21 April

People I Love: Alfreda’s Lovely Birthday Party. Who’s The “Big Boss?”

by Jon Katz

Alfreda’s friend threw her a beautiful birthday party on Sunday; we were invited. It was on a beautiful hill in a lovely house with a gracious host and six warm, accomplished women with interesting lives.

It was a particular time, and Maria felt the same. It isn’t always like that, I have to confess.

I’ve long believed social gatherings are often warmer and more comfortable when men are not around.

Alfreda’s birthday party helped affirm this for me: women seem to know how to talk and listen better than most men I know.

This gathering was especially comfortable; I enjoyed it very much, and so did Alfreda. As I left, I thought that this was in part because I was the only man in the room.

It’s a strange thing for a man to say, and yes, I am a man, but I can’t help but think it’s the truth.

I have found that women are often easier when men are not in the room. Perhaps I am speaking only for myself. I know what it feels like to be uneasy around men; I always have been. My father taught me that, I suppose.

Alfreda is easy to love.

She is warm, funny, loving, and brave. She works as hard as anyone I know.

She was very special to us, and the people gathered to celebrate her birthday; the house has a breathtakingly beautiful view,  lunch was great, and conversation was easy.

People who love Alfreda are most often the people I come to like a lot.

She is a great and precious friend. And she poses like a champ, moving into the light and lighting up with a great smile.

The We Love Alfreda Society is an impressive group of people. It was a privilege to sit next to Alfreda and watch her beam for an hour or two. She was humbled and pleased by the attention, almost shy; I’m not sure she has had too many birthday parties.

On Tuesday, Maria and I are taking her out to dinner to celebrate.

We always have a good time with Alfreda. She is honest, and she has a huge, loving heart and a wonderful sense of humor. She’s quite comfortable smacking me around.

She often needs her sense of humor, but not today. She was very happy at the party, and so were we.

She calls me “Mr. Jon,” a title I love even though I always respond quickly: “No, you are the Big Boss.”

11 April

Brace Yourself, A True Story. The Tale Of A Compost Toilet, A Panic Attack, Peace Of Mind, And A Dark And Cosy Bathroom With A Sacred Angry Red Chicken Painting

by Jon Katz

Brace yourself; this might be the strangest blog post yet. Spirituality can break out at any time and in the oddest of ways. The story is about a powerful meditation I had in a compost toilet while looking at a painting of a red chicken by an artist friend named Pam White. For an hour or so, the toilet was a chapel. It helped.

As I wrote yesterday, on Monday, I had one of the worst panic attacks in my life Monday, and into the night, I thought my whole creative life was about to get shut down. I decided to approach my panic and anxiety differently. The fear inside of me will never be gone entirely, but I can do a much better job of controlling it. It’s like diabetes. It has no cure, but it can be managed if you work at it. I’ve been managing it closely and well for a long time.

Something failed inside of me on Monday.

The first step in my mind was to contemplate my life and meditate on my fear, to go deep and to the roots of it, and to confront that panic by digging deeper and understanding better. The deep breathing exercises all the shrinks are talking about have worked on me as well as on Maria.

First, Maria has a nasty ear infection and is on antibiotics.

She needed to sleep last night, and I needed to meditate in a more serious and committed way.

This attack was frightening and unexpected. It was also, as usual, based on a lie I was telling myself – that I was in danger of losing everything. A couple of months ago, we installed a compost toilet in the upstairs bedroom so we would only have to keep running up and down stairs at night to go to the bathroom. We were trying to think ahead.

I was going downstairs, but I looked over at our quaint little toilet and wondered if it wouldn’t be good to sit on it. I don’t know why; I am just drawn to the space; it seems like a small retreat.

I am still determining where that idea came from, but our compost toilet called to me.

I was shocked to come to love this toilet. It works well, has no odor, and is easy to maintain. The little bathroom we built around it is tiny, cozy, and quiet. I like it in there. I love the darkness and the smell of the wood. I decided to sit on the toilet and do my meditation.

It is warm and calm, the perfect place to meditate and focus on the things I want to focus on. Thomas Merton would have loved it there—or freaked right out.

Our little farmhouse is noisy—dogs, donkeys, sheep, trucks, and birds at the feeder, all kinds of sounds.

(My new meditation chapel. The truth is stranger than fiction, yes.)

I sat down, turned on the small light Maria had installed, and was surprised to see in front of me a painting of a red hen I had bought from my friend Pam White, a very gifted artist. Maria, ever thoughtful,  hung it up for me as a surprise.

The bedroom was dark. The toilet is odorless, but thanks to the moss, it smells like pine trees outdoors.

Maria was asleep. When I came in, Zinnia came over to lie in front of the bathroom door. It was peaceful and quiet there; nothing could distract or interrupt me. It was a wonderful place for meditating.

I felt safe there, enveloped in monastic silence. I didn’t realize how important that is. I began doing the breathing exercises I’ve been listening to: inhale 1 2 3 4, hold 1 and 2, exhale 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. I was getting anxious when  I came in, and to my surprise, the meditation gurus were correct. I could feel my heart and body slow down and calm down. I sat in that bathroom for an hour. I hadn’t disturbed Maria; my faithful dog was outside the door. My faithful wife was snoring softly in her bed across the room.

I felt strong when I left that little bathroom; the panic was gone. I know there is no magic wand for fear; I’ve been wrestling with it my whole life. This was a good idea.

I came out feeling that something inside of me had changed just a bit. I don’t kid myself. I will never be totally without fear, but I know I can bring it down to manageable levels. Other people have done it; I thought I was one of those people. I am still in progress.

I know I’ve promised to be open on the blog, but I never imagined meditating in a small toilet in a darkened room with a painting of a red hen hanging over me like a statue of one of the prophets.

This is what I love about life: if you keep your eyes and ears open, you will see some fantastic and previously unimaginable things sooner or later. I’m going back there tonight. I’ll say a prayer to the chicken. Maria was a little surprised when I told her the chicken might be sacred.

She took it in stride since she had just come in thrilled and excited because she had seen two worms mating in the gross. I don’t think anything can surprise her anymore.

1 April

I Was Offered An AI Software Experiment To Block Hatred, Chilling And Shockingly Effective. I Can Have It For Two Weeks. I Won’t Be Using It

by Jon Katz

Long Ago and Far Away, I used to write for Wired Magazine. One of the people I worked with has become a well-known software engineer in Silicon Valley. We were both relatively young and realistic when the Internet blossomed, and we were convinced it would be a blessing for freedom and democracy. Finally, information would be free.

To some extent, that dream is true; to another, it often appears social media is chewing up democracy and threatening it severely. Online hatred has become a political and personal weapon, increasingly used to punish disagreement and free thought. My friend and others are now claiming AI software can turn that tide.

Being young and idealistic, we didn’t imagine the greed and indifference of corporations, who allowed their websites to be cesspools of hatred, rage, and bigotry to draw an audience.  We didn’t foresee that this anger and rage would grow and threaten our democracy rather than nourish it. Writing in the open on the Internet is now too often asking about social bullfighting.

I’m skeptical of my friend’s idea.

Reading my blog, he’s followed the hatred and cruelty that seem to be blossoming everywhere and on my blog at times, making me a fascinating proposal. He wants me to use new and experimental AI software designed to stop and block hate messages. It works simply, he says. The AI software is fed thousands—even millions—of hate messages and the e-mail, fake or real names of the people who send them.

They do this by collecting and storing the names of people who send cruel, threatening, or vicious messages. They also collect what the messages look like, feel like, and sound like. When the software is fed and activated, it automatically and instantly identifies and trashes or destroys these messages instantly.

I would no longer see them, although they can be stored if I ever wish to read them. He wants me to try this software for up to two weeks and report my experience.

I thought about this for a few hours, but no longer than that.

I thanked him for thinking of me and declined his offer.

As you know, I believe in confronting and sometimes exposing hate mail. I wouldn’t say I like getting it (who does?) but thinking about it, I decided that what the AI software should do is precisely what I am beginning to do and should do myself.

Instead of using software, I would block or destroy these messages on my own and continue with my work rather than surrender them to the software, which is so intrusive and technical that no one, including me, would know how it works, how it gathers all this material, or what it would ultimately do with it.

My arguments with haters (yes, you, Jullie) are well known and often tiring and frustrating to me and the innocent bystanders who must listen in or hear wanton cruelty and hatred.

But I am getting there, and no software will strengthen and empower me more than me. I’m not turning this task over to AI software; I will never be sure I have the strength, skill, or confidence to handle this issue myself if I do that.

Hateful messaging has not prevented me from doing my work, writing what I want, or loving my blog, my life, and the many excellent and non-hating people who read it.

Yes, I know this is how the Nazis started it, but I am not prepared to equate what is happening in America to the Nazis and what happened in Germany. I think that’s going too far for me.

I installed much more moderate software that allows me to delete hateful messages instantly and, with one button, ensure that no one sending such a message will ever get posted again and move their messages straight to the trash.

It’s straightforward. The software identifies names, languages, e-mails, and sources from which they are sent. It does not block, delete, or eliminate people who disagree with me, dislike me, or wish to challenge me on my thoughts. I can delete the haters if I wish, but I don’t. Those are the messages I want: thoughtful, intelligent, and civilized. Those are the messages I am getting now.

This is my work—writing in freedom, exchanging ideas, hopefully getting people to think, and hoping they will return the favor.

My software has blocked hatred 100 percent since I installed it, and I glance at it once or twice a week to ensure innocent and good-meaning people are not being blocked by mistake.

I don’t seek Nirvana. I love having some tension on the blog; it suits my thinking. I hate having hatred on my blog; it obsesses and detracts from me and my ability to think. And I don’t want an invisible screen between me and those who read me, no matter how much some might hate my guts.

There is an Orwellian element to this.

The haters will only know their messages never appear in my blog comments or appear in my e-mail. They do not know; they are banned, blocked, or banished unless I tell them or unless they tire of yelling into the sunset without the satisfaction of knowing they hurt or dig some damage. In my experience, they feel the best solution is quitting and going away. Haters need an audience to hate; silence does for them what sunshine did for Dracula.

But it has worked for me. I don’t miss the hate; I don’t miss the hatred it pulls out of me; I am more accessible than ever to write what I want and share it with people who want to read. Slowly, day by day, my dream is coming true, and if anybody gets credit for it, I do, and my readers do too.

As tempting as it is, I don’t want AI software to do this for me. I want to prove to myself, and yes, the world, that this can be done by ourselves. Hatred flourishes only when it hurts and is listened to. I can’t guarantee this will be a kinder and more compassionate world.

But it’s a good start, better than letting this hatred and cruelty flourish without challenge or the power of decency and honesty. Good luck, Jullie; I can’t honestly say I wish you well, but if you are reading this, know that you are gone and will never be admitted back.

My message to me is good for you, Jon; you are dealing with this in a mature, realistic, and hopefully compelling way. I told my friend I honestly believed I could do it as well as his software could.

Maybe I’m just arrogant; perhaps I’m a visionary. I won’t be a coward.

We’ll see.

25 March

Attention Credit Card Blog Donors

by Jon Katz

As of today, we’ve canceled credit card donations. The processing service was becoming prohibitively expensive, and most donors used Paypal, Venmo, or mail. That is unchanged. Their transmission fees are much smaller.

Credit card donors will receive an e-mail notifying them of the cancellation. I hope those whose credit card donations are canceled will consider re-subscribing or donating through Paypal, Venmo, or the mail: Jon Katz, Blog Support, P.O. Box  205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

We need your support. Thanks.

For details, you can go to the Support The Blog site on the blog. I appreciate your support, and this money can be much better used than going to credit card transmission companies. The cost was becoming more significant than the donations.  – jon

23 March

Farm Journal, Saturday, March 23, 2024 Winter Pasture, 24 Hours Of Snow, More To Come, Ravenous Birds, Tired People

by Jon Katz

It’s fitting that the worst storm of the season comes in mid-March. We are so buried that we could never get the generator out of the barn now. If the power goes out, which is likely, we’ll go dark and silent, which is always a kind of spiritual experience. It’s rare to have peace like that in our time.

Maria and I went out and shoved a half dozen times and gave you. There is too much heavy, wet snow. We spent a wonderful hour in the living room watching the hungry birds swarm the feeder outside the window. I am eager to read tonight if the power stays or play chess by candlelight.

I am making progress with my bird photography, and I love taking black-and-white photos in the winter pasture. I’d never see this in a place like Florida, and I would miss it. I’m too old to do much shoveling of wet snow, I stopped soon. But the photo-taking was great fun. I won’t have snow to kick around soon for many months. For that matter, the birds will only be at their feeders for a short time.

It was a beautiful day in so many ways. I overdid the shoveling and the car scraping and began to dehydrate. I sat by the fire and read a bit, then fell asleep. When I woke up, we pulled chairs out. It’s one of the last gasps of winter; it is going out with a big bang.

My Leica class last Sunday was a great success; I’m finally figuring out how to make this complex and excellent camera work. I’m skipping the food pantry food of the day today; I’ll get to it tomorrow.

This storm was serious, but that is also why we are here. There is a lot of life happening on a farm in upstate New York or anywhere else. Somehow, this makes us happy and gives meaning to our lives. What we do matters.

If the power holds up, I’ll upload more of these photos in a few minutes and also tomorrow. But don’t be surprised if the blog is dark tomorrow.

Lulu is in the barn licking the salt block. The donkeys eat hay in the pole barn; the sheep go outside.

 

Snowdog and Maria

The hills across the road. I can’t remember any snowstorm lasting this long in my time here.

We had a beautiful time sitting in that corner, watching the birds.

Maria is in the barn, getting some hay.

 

The apple tree in the pasture

The snowcat was on and off his throne all afternoon. She had a lot of fun.

Fate and I got warm together; we came in to dry out.

The winter pasture was made for landscape, and so was my monochrome camera.

Bedlam Farm