Saturday, November 29, 2008
Q&A with Sarah Vowell
Did I mention how cool my job is? I got to interview Sarah Vowell! I love her stuff on NPR's This American Life, and her books, the latest of which contains intriguing reflections about the Puritans:
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The "Blue Rider" artists
My favorite artists, Franz Marc and Wassily Kandinsky, were part of something called the Blaue Reiter (Blue Rider) group in early 20th-century Germany. And since they happened to be based in Munich, the city starring in the latest feature I fact-checked for Smithsonian, it seemed a good excuse to write something about them as an "online extra"...
Friday, September 19, 2008
Adventures of a Portuguese Poet
For Smithsonian.com, a short story about Luis Vaz de Camoes, who I personally hadn't heard of until I started fact-checking a feature on Macau. He had kind of a crazy life!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
A Brief History of Chocolate
I'm so grateful that those pre-Columbian cultures figured out the cacao tree's potential...
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Cixi, the "woman behind the throne" in China
Sometimes I feel like this new job of mine isn't even really a job; I'm getting paid to be a student, and I feel incredibly lucky. As usual, I learned a lot in the process of fact-checking an article about Beijing's Forbidden City for the magazine. I was particularly drawn to the mysterious, powerful character of Cixi, so I wrote a little something about her for the website:
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!
I may blog occasionally:
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."
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