3 June

Being Mortal: Life As A Story

by Jon Katz
Me And Paul Simon
Me And Paul Simon

I learned in my hospice work that in the end,  people see their lives as a story, perhaps a series of stories.

That’s what make our lives meaningful, I think, and we know of no other living thing that sees its life as a story.

A story has a beginning, a middle and an end, it is marked by highlights and important memories, the most important ups and downs. Mostly dying people wonder if their life had meaning.

In a story, things happen. We exist beyond ourselves, a very difficult life may be meaningful, a simple life may be shallow, even empty.

At the edge of life, people would often take my hand, or look at one of my dogs, and say “I had a good life, I was a good father,” or “my life was difficult, but I loved every moment of it,” or “nothing in my life compared to my years fighting in World War II. My life never  had more meaning.” They all had a story to tell about themselves, they all wanted to tell the story of their lives.

“Being mortal, “writes the author Atul Gawande, ” is about the struggle to cope with the constraints of our biology, with the limits set by genes and cells and flesh and bone.” It is also about a time when people stop wanting to hear your story. That has not happened to me.

It is generally not possible for the young to know what it means to be mortal, because they are  not yet struggling with the constraints of biology, or the siren lure of modern medicine, which often lulls the aging into believing they can live normally and in control for many years into the future. Medicine suggests it can do that, life has other ideas.

As people age, they lose  track of their stories, and the culture around them no longer sees them as having stories worth telling. Many live in a twilight state, caught between the cruel promise of modern medicine and the struggles of mortality. Hospice and medicine both teach that there is no simple or easy way to die. But there are good and bad deaths. Too many deaths take too long and have no purpose.

I am weary of hearing the horror stories of children who fight in every which way to keep their parents alive forever and then complain bitterly about the toll it takes on their own lives. More and more, I respect the people who take the trouble to think about how and when they will die and take control of it. It is not easy to do.

My struggle with biology is more dramatic than I once imagined, but  not especially severe.

I have two chronic diseases, diabetes and heart disease. I had open  heart surgery and my diabetes is very much under control.  During my surgery, I believe I left my body and was reborn, I saw it and remember it still. I have begun life anew.

Still, medications, doctors appointments and visits to the pharmacy are an integral part of my life now, I manage it all but it does not define me, and I hope it never will. I do not do old talk.

I am sorry to see people in line every time I go who can not afford the cost of the medicines they are told to take because politicians have lost the will or the decency to control pharmaceutical and insurance companies.

In our society, to be old and creative can be especially challenging, bit by bit, the elderly become invisible in popular culture, supplanted, as perhaps is just, by new voices and ideas.  They are happy to take money from old people, but otherwise make them as invisible as possible.

We have to stay sharp to survive, and our story is marked by rebirths and comebacks, that is a part of the American story as well. I’ve already had a few, and am planning another shortly.

it is difficult not to become cynical or angry when I see what happens to people who are mortal. Mortality is one thing, ageing is another.  I feel I am just now learning how to live, how to write, how to teach. In a very important sense, my life is just beginning, I finally know enough to begin to live it.

For me, mortality is not about dying, at least not yet, but accepting what it is I can do and what it is I can’t do with grace and strength. It’s still an  intellectual exercise for me I can do almost everything I need and want to do. Open heart surgery was very good for me it made me healthier perhaps than I have ever been. I am beginning to be old, but not yet there.

Today, I sat out on the red rocking chair out under the apple tree with Red and listen to Paul Simon’s new album “Stranger To Stranger” on my Iphone as the gentle wind blew through the pasture and over the corn fields. I loved sitting out there, watching the deer on the horizon and the baby rabbits chasing each other through the marsh. Paul Simon is an inspiration to me.

Paul Simon feels like an old friend, he is in his 70’s, I’ve been listening to him ever since I was a teenager. His new work is lovely, touching, funny, wise and lyrical. And experimental. Simon is always changing growing, learning new instruments, drawing from different cultures, taking chances. He could sit still or rest on his laurels, but he does not. I won’t either.

It was just beautiful so sit out there with Red, two old dogs, their fur getting ruffled by the Spring wind, listening to Simon’s beautiful music once again. He is no longer a great singer, but is very much a great musician and song writer. How wonderful, I thought, how lucky,  to be a writer, where your voice or hairline or iron muscles or what you wear just doesn’t matter much to anyone.

I loved Simon’s new music, especially, his “Insomnia Lullaby,” where he asks God to spare  him another long night with the moon. Being mortal is to understand what that song means without asking. Simon knows where he is in this album, but also just keeps on going, and going strong. His songs are full of feeling and empathy.

He has no intention of retiring and seems to just get smarter and more creative. That is his story, and I hope, my story. That is what I want, to do the best I can for as long as I can. That story has just begun.

 

3 June

Last Chore

by Jon Katz
Last Chore
Last Chore

In the summer, the last chore comes around 6 p.m.,  when we get the grazing animals out of whichever pasture they are grazing in. We are maintaining a fairly rigid (for us) rotational grazing schedule, especially with a pony, who would eat herself nearly to death of left alone.

We also have a limited pasture, we need to let each pasture refresh after a couple of days. We have three now with our new fence. This was the second day in the side pasture. The sheep usually go back to the pole barn, they are not yet shorn and get worn and tired in the heat. They don’t stay out too long, but we sent Red and Fate out if they are, or even if they aren’t.

To get the donkeys out, one of us walks behind them and claps and says “let’s go girls, and Lulu and Fanny, who are wicked smart, trot out of the pasture indignantly. Donkeys do not love being told what to do. Chloe will keep eating until Maria puts a halter on her and then she agreeably walks with her out of the pasture.

Chloe loves Maria and while she won’t leave the pasture without encouragement, she is happy to go when Maria is holding her halter. Sometimes she just runs right out. Then we lock up the pasture gate and tomorrow, we will switch to another pasture. I love the afternoon light, it works well here.

This is the last chore of the evening, one of us does a final walk through around the barn before we go to bed, to make sure the fences are up and the animals are okay.

3 June

Meet Your Large Animal Vet

by Jon Katz
Meet Your Large Animal Vet
Meet Your Large Animal Vet

We came to the Round House for our Friday night pizza, a new and sacrosanct tradition for us and we ran into a bluegrass duo playing great old bluegrass songs. The duo was Alan Epstein, left and Jason Weinstein, right, who happens to be our large animal vet, he works out of the Granville Veterinary Service.

We have called Jason in a panic more than once and he is precious to us, he is also rough and tough. He crawls around pastures, sticks his hands up animal uteruses, wrestles with donkeys and ponies and sheep, does life-and-death diagnoses in the middle of the night.

Large animal work is rough, dirty, sometimes frightening and very physical work. Jason gets down in the much and is fearless. He also gets filthy. His wife is also a large animal vet and he has two small kids. He is often called out in the middle of the night, he answers quickly and comes running.

I can tell you it is a scary thing to be out in the dark with a large animal writhing and foaming on the ground. We are glad to see Jason, there are  not too many older large animal vets, it is a young person’s business.

Jason is a vet we truly trust, he is always direct and honest, conscious of the cost of things and acutely aware of the animals and their comfort and pain levels. He is one of the people we most want to see when a pony goes down or a donkey has a seizure or a sheep gets wobbly. He saves a lot of animal lives, but he also doesn’t avoid the reality of animals and their real lives.

We were happy to see him playing his guitar and we sat down and listened to him and his partner sing and play for awhile. Scott put down a carpet for Red (who is afraid of linoleum floors) and we spent a couple of happy hours there. He sings and plays very well.

3 June

The Barn Down The Road. A Different Focus

by Jon Katz
The Barn Down The Road
The Barn Down The Road

I walked with Red down this road, I saw the old barn at the end of the road, and I put the camera on manual and deliberately shot it out of focus. I thought the old barn evoked something, I didn’t want it to be literal, but to touch the imagination a bit. I liked the feeling of the mysterious old barn down the dirt road, force the viewer to imagine it rather than see it. Digital color photography is often so literal, I wanted to try doing it differently with the 5D monochrome.

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