A housepainter raised his eyebrows when I decided that my recently remodeled study required the yellow of spring light in the forest. At Cornell, I teach a course on creativity. As a child of the '60s, I have a strong social conscience and enjoy volunteer work. But my problem-solving sometimes leads me in offbeat directions. In my home town of Ithaca, for example, we have what was until recently the only residential hospice in New York State, a refuge where the dying can spend their final days in dignity and grace, where they are visited and cared for by a militia of compassionate souls.
Residents pay for their stay, but no one is turned away, so fundraising is a constant challenge.
Recent plans called for a comforting landscape of gardens, bird habitats, a walkway, a gazebo, and a spiral garden that curves like a chambered nautilus. But there wasn't enough money for the project. I proposed an all-city birdhouse competition, followed by an auction of the entries. Birdhouses excite me in a special way. They fit spiritually and metaphorically.