15 October

Letters From P.O. Box 2: Missives From The Real America, Not The Cable One

by Jon Katz
Missives From A Lost America
Missives From A Lost America

“Today is my birthday,” wrote Jo Anne, from Spring Creek Nevada, “I shall celebrate it by sending a missive to you. I do enjoy your blog and thank you for sharing your life with us.” Jo Anne is living with her mother and caring for her, her mother is 90 years old. “We count our pennies and do just fine. I keep an eye out for our 90 year old friend who lives down the road. We enjoy country life and hiking in the Ruby Mountains, which are nearby. This is Cowboy Country.”

Most of the people who write me are working hard to keep up, also counting their pennies. Their messages are neatly folded, and various denominations of cash slips out of their letters – $5, $20, $60 in sometimes new, sometimes old and folded bills. I don’t need to take money out of the bank for my trip to Tulsa this weekend, I have enough cash in my pocket.

These letters are precious to me, they are also not necessary. I did not open the Post Office Box looking for money. Many people who write me do not have the money to subscribe to the blog, they feel bound to try and contribute. I hope that people who can’t afford it don’t feel obligated to send money – the blog will remain free to you.

These are very meaningful messages of support, but not all of them contain money and those are just as welcome. Many of the letter writers are also online, but they form a secret society of people who love letters, love the feel of paper, love the sense of thought and intimacy between the sender and the reader. They use Facebook but also understood it is not the same as sending a letter, an act of civility and affirmation.  I love that intimacy also. If they feel as if they are sitting at their kitchen tables sharing my life, I feel the same way about them, I imagine them with a cup of coffee sitting across from me, something I love to think about. We are having our quiet chats.

I see I may not be able to answer all of these letters promptly, there are lots more than I expected.

The post office called me this morning to tell me my Post Office Box Number 2 (P.O.Box 2, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816) was overflowing, could I please come and pick up my letters, and I was once again astounded to see letters from all over America – Nevada, South Dakota, California, Hawaii, Ohio, Oregon, Michigan, New York, Colorado, New Jersey, Maine, Alabama. My Post Office Box was stuffed with letters. My eyes are opening once more to the reach of the blog and people’s commitment to it, and to my life with Maria. I might need a bigger Post Office Box.

I am seeing these letters differently each time I read them. I have opened a window into the Invisible America, the good and generous America, the gracious and loving America, the one that doesn’t ever seem to get to Washington or appear on cable news shows or get asked to negotiate the issues of our time. People like this do not really exist if you watch the other media, you would never find their letters and gentle and beautiful messages on what they call the “news.”

They have been left behind by a lazy and greedy corporate media and political system that dehumanizes us all, that focuses on what divides us, not what we share. What a shame, we would all be feeling better so much better about our country, the letters reflect it’s true spirit. I love the many letters from farmers and their wives, we have a connection. We share a lot. Everybody e-mails, but the nicest people write letters. So we are part of a community, now, an invisible world whose hearts continue to beat.

Most of the writers are men and woman who get up in the morning, have a cup of coffee, take care of their farm animals, walk their dogs, get ready for work on farms, in suburbs, in cities. Some read the blog every night. They follow it closely, know about Minnie, know my rantings about unwanted advice. “Please don’t disconnect me from the blog,” wrote Carol from Minnesota, “but I hope you let Minnie go out and be a barn cat again.” Don’t worry about it, Carol, I’m not that grumpy.

Most of the writers seem to have assumed I would not want or read letters, only e-mail and text messages.  They were happy to find out otherwise, and so many have responded. The letters are beautiful, written by hand mostly, some on typewriters, others on note cards.  Some of the penmanship is a lost art in itself. I am getting stories from the real and unheralded heroes in our world – the people who live their loves lovingly and quietly and celebrate their values. Across a vast divide of space and time, they faithfully follow the story of a man and a woman and their farm and donkeys and dogs and chickens and cats.

Minnie got a lot of cards over the weekend, and a few toys people begged me to accept. I will.

One of the messages was a postcard from Custer State Park, postmarked South Dakota. “A librarian from Minnesota has just alerted me to your writing,” wrote Linda, “I love your blog and your P.O. Box Office columns, I’ve insisted on my PO Box for years, “more to come.” I hope so.

Devayani wrote me from Honaunau, Hawaitt, she left the San Francisco Bay Area when it got too crowded and intense, she reads the blog daily. “I admire your integrity and your poems always make me smile. I like the flower photos best because there’s always a sense of miracles in the light. My own dog died last year so I appreciate the vicarious connection with your animals.”

This week, the messages have special meaning for me, they reveal to me the true spirit of this quite wonderful country, they give me so much hope and comfort. They are a counterpoint to the anger and coldness coming from our capital. They remind me what it means to be a human being. They tell humble stories of work and life and family. For me, this is the real America, these are the quiet and forgotten heroes, somehow we have constructed a system where our truest representatives never make it to Washington or want to go. I am meeting them every day and each letter is an impulsion of love and connection in a disconnected world. I thank you all for writing me. P.O. Box 2, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

 

 

15 October

On Macmillan Road, A Command To Stop And Sit

by Jon Katz
On Macmillan Road
On Macmillan Road

On Macmillan Road, we hear a tractor coming. I am walking with three dogs, one (Frieda) on a leash. I am training the dogs to move to the side of the road on command, the command is “move” and then sit, and they are learning to move to the nearest side of the road, and then “sit.” When Frieda hears the “sit” command, she stands still, she doesn’t quite grasp “sit,”it is not a natural position for her. Lenore sits, although slowly, Red moves quickly to the side of the road and sits, but I must be careful not to release him early – that command is “free” or he will shoot out too quickly.

Still I am making progress for six months, they are all moving to the side of the road quickly and beginning to sit and stay.

15 October

Poem: I Had To Write A Letter To My Country Today

by Jon Katz
Loving My Country Today
Loving My Country Today

I woke up this morning, and took a walk with Red,

I thought I have to write a  letter to my country today,

I have to say why I love my country,

in a letter,

even when it is having a hard time,

and send it.

As Maria loved me when I was having  a hard time,

and other people did not give up on me,

or walk away.

I love my country for my Grandma Minnie,

whose father told her, just before he was killed in another place

by people who called themselves police, “get to America,

my sweet thing, you will be safe there.”

And she did. And she was. “this is a wonderful country,

Johnny,” she often told me, “I hope you will never know why.”

And I named my barn cat after her.

I have to write a letter to my country today,

In my good  life in America,

I have always felt safe, and always felt free.

I have written 23 books,

too many articles, posts, columns to count.

No one ever told me I couldn’t say what I wished to say,

or hurt me for saying it.

I was born a Jew,  and became a Quaker,

and was lost and found and not once in all

of my life did anyone hurt me for being Jewish, or

stop me for being Jewish, or hunt me down and kill me

for being Jewish, as my great-grandfather and great-grandmother

were. And so many others have been, in so many places.

When I wanted to buy a farm, I did buy a farm,

and my life changed forever. Just like that.

I have to write a letter to my country today.

I rarely thought to write a love poem to my country, it is

a remarkable and blessed place, a dream and light to the world,

sometimes a great force for good, sometimes not.

But I remember when I was having bad days, and

when I needed a love letter, so I thought I would

think about why I love my country, today, every day right now,

every time somebody tells me about the news.

I remember one day when Maria told me she wanted to be

an artist. And she is.

I remember one day when my daughter said she wanted to be

a writer, who wrote about baseball. And she is.

I hear my grandmother’s voice telling both of them, I hope

they never get to know what a miracle those things are,

and can be.

So every morning now I think about why I love you country,

every day I see the goodness

and love and strength in you, and I am writing to

tell you that the very best of you is waking up,

and dancing with the stars, and will make you well,

and you will be fine.

I have to write a letter to my country today.

Much love, Jon

 

15 October

The George Forss Theater Of The Arts (Godhead And The Shutdown)

by Jon Katz
George Forss Theater
George Forss Theater

George Forss invited me to his art gallery, the Ginofor Gallery on Main Street in Cambridge to show me his latest idea, an audio-visual theater in the center of the gallery to listen to music and watch films and videos, this is definitely George’s radical evolution and movement into the modern world, a visual and kinetic place. He is completely re-arranging his art gallery, a whole new idea about culture.

Before going, I read his blog writings on “Godhead And The U.S. Shutdown,” in which he proposes that feuding Republicans and Democrats gather to go on a cruise ship and sail through the Bermuda Triangle in order to resolve their many differences. The more I look at the news from Washington, the more sense George makes to me, he believes in living in several different truths.  He continues to urge me to not surrender to a program of insulin injections for my diabetes, but to look for other solutions as well.

But the big news is George’s new idea for his gallery, what I call the George Forss Theater Of The Arts.

George is a pure creative, he is creative every day in almost every way, with his brilliant photography, his philosophy, writing and presentation of art. Yesterday, I hear the wonderful sound form the 14 “surround sound” speakers he has put around the walls of the gallery, today he is going out to get a large flat screen TV to go atop the large screen TV that he built himself but that only seems to pick up gold tournaments on weekends.

George says he isn’t sure what he will show on the screen – art screens maybe, his videos on politics, aliens and various alternative truths. He found this green sofa out on the street and carted it into the gallery, I told him he needs a popcorn machine and some vegan cookies. We are plotting our next lesson this week, on manual settings for the Canon. George is not only a photographic genius, he is an inspiration and a force of nature. I hope he decides to call it The George Forss Theater Of The Arts, that works for me.

15 October

Minnie’s Healing Journal: Soon, Back To The Wild

by Jon Katz
Minnie's Healing Journal
Minnie’s Healing Journal

It is hard for me to see a creature used to living outside freely trapped in a cage, but Minnie is healing well, she is alert, vocal, curious. We let her out of the crate as much as we can – she walks around, sits on the sofa. We have to keep her hood on as she works on her stitches and she is still having trouble eliminating but the vets say she is looking great, they plan to remove the stitches later this week, perhaps on Friday. Maria and I are both clear on Minnie returning to her life as a barn cat, she will not be living in the house.

Minnie has spent her life outside taking care of herself and I can see she is anxious to get outside and do her exploring and hunting, she is walking well, still a little off-balance. I believe strong in giving animals like barn cats the opportunity to live their lives naturally and freely, there are clearly risks involved in that, it is a trade-off that I think is in the best interests of me, she is the priority, not us. Looks like she will return to her life by the weekend. I think she is enjoying sitting with me and Maria on the sofa, getting a lot of attention, she seems much too free a restless a creature to be happy with a sedentary life.

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