Change Of Address. Ben working on our rotten sills.

The last time I moved was in 2003, and I had little to do with notifying banks, credit card companies or utilities. I did not handle money, I was too big a deal, and I wasn't even sure who my utilities were. I never dealt with them. I had given control of my life away to somebody else. Today, that is not the case. I do remember calling an insurance company back them and telling them I had changed my address. A nice operator took the information and changed my address.

Address changes are, of course, a metaphor for life. And the process is very different than it was a decade ago. Banks, credit card companies, insurance companies and utilities seem to assume a change of address request is likely to be a fraudulent attempt by a thief or hacker to steal a customer's identity of the company's money. It is no longer a simple process but a complex one, another spiritual test. I called one credit card company to change my address and they immediately cancelled my credit card and I had to submit to a 30 item questionnaire loaded with trick questions to get my card back. Why was my card cancelled, I asked? Because we were trying to protect you from identity thieves, was the response. You changed your address and made two purchases the next day that were not in your usual pattern. Do I have a usual pattern?, I wondered. I had bought a magic mouse from Apple and a power cord for my Ipod.  But what good is a card if it is canceled, I said. How does that protect me?, I wondered, eager to not offend my security consultant. Thanks for your input, sir, we understand how you feel.

It takes a long time to change your address these days. Mostly because nobody believes at first that it is your address. It is hard not to feel like a criminal if you are being treated like one. First, there are the security questions: last known address, mother's maiden name, favorite teacher, best friend in elementary school, name of your first dog. Then social security number, date of birth. The banks refused to even talk to me – get a form online, fill it out, mail it in. Federal regulations require this, they require that. I am hearing that phrase a lot lately – "federal regulations require." I am not political, but governments and their regulations seem to be in my life more than I want or need them to be. I feel like joining the Tea Party, I told one customer service rep. I'm going to a meeting tonight, he said. Do you need help finding a meeting in your area? Not now, I said, I need my credit cards first.

One company asked me if I had lived on any one of ten addresses they mentioned and I was questioned in rapid-fire style, as I used to do when reporting, to see if I got nervous.  I was nervous. If I made a mistake, they would hang up on me and cause my credit card to go up in flames. I understand the dangers of identify theft and fraud, but I wonder at this illusion of security.

Are these questions really going to stop a determined hacker? Do they really make me safe? These are my addresses and it does seem sad to me that such a simple thing is so fraught with fear and regulation.

A central tenet of the fear machine it that we need to be frightened all the time in order to submit to these intrusions, regulations, loss of dignity, investment in time and emotional energy. After I was grilled for five minutes by a second suspicious credit card company I asked what the point of this was. "Well, sir," said my intrusive interrogator, "We need to keep you safe, don't we?" Are  you asking me it it's okay with me that you doing this?, I asked. Not, not really, he said, making it quite clear that he was  not in any way interested in my views. We understand how you feel. Please answer the next ten questions so that we can give your card the go-ahead.

The best experience I had was with Apple, who didn't ask me any security questions online, and with a utility, who assigned me to talk to a friendly and efficient company who asked me my questions – he did claim my best friend was somebody I never heard of, but we got past that -  understood my new address, and changed it.

It took me many hours to change a dozen addresses, before I heard the words that chilled the blood in my veins and caused my heart to flutter. You need to contact Social Security and change your address with them. You may not hear from me for awhile. I have a speech ready for the next round. I will tell them I am happy to be moving, and that I have a blind pony and a testosterone-driven donkey and a great dog named Red. Maybe then they will believe me when I tell them that I have a new address.

Barn Red

Painted the Bedlam Farm Rolling Chicken Coop Barn Red, of course. Will finish up tomorrow and the chickens will be transported from their roosts tomorrow night. This coop is pure genius and thanks again to Tomiym of Common Sense Farm for building it.

The Last Days Of The Studio Barn

There is no more important building in the world for me than Maria's Studio Barn. Our relationship began when I offered her the use of this ugly barn and she accepted, in exchange for helping me with the animals. We were both married to other people then and I saw little of  her. She came very late and left early and I sat across the street wondering if I would ever see her. I did. I brought her popcorn and tea and bread and cheese there – she was gaunt and quiet, shy and tentative. As skinny as she was and is, she ate like a wolf and loved to have food brought to her. It was the first chink in her armor.  It never occurred to either of us that we both were heading for divorce.

It was the thrill of my life to see her come to life in that barn, how happy she was there. Now, we dance all the time in the Studio Barn. Then I stayed away, eager to give her space and not frighten her off. In that barn, she counseled me about finding another woman, and then when she turned out to be the other woman, it was in the studio that we sat in her big old chairs and talked about our relationship, about getting together. I promised to bring joy to her life. I waited for her to love me in that barn, and I could not believe it when she did. I loved crossing the road and seeing Maria dancing to strange music on her computer, whirling around the room assembling her potholders and quilts. It's time for a new studio barn, and she is ready but when I called her this afternoon and heard her crying into the phone, I knew I had to go there and help her move. This was her last day there. Tomorrow we will paint the new studio and start moving in. I bought some popcorn last week.

Frieda

The Studio Barn was as important to Frieda's life as it was to Maria's. Frieda spent a year in this barn, swathed in blankets, close by a roaring wood stove. She was too wild to come near the other dogs or be in the farmhouse. It was here that I launched the beef jerky campaign and an intensive year – for both of us – of training and connecting. Maria so hated to think of Frieda being alone in the Studio, and we spent a part of every night ferrying food, water and firewood so she could be comfortable, even in the nastiest blizzards.

I came to know Frieda and love her great spirit in this barn. It was  nearly a year before she let me touch her or put a leash on her. But together, we were able to get her into the farmhouse as a Christmas present for Maria. Frieda and Maria both came of age in the Studio Barn, the spiritual heart of Bedlam Farm, and I came to love both of them there.

Maria

Today was Maria's last day in the Studio Barn at Bedlam Farm, so special to all of us. For her, it meant a great deal. It brought us together. It sparked her return to her life as an artist. In that barn, we first talked, got to know each other, shared our loves, our fears, became friends. She loved every inch of that ugly barn – it was built in the 70′s as an appliance repair shop by a struggling farmer. Maria made it hers, building a nest for Frieda in the corner. Mother came to visit her at night. I came to bring popcorn and tea. I fell in love with Maria there. I saw her find her place there, open up  her life as an artist, make quilts, pillows, potholders, streaming pieces.

She was always happy there, singing, dancing, listening to music, flitting from sewing machine to table to floor, assembling the discarded fabrics she loves. It was a tough day for her, she was in mourning all day, I saw in the lines in her  face. Tomorrow, a new studio in a new place. Sunday she and her friends are clearing out the old studio and moving in here. I will be very happy to see her love a new studio, the schoolhouse studio. She talks about it on her website.