of the funding at these sites comes from the polluters, not the government.
"We've been fairly successful in getting responsible parties to do most of the work," he said. "We haven't had to pinch any pennies at these sites, although I can't guarantee it in the future."
Even when the companies responsible for pollution agree to fund cleanups, however, the EPA has to "front the money" for certain oversight costs, Singerman said.
"So if we can't afford to send a contractor to the work, go to meetings, etc., that would be a problem," he said.
On the local level
The most publicized Superfund cleanup in this region is the Hudson River, which had been on the National Priorities List for 23 years before construction began this spring on a facility to process PCB-containing sediment dredged from the riverbottom.
General Electric Co., the company that released the PCBs into the river, is one of the top 12 "potentially responsible parties" linked to the highest number of Superfund sites nationally, according to the Center for Public Integrity's recent study. The study identified 98 sites at which General Electric may be at least partially responsible for pollution, plus 18 which have been cleaned up and de-listed.
Locally, General Electric is linked to three of the four federal Superfund sites, including its plant in Moreau, the Hudson River, and a 165-acre Malta site once used to test and produce rocket fuels and weapons.
Remedies are in the "construction complete" phase in both Moreau and Malta, but treating contaminated groundwater at the sites could take many more years, said Singerman.
"We can't delete a site from the National Priorities List until everything's cleaned up, including the groundwater, and that's not easy," he said. "There are very few sites where we are able to identify and dig up the contamination and be done in a short amount of time."
The Malta site is within the proposed Luther Forest Technology Campus, where Advanced Micro Devices is considering building a major facility.
The EPA's most recent five-year review of remediation efforts at the site recommends that any changes in the land's use should be carefully evaluated, "especially if a facility such as a day-care center is included in the redevelopment plans."
It also notes that developers may need to find off-site potable water supply sources, because new wells are prohibited near a major plume of contaminated groundwater on the site.
The fourth local site is a former Niagara Mohawk coal gasification plant in Saratoga Springs, where the soil was highly contaminated with coal tar and toxic chemicals like benzene and napthalene. It was placed on the National Priorities List in 1990, and construction of a permanent containment wall and groundwater treatment system began in 2001.
Looking forward
If any other hazardous waste sites in the region are added to the list, they are not guaranteed to receive federal funding, said Pat Carr, a regional EPA press officer.
"It's the new cleanups that compete for the dollars," she said, explaining that the EPA's regional offices must compete with each other for federal dollars left over after all ongoing cleanups have been funded for a given year. "So it's possible that there could be a site somewhere that doesn't get funded."
The CPI study asserts that many Superfund cleanups have been completed more slowly than necessary because existing funds are spread too thin among other sites, and sometimes delayed intentionally.
Carr argued that it just isn't realistic to expect each site to be fully funded simultaneously.
"You cannot fund 100 percent of the sites all at once," she said.
Singerman said he would like to see the Superfund program keep shrinking, but not because of budget cuts.
"Hopefully, there's an end," he said. "When you have identified and investigated all the sites, and you're out of work -- then you've been successful."
LOGGING ON:
Center for Public Integrity report: www.publicintegrity.org/superfund
U.S. Environmental Protection Agency's listing of federal Superfund sites, searchable by county: http://www.epa.gov/region2/cleanup/sites/
New York Department of Environmental Conservation's listing of state Superfund sites, searchable by county:
http://www.dec.ny.gov/cfmx/extapps/derfoil/index.cfm
Friday, May 04, 2007
First-time fishing
Published in The Post-Star (G1)
5/3/07
The last time I was anywhere near a fishing pole, I threw a tantrum.
I cried and staged a PETA-worthy protest as my father smacked a writhing, gasping rainbow trout down on the dock during a family vacation to Colorado.
"Put it back! Put it back! It's dying!" I screamed.
"Well, you didn't want to eat it alive, did you?" he asked with infuriating logic.
It smelled delicious at the dinner table that night, but I refused to eat even a bite of the "poor little fish." Well, except the bite I snuck from my brother's plate when he wasn't looking. Darn. It did taste as good as it smelled.
About 17 years later, I decided it was time to confront my childish squeamishness. I've always enjoyed eating fish -- why shouldn't I enjoy catching them? Besides, people who fish talk about it like it's some kind of religion.
I wanted to be hooked, too.
CE Skidmore and I headed north on Monday for an afternoon of fishing with Michael West, whose family runs The Crossroads store in Chestertown. After buying a license, a basic rod and reel combo, and a cup of live "dilly" worms, we set off for Mill Creek, a few miles up the road in Wevertown.
I started by getting hooked a bit too literally, jabbing my own fingers several times as I struggled to work the barb through the body of a wriggling worm. I thought I was being terribly mature, but looking back at the pictures, I see I actually looked more like a 5-year-old concentrating fiercely on learning to tie her shoes.
West, a friendly outdoorsman who looks like an L.L. Bean model, must deal with a lot of first-time fishers. He didn't seem at all bothered by my basic lack of hand-eye coordination when it came to tying the hook onto the line. He didn't snicker when I closed my eyes as I ripped a worm in half. And he was thoughtful enough to point out that I should only remove my index finger -- not both hands -- from the pole when I cast it into the river. (Seriously, that's something I can see myself doing.)
I wasn't very good at aiming into the spots he suggested, but I was thrilled every time I simply managed to land the hook in the river. And on a sunny spring day like that, it was easy to fall in love with fishing.
West told us it was going to be tricky to catch anything, since the water was running so high and fast, but he was wrong. We caught a lot of things: the river bottom, some rocks and leaves, several tree branches, and even each others' lines. No fish, though.
No tantrums, either, on the plus side.
--
GEARING UP:
Fishing doesn't have to be an expensive hobby; first-timers can get started for under $50. You'll need:
-- A license, unless you are under 16 years old. A one-week license for New York residents costs $12, but it's a better deal to get the whole season for $19. Senior citizens cost just $5.
-- A basic rod and reel with line, $20 and up
-- Hooks, $1 and up
-- Sinkers or split-shot (non-lead metals), $1 and up
-- Bait, such as live worms (type depends on fish)
-- A cooler, or at least a plastic bag, in case you catch something
-- Pliers or a pocketknife to cut tangled line and remove hooks
WHAT'S IN SEASON:
-- Trout, landlocked salmon, kokanee, shad, sunfish, American eel, lake whitefish, crappie, striped bass, black bass (catch and release only until June 15). Opening May 5: walleye, northern pike, pickerel and tiger muskellunge.
LOGGING ON: More information on freshwater fishing is available from the New York state Department of Environmental Conservation: http://www.dec.state.ny.us/website/dfwmr/fish/
5/3/07
The last time I was anywhere near a fishing pole, I threw a tantrum.
I cried and staged a PETA-worthy protest as my father smacked a writhing, gasping rainbow trout down on the dock during a family vacation to Colorado.
"Put it back! Put it back! It's dying!" I screamed.
"Well, you didn't want to eat it alive, did you?" he asked with infuriating logic.
It smelled delicious at the dinner table that night, but I refused to eat even a bite of the "poor little fish." Well, except the bite I snuck from my brother's plate when he wasn't looking. Darn. It did taste as good as it smelled.
About 17 years later, I decided it was time to confront my childish squeamishness. I've always enjoyed eating fish -- why shouldn't I enjoy catching them? Besides, people who fish talk about it like it's some kind of religion.
I wanted to be hooked, too.
CE Skidmore and I headed north on Monday for an afternoon of fishing with Michael West, whose family runs The Crossroads store in Chestertown. After buying a license, a basic rod and reel combo, and a cup of live "dilly" worms, we set off for Mill Creek, a few miles up the road in Wevertown.
I started by getting hooked a bit too literally, jabbing my own fingers several times as I struggled to work the barb through the body of a wriggling worm. I thought I was being terribly mature, but looking back at the pictures, I see I actually looked more like a 5-year-old concentrating fiercely on learning to tie her shoes.
West, a friendly outdoorsman who looks like an L.L. Bean model, must deal with a lot of first-time fishers. He didn't seem at all bothered by my basic lack of hand-eye coordination when it came to tying the hook onto the line. He didn't snicker when I closed my eyes as I ripped a worm in half. And he was thoughtful enough to point out that I should only remove my index finger -- not both hands -- from the pole when I cast it into the river. (Seriously, that's something I can see myself doing.)
I wasn't very good at aiming into the spots he suggested, but I was thrilled every time I simply managed to land the hook in the river. And on a sunny spring day like that, it was easy to fall in love with fishing.
West told us it was going to be tricky to catch anything, since the water was running so high and fast, but he was wrong. We caught a lot of things: the river bottom, some rocks and leaves, several tree branches, and even each others' lines. No fish, though.
No tantrums, either, on the plus side.
--
GEARING UP:
Fishing doesn't have to be an expensive hobby; first-timers can get started for under $50. You'll need:
-- A license, unless you are under 16 years old. A one-week license for New York residents costs $12, but it's a better deal to get the whole season for $19. Senior citizens cost just $5.
-- A basic rod and reel with line, $20 and up
-- Hooks, $1 and up
-- Sinkers or split-shot (non-lead metals), $1 and up
-- Bait, such as live worms (type depends on fish)
-- A cooler, or at least a plastic bag, in case you catch something
-- Pliers or a pocketknife to cut tangled line and remove hooks
WHAT'S IN SEASON:
-- Trout, landlocked salmon, kokanee, shad, sunfish, American eel, lake whitefish, crappie, striped bass, black bass (catch and release only until June 15). Opening May 5: walleye, northern pike, pickerel and tiger muskellunge.
LOGGING ON: More information on freshwater fishing is available from the New York state Department of Environmental Conservation: http://www.dec.state.ny.us/website/dfwmr/fish/
Monday, April 30, 2007
Good as new
Published in The Post-Star (D1)
4/29/07
Editor's Note: This is one in an occasional series on skills or traditions that are fading away.
When a shoe gets tired, most Americans would rather give it the boot than a little TLC.
"It's a disposable world out there," said Patrick Merrill, who has run Merrill's Shoe and Leather Repair on Main Street for the last 24 years. His grandfather, Alfred Nicolai, ran a shoe repair
business on Main Street in Hudson Falls for 60 years before that.
At 45, Merrill's not planning to retire anytime soon, but he recognizes that he's an anachronism in modern American culture.
"Even in the years that I've been here, things have changed," he said. "I don't think getting shoes repaired is something most people are brought up with anymore."
The Shoe Service Institute of America estimates that the number of shoe repair shops has declined by more than 90 percent in the last century, and only about 10 percent of Americans still get shoes repaired.
That doesn't mean business is slow for Merrill, however. His closest remaining competitors are in Clifton Park and Plattsburgh, giving him a monopoly on what's left of the market.
"My customers are usually in a good mood, because they're happy to find me," he said. "People bring me all sorts of things, anything that needs to be patched, sewn or fixed, because nobody repairs anything anymore."
Joe Podnorszki, a local landscaper, stopped in last week to pick up a pair of work boots that had been resoled. He has a tipping point for getting shoes repaired -- it's not worth it unless they cost more than $50. But he used to do things differently.
"I originally came from Budapest (Hungary)," he said, where, during the Communist era, many goods were scarce. "There, you almost had to get repairs."
Dress shoes used to be the bread and butter of the repair business, Merrill said, but people don't dress up as much as they used to. When they do, they often wear cheap imports that aren't worth repairing.
"I wear sneakers myself, because I'm on my feet all day," he said. "I know, it's funny, the shoe guy doesn't repair his own shoes!"
He still gets customers who find it worth repairing expensive dress shoes, but he has moved into other niches, too.
In the back of the shop, leather jackets bearing the emblems of several motorcycle clubs hang next to police jackets -- perhaps closer than some of them would like to be in real life, he notes with a grin. He also patches chaps, sews on zippers, restrings baseball gloves and even fixes scuba gear. He draws the line at larger projects.
"I've had people bring in old car seats and even a boat cover. I'm just not set up for that."
Recently, he's discovered a growing niche: orthopedic lifts.
"Hip replacement is a pretty common procedure these days, and when the bones heal up, they're not always level," he explained, as he brushed glue onto a 3/4-inch thick piece of rubber and pressed it against the sole of a white tennis shoe.
Other things haven't changed much. The stitching machines in Merrill's shop are at least half a century old, handed down from his grandfather, and he still relies on glue, sandpaper and elbow grease.
Although he gets brochures in the mail about trade shows, Merrill rarely pays attention. It's hard to imagine what new tricks they could teach him, anyway. He's been fixing shoes since he was 8 or 9, helping out in his grandfather's shop.
"It all seemed cool then, you know, the machines and all that," he said. "I just grew up with it. I don't have to think, I just do it."
On the other hand, Merrill said, it's not a dream job.
"People ask me how many shoes I've done in my life. I tell them if I knew the answer, I would probably throw myself in front of the next bus," he joked. "I mean, do I get up in the morning and say, 'Hey! I get to repair shoes!' No, but I don't mind it either. I like being my own boss."
He hopes his 16-year-old son will find an easier way to make a living but, personally, Merrill said he plans to stick with the business for a long time.
"At this point, I plan on going to the finish line with it," he said. "When they shovel dirt on me, I'm retired."
4/29/07
Editor's Note: This is one in an occasional series on skills or traditions that are fading away.
When a shoe gets tired, most Americans would rather give it the boot than a little TLC.
"It's a disposable world out there," said Patrick Merrill, who has run Merrill's Shoe and Leather Repair on Main Street for the last 24 years. His grandfather, Alfred Nicolai, ran a shoe repair
business on Main Street in Hudson Falls for 60 years before that.
At 45, Merrill's not planning to retire anytime soon, but he recognizes that he's an anachronism in modern American culture.
"Even in the years that I've been here, things have changed," he said. "I don't think getting shoes repaired is something most people are brought up with anymore."
The Shoe Service Institute of America estimates that the number of shoe repair shops has declined by more than 90 percent in the last century, and only about 10 percent of Americans still get shoes repaired.
That doesn't mean business is slow for Merrill, however. His closest remaining competitors are in Clifton Park and Plattsburgh, giving him a monopoly on what's left of the market.
"My customers are usually in a good mood, because they're happy to find me," he said. "People bring me all sorts of things, anything that needs to be patched, sewn or fixed, because nobody repairs anything anymore."
Joe Podnorszki, a local landscaper, stopped in last week to pick up a pair of work boots that had been resoled. He has a tipping point for getting shoes repaired -- it's not worth it unless they cost more than $50. But he used to do things differently.
"I originally came from Budapest (Hungary)," he said, where, during the Communist era, many goods were scarce. "There, you almost had to get repairs."
Dress shoes used to be the bread and butter of the repair business, Merrill said, but people don't dress up as much as they used to. When they do, they often wear cheap imports that aren't worth repairing.
"I wear sneakers myself, because I'm on my feet all day," he said. "I know, it's funny, the shoe guy doesn't repair his own shoes!"
He still gets customers who find it worth repairing expensive dress shoes, but he has moved into other niches, too.
In the back of the shop, leather jackets bearing the emblems of several motorcycle clubs hang next to police jackets -- perhaps closer than some of them would like to be in real life, he notes with a grin. He also patches chaps, sews on zippers, restrings baseball gloves and even fixes scuba gear. He draws the line at larger projects.
"I've had people bring in old car seats and even a boat cover. I'm just not set up for that."
Recently, he's discovered a growing niche: orthopedic lifts.
"Hip replacement is a pretty common procedure these days, and when the bones heal up, they're not always level," he explained, as he brushed glue onto a 3/4-inch thick piece of rubber and pressed it against the sole of a white tennis shoe.
Other things haven't changed much. The stitching machines in Merrill's shop are at least half a century old, handed down from his grandfather, and he still relies on glue, sandpaper and elbow grease.
Although he gets brochures in the mail about trade shows, Merrill rarely pays attention. It's hard to imagine what new tricks they could teach him, anyway. He's been fixing shoes since he was 8 or 9, helping out in his grandfather's shop.
"It all seemed cool then, you know, the machines and all that," he said. "I just grew up with it. I don't have to think, I just do it."
On the other hand, Merrill said, it's not a dream job.
"People ask me how many shoes I've done in my life. I tell them if I knew the answer, I would probably throw myself in front of the next bus," he joked. "I mean, do I get up in the morning and say, 'Hey! I get to repair shoes!' No, but I don't mind it either. I like being my own boss."
He hopes his 16-year-old son will find an easier way to make a living but, personally, Merrill said he plans to stick with the business for a long time.
"At this point, I plan on going to the finish line with it," he said. "When they shovel dirt on me, I'm retired."
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