Friday, Maria and I discussed this impending holiday for the very first time. I said I was going to relax this holiday, and not write all the time.

Are you saying you won’t be writing over the weekend, she asked?

No, of course not, I said, and she laughed. But the conversation did spark some thinking about the need to relax and settle down. It was a difficult week or two for me, I think.

I’m sitting here just after sunrise at my desk shivering a bit (I have no clothes on yet, better not to think about it) I need to think about the holiday. It just has to come out or I’ll bust.

Raising money for a funeral for someone’s child was fruitful and good, but also upsetting and painful. It wasn’t my child, but it was hard to see this family have to struggle so hard just to bury their son.

I still feel the echoes of Red’s death. Someone messaged me joyfully to say, “See, you do grieve for your dogs,” as if that made them happy or vindicated them in some way. Of course, I grieve for my dogs, I just do it in my own way, something that is very hard for some people to accept.

We all want to believe everyone feels the way we do, or should.

Here’s what I have learned about grieving: do not ever tell anyone how to grieve or when to grieve or whether they are grieving or how to get over grieving or when to move on. They will always hate you for it, and you will almost always be wrong. We all grieve in our own way.

Why do we have to say anything?

Then there was the messed up woman who wrote to my breeder trying to stop the sale of a puppy to me for unknown reasons. It was hurtful and a potent commentary on our times, and I’m sure I made too much of it, as is my wont.

Yet, I still feel it was important. She could have done a lot of harm.

Broken people deserve mercy, not condemnation, so I failed in that.

The next day, some angry man sent me a long message which said he was sure I was stealing all of the money people sent to the grieving family and planning to use it to take a vacation in Europe and the Caribbean, or fund what he is sure is a lavish lifestyle.

He suggested I was both a thief and a liar.  There is no answer to that.

Yesterday I wrote about the sadness and dislocation people sometimes feel in assisted care (I called it When The Light Goes Out) and one woman said it was inappropriate for me to express an opinion about that, it made her worry about her mother, who is in assisted care.

She was upset with me for expressing my opinion.

But then, I am learning to focus on messages like this, from an eloquent man named Jeff Odon:

“I think your experiences at The Mansion have been among your best writing. It is honest, and even when you tackle difficult but inevitable topics like this, it shines a light on a group of our society who deserve more. You remember “the forgotten” and your kind words about the residents bring some well-deserved dignity to them. Plus, your work there gave birth to your Army of Good.”

Thanks, Jeff, he said it better than I did. Maybe I should pay more attention to those messages.

Will I live long enough, I wonder, to see a day when people stop telling me what to write, or what to do? No, I guess not. Time for Radical  Acceptance. What a chance to grow in a spiritual way.

Think of the liberating day when it no longer bothers me, I’m close.

When you write out in the open, some weeks are fun, some are challenging, some are just nasty. This was a nasty week, if I think small, a wonderful week if I think large.

But there was a lot to absorb and I can’t say it was peaceful.

We got the money to bury this child, we raised the tuition for a brilliant young man to go to Bishop Maginn High School, we launched a new choir for the school, christened a new computer lab and science lab, and clothed and supplied dozens of students who will show up for school with the things that they need.

We also got every teacher an Ipad, and all of the supplies they need. Every poor kid in the school who needs a backpack and supplies has them. And the school is more secure, thanks to the ladders and kits and emergency backpacks we got them.

At the school’s Open House on Wednesday,  I got to meet some of the remarkable young students in the school who want to take my writing workshop in October and November. How lucky am I? I think we will self-publish a book of their stories.

There was a wildly successful Sweater Festival at the Mansion, our annual boat ride on Lake George is just a week away – the residents are very excited.  We have 26 tickets purchased thanks to the Army Of Good, this is now an annual tradition. It lifts the spirits of the residents all year.

Everyone at the Mansion who needs warmer clothes for the winter is getting them this week.

I put a deposit down on a Lab puppy I will train to be a new therapy dog, her mother and father are beautiful and her breeder is extraordinarily diligent and thoughtful.

Fortunately, she doesn’t put much stock in hate mail.

Neither do I, but there it is, a part of life. The puppy is due on September 20, if things work out, she’ll come home around Thanksgiving. (If there is a she, of course.)

On a personal level, I have not ever been and could not be happier.

My daughter and I are in a very good place these days, after a few bumpy post-divorce years,  and I am learning how to communicate with my granddaughter, who is shockingly verbal. I sent her a skeleton this week, her parents balked at getting her one, so I rushed into the void.

We have hay in the barn and wood in the shed. We are ready for winter.

Fate is showing signs of being a wonderful therapy dog, that is such good news. We are working together after all.  Bud has settled into the life of the farm, a loving little thug, a Little King.

Two donkeys are among my closet friends, they are authentic and intuitive. I find it’s easier to trust donkeys than many humans.

My relationship with Maria is a miracle, I love her more each day I know her and live with her. I didn’t even know such a relationship existed in our turbulent world. Watching her grow as a successful and gifted artist and a strong and empowered woman is one of the joys of my life.

She is an amazing person, I have so much love and respect for her. Our life together is nourishing and precious.

We love our farm, our blogs, our animals, our work, our podcasts. Life cannot get too much sweeter.

My recovery continues, and happily. I am liking myself more all the time and living my life.

Don’t ask me about my health, ask me how I am living my life.

I will tell you I am living my life fully and meaningfully. Being in love and doing good are the things I needed to be well and grow.

So that was really a wonderful week, not a nasty one in most ways. I hope to write this weekend, to spend some time in solitude, to purge the nastiness out of my system and practice both acceptance and gratitude.

Maria and I are mulling getting one more small white birch tree to plant, as is our annual custom. They are usually on sale at this time of year.

And I plan to eat whole belly clams for lunch at Jean’s Place.

To the Army Of Good: think about how much good and hard work we have done to brighten the lives of so many people. On Labor Day, I hope we can appreciate our labors.

Is there better work to do? Thank you, I will try to be a better leader.

And of course, I will write about the process…:), and hopefully, take some nice photos to share with you.

Next week, I’ll start trying to raise tuition money for eight refugee children who badly need to get into Bishop Maginn High School. We have a lot of time to help them.

Happy Labor Day, I  have never done better or more important work. I wish you all a peaceful and meaningful holiday, I am grateful for your support and forbearance.