I lost another round of photos before I figured out the Flash Card was malfunctioning. Got it going though, with an old card. At book tour time there are requests for photos of the dog, so we do a bunch of photoshoots and the dogs, by now veteran media slugs, each love to pose in their own way. As you can see Frieda is getting into it, Rose as usual maintains her distance and integrity.
Took Simon for a walk today, up the road and across, to the big meadow across from the farmhouse. He was in heaven, chomping away till his belly was about to bust. Then Lulu or Fanny brayed for him and he got anxious and we went back. Six months ago, he had nothing to eat, and today he had his own meadow to graze. It was fun.
Simon and I took a walk on the road today. A van full of Pennsylvania tourists came up the hill and pulled over, and the driver leaned out of the window – this is a true story – and without even blinking at Simon, said, “we’re looking for a farm, a writer guy named Katz lives there. You know where it is?” The women in the back seat started shouting, “that’s Simon! That’s Simon! ” and were clicking away with their point-and-shoots. They got out and petted him – he is a rock star, I think – and then drove off. One wanted a snip of his mane hair. I declined. Nobody asked for anything of mine. As they were leaving, one of them said, “oh, I love your books!” But I think I have been upstaged.
__ For signed and personalized copies of “Going Home: Finding Peace When Pets Die,” or for pre-signed, personalized copies of the “Going Home” video for $5 plus tax and shipping anywhere in the world, call Connie Brooks at the Battenkill Bookstore. It will be exciting signing between three and five hundred copies of my book in a couple of days. She will have to feed me. And provide ice for my hands. Thanks for supporting the store and making a loud noise for individuality and the power of the community bookstore. To pre-order the book or the video – all signed any way you wish – call 518 677-2515. Or e-mail [email protected]
Sunday, I am videotaping Connie’s mother, Marilyn, who will read a small segment from “Going Home.” I will put that video up Monday. Marilyn is also a rock star. She will undoubtedly also upstate me.
Doing lots of interviews on the book tour. The “Support Vermont” part of the tour is taking shape. Will firm it up next week, from Burlington to Brattleboro and to some hurting places in between. September 27 is drawing near. From the first reviews, it seems the book will be helpful to people. I hope to hit the New York Times list for second time this year. Normally I don’t care much about that, but this year I do. I’m going to do it next year too.
In the morning, Lenore and I walk around the farm, checking things out. Lenore sniffs everything and eats things I don’t really want to know about. But she is a wonderful companion, quiet and reliable. She never runs off, causes trouble and when I fiddle with the camera, she just sits down.
Planning a quiet weekend. Have to rest up for the “Going Home” book tour, starting in less than two weeks. Got the first tour sked and it is a whopper, a full month of traveling and appearances. I love it, but I will miss the farm and my life. But I am well equipped – Ipad, Iphone, laptop, cameras – to share the experience. Everyone who wishes can come along on the book tour.
It starts on September 27. I’ll be stopping by the Saratoga Springs Barnes & Noble sometime in the afternoon to sign their books. Then to WAMC in Albany for an hour sitting with my friend Joe Donahue. 2 p.m. Then to the Barnes & Noble in Colonie (Albany) for a talk and signing at 7 p.m. Interviews all morning. Off we go.
This Sunday, I will video Marilyn Books of Battenkill Books who will read from “Going Home.” I’ll put it up Monday. Very cool. I am very excited about this book. Battenkill already has more than 300 pre-orders. To order a signed, personalized copy of “Going Home” and support a great independent bookstore, call Connie Brooks at 518 677-2515.
I got up at 5 a.m. and drove around for an hour to catch the sunrise and the mist and got some beautiful photos that I loved. I got some more in the barn, and still more of the donkeys’ eyes. I lost them all transmitting them to the computer. Boy do I hate that, as much as I hate losing chapters. But being a photographer has taught me a lot. There is always another beautiful day, another beautiful photo. Let it go, so I did. Ouch, though.
I was thinking about the blog and communications. An interesting subject for me, and a continuing and evolutionary process. I see the blog as a monologue, not a dialogue. My boundary works this way: I write about my life, but I do not want to be thinking about my life or discussing it all day, or arguing about it with anyone. I just don’t do that. I try to be open on the blog, and I have been faithful to that, so I write about it when Rose gets sick, or I deal with fear, or I confront issues like my approach to health care. I take responsibility for my decisions. They might be right or wrong, and either way I will live with them.
I think it is natural for people, when they read about subjects like, to offer me advice – their experiences, they thoughts, what their friends and siblings and co-workers did. I got a ton of advice about Rose and her medications. I got another wave about my decision to leave the mainstream health care system. And how to deal with fear I know this is inevitable, and one of the great things about the Internet is that people can get help if they need it. I’ve often though to give unwanted advice to people myself. I have never known anyone to take it or seriously consider it. And I never ask for it, not online.
I remember reading once that advice is something that ought be given sparingly, as fools do not take it, and smart people do not need it. That’s a bit black and white for me, but I think there’s a lot of truth in it. I get hundreds of e-mails a day, and if I read all of this advice, let alone took it, the top of my head would probably come off. If you open yourself up online, put yourself out there, then you have to build your own boundary around your work and your life. And one has to be open about that too. Corporations have all learned to use interactivity to pretend to care about what people think, while we all know they don’t. I do care what people think, but I am rarely looking for advice, and my life is neither an argument nor a referendum.
When you step out of conventional wisdom or mainstream thinking for better or worse, you will not be in sync with much of the world. I have come to see this as my natural place. The job of the writer is to uplift, challenge and sometimes provoke. Otherwise there’ s not much point in me.
My idea of self-determined life is to gather the information I need, consider it carefully, make my decisions and move on. There is no end to the amount of advice available to people now, and if I listened to much of it, I wouldn’t be on the farm, wouldn’t be married to Maria, wouldn’t have four dogs and three donkeys, wouldn’t be a writer, wouldn’t live in upstate New York. I would be living very differently and much more safely and practically. The blog has been a continuing experiment and education for me. I think it works as a monologue, and I know the price of sharing one’s life is that other people want to talk about it. So this is not a lament – I love the blog and Facebook – but an explanation of my point of view. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time or mislead anybody. I do not believe I know what anybody but me ought to know, and I rarely know that.
I never tell other people what to do, never give advice when it is not requested, and only seek it from people I know and trust.
