It took about three months to train Fate not to open doors. Fate is not strong on boundaries, she has come up with a half dozen ways to open the back door. She never runs off, she just runs off to the pasture gate to wait for work. She would nose open the inner door and then stand up and push open the outer door, I would find her sitting patiently by the pasture gate looking innocent.
One thing that does not work in my life is have dogs, even cute ones, open doors at will. I stood by the side of the door outside and when I heard it open, I threw a choke chain against the outer door and yelled “no.” It has worked.
Fate is one of those dogs who will test almost every rule and restriction but when we make a strong and clear statement – when we find the time and patience to do that – she gets it and honors the command.
She no longer opens doors, but sometimes I still see her in the morning sun, plotting and scheming how to get back to work.
I brought my wide-angle lens into the Bog tonight, to capture a wider sense of Kelly Nolan’s world. On the nights she works, Kelly busses tables, waits orders and tends bar. Nobody can explain how she does all of that, and sometimes it is so jammed in there, we just turn around and walk out.
Kelly is unflappable, she seems most at ease behind the bar, talking to customers, making change and drink. I wanted to get a sense of her world.
Tomorrow, a landmark journey for me to New York City, to meet with my editor at Simon and Shuster to talk about my 30th book, Lessons From Bedlam Farm, which I start work on this week. I am excited to be doing this book, it is a chronicle of the lessons learned on the farm from September 2016 to September 2017.
I was planning to see my granddaughter Robin, but I had a bad cold this week and Maria has it now, so we have all decided it’s best to stay away from the baby this trip. We might go meet Emma and Robin for lunch in Brooklyn. No bonding tomorrow.
The trip to New York is important for me, I am excited to be starting on my 30th book, I have a good feeling about it. The book has already started with a lot of strong material – Red’s impending retirement and therapy work, the birth of my granddaughter, the rescue and arrival of the Gang of Four, Maria’s decision to go to Calcutta in February, the battle for the Round House Cafe.
Lots of lessons right there. People tell me Robin is cute, but I have no perspective on it, she surely has a piercing gaze and intent stare.
Maria and I will be taking an early train from Albany and will come back in the early evening Friday. For some time, I thought my book writing career was over, but I realized I love writing books, it is a huge part of me – as is the blog – and so I started writing proposals again.
Older mid-list writers like me are being abandoned by publishers all over the place, like small family farms, we are not considered efficient in the new big corporate global economy. But I set to writing proposals again, have a strong agent to help me, and it turns out I am not over after all.
I have a good publisher and a strong editor to help me, and I intend to make this my best book yet. The farm is the greatest teacher I have ever known, here I have given rebirth to myself. I had hoped to spend a day with Robin, my third visit since she was born, but life happens and I accept life.
My whole adult life, I have been going to New York City on behalf of my writing career, and so much has changed since that first trip to meet an editor more than 30 years ago. All I ever wanted to be in my life was a writer, and I am blessed to have spent my life doing what I love, and will do what I love for a good while longer.
The blog has become central in my writing life, it has stabilized me, grounded me, allowed my writing and creativity to grow. I’m grateful to be sharing this experience with you. More later.
One small Zinnia popped up in the morning, it seemed to want to be photographed, the Zinnia’s are making a last glorious stand in the back porch garden.
Is it difficult to be old, to get older? Yes, I suppose so, it is difficult to be young, to be a middle-aged man or woman with kids and nasty bosses and bills to pay, it is difficult to be a human being in some ways. It is hard to be a young mother with a baby. It is hard to work in jobs one hates. It is hard to be on the left or the right.
For me, it is also the best and richest and most rewarding time of life, filled with belated wisdom, humor, connections and accomplishment.
Aging is a rich and beautiful tapestry, challenging, surprising, full of opportunity and wonder. I am a father, a lover, a grandfather, a writer, a photographer, a teacher, a friend and a neighbor, a lover of animals, a seeker of fairness and reason.
We are pilgrims, we who are getting older, we have no leaders, no movement, no party, the young can’t imagine us, our peers feel frail and vulnerable, most often we are expected to disappear and fade into the soft light at the edge of life.
What a joy to step out of the place to which we are often assigned. I try to do it every day.
It is difficult to talk about aging with older people, as our culture forces them to see growing older as a never-ending struggle over money, medicine, insurance, and side-affects. Younger people have no sense of what it really means to grow old, and that, perhaps is why they are so full of promise and hope.
Their lives are broad and open, they have so many more days ahead of them than behind. They don’t need to know what it means to be older. I decided several years ago that I would not talk about my health with strangers, or even much with friends. I decided to accept the days that remain to me, and use each one well, and with meaning.
Tomorrow, I head to New York City, a triumphant train ride to meet with my new editor and shake hands on my 30th book, weeks after my 69th birthday, a couple of years after my life-long publisher left me for dead and ran away from me. People who get older in publishing, like people in movies, disappear as quickly as leaves on trees in October. I am not into disappearing, I create sparks.
Occasionally, people come up to me and say, with deep concern, and ever since my open heart surgery, “how are you feeling?” I say fine, “how are you feeling?” That, I think, is not a greeting.
I am still a bit on the cusp of things, I am beginning to be older, but don’t feel I am there yet, I seem drawn to looking backwards and forwards at the same time.
For me, the dominant effect of aging has been on my body, much more than my mind or my life. It moves at its own pace, grows and changes in its own way.
In his book, Being Mortal, Atul Gawande writes that modern scientific capability has profoundly altered the course of human life. People live longer and better than at any other time in history. “But scientific advantages have turned the processes of aging and dying into medical experiences, matters to be managed by health care professionals. And we in the medical world have proved alarmingly unprepared for it.”
True words. I think no one is prepared for it. We are on our own.
I had open heart surgery a couple of years ago, I also have Type 2 diabetes, as did my grandfather. Those are often aging things, my surgery was the first visit to a hospital in my life. Apart from the heart surgery, these chronic illnesses have not altered my life much, except they force me into continuous contact with the pharmaceutical industry, the government, insurance companies, and modern medicine.
I am careful that these things do not become an identity or way of life, they are just passages on the road.
I have to think about what I eat and when. I have to think about the sun and the cold in a somewhat different way. I know that I am blessed to live with a vibrant and strong partner, I am no longer certain I could live on my farm by myself, as I did for some years on he farm before. I have to think about what i do, and being thoughtless about what I do was a lifelong passion.
Dealing with the health care hydra in America is, in and of itself a prescription for stress, confusion and rage if one is not careful to keep life in balance.
A few years ago, I swore I would not be bounded by health and medical concerns, and I am not. I am getting older, but that is my age, it is not who I am, and I will not accept anyone who treats me differently. I am fine, thanks. I do spent a fair amount of time maintaining myself, and that is a surprise to me. I never had to think about it. My feet, legs, my skin all require more attention than they used to. Cold and heat affects me differently, picking things up off the ground requires some thought. I love sex and try to have as much as is possible.
I love making love. I can’t do some things I used to do, I do all right. People don’t think older people make love. People are wrong.
It seems my body is always changing, last month, a leg hurt, today a shoulder. Sometimes, my arthritic toes squawk.
I seem to have doctors appointments pretty often. A doctor friend suggests I will one day need a hip replacement (another thing I swore I would never do), no one understands how medical insurance works, and the hole in my medical insurance donut last year almost sent us back into bankruptcy.
The heat and humidity affects me differently than it used to, and I notice Maria doing more and more of the physical chores I used to do by myself. People sometimes open doors for me, and sometimes ask to carry bags to the care for me.
And I am healthy, I walk every day, write every day. And my writing has a depth and confidence I think it always lacked. I see the truth now, in me, in others. I have things to write about. Older people always tell me getting old is no fun, and I understand what they mean, but it is not how I would describe it. I know very few people of any age who are having fun. It is a gift.
I am having fun, almost every day. I am having fun right now. I had fun taking this photo above, I have fun writing every word I write.
I have to say growing older is a much richer and happier and fulfilling experience than anyone ever told me it would be, or than I imagined it would be. I am learning to make sure to keep my life in balance. Yes, things hurt and there are lots of pills suddenly around, but I am writing better and more frequently than ever. I am more creative than ever before. I am helping more people than ever before. And teaching better than ever before.
I have finally learned enough about life to write about it with some meaning My blog is growing, I have a new and committed publisher at a time when many writers like me have been tossed over the side like an unfinished meal.
I have love in my life, perhaps the most significant balancing imaginable in life. If you have love in your life, the world is filled with light and promise.
When you have someone to love, aches and pains are a minor and occasional thing, not the reality of life. I am getting a new dog, loving the ones I have, taking new kinds of photographs – infrared, portraits – and scheming to go to Calcutta with Maria if she goes a second or third time (I bet she does.)
I am busy, my head is spinning with things I mean to do. I am eager to get my new Iphone 7 plus. I am going to make my 30th book, “Lessons Of Bedlam Farm,” my best book yet. I love herding the sheep with dogs. And talking to donkeys. And learning to love a horse. And listening to animals. And talking to them. And walks in the woods.
I am planning more portrait shows, more books, more blog posts, a new infrared camera. I have a savvy new book agent who has faith in me. I always want my life to be full of things to look ahead to, to want, to be excited about. I think the big thing I have learned about getting older is to make sure I fill my life with balance.
Getting older is one thing, there are so many other things. I am fine, thanks.
