First things first: White Hen is fine. (See video below)

But yesterday, I learned an important lesson. There are some things I can’t do anymore, and I need to accept that. A seventy-seven-year-old man with heart disease should not shovel snow for two hours and then write steadily for another nine without rest in severe cold. First, I wrote that we had ten feet of snow. The Social Media Correction Unit went into meltdown.

I know better, but I just haven’t come to grips with the shrinking of parts of my life while others expand. I’ve worked hard all my life, and the idea of not working while others are is anathema.

By the end of the day, I was repeating some words and sentences without noticing. I have been told a hundred times that this is dangerous and inappropriate, especially when cold. I’m also having issues with my quite fascinating AI proofreading software. It’s done an excellent job for me—typos have been radically reduced—but it is also arrogant, presumptuous, and changes words now and then for reasons that mystify. Aside from being exhausted, I don’t have the time or energy to proofread my proofreaders.

I knew I had a foggy head yesterday when the first message came in from a poor fellow named Peter Rao who went into meltdown: “Jon, you did NOT get 10 feet of snow. Are you crazy? Do you know what 10 feet of snow is? You possibly have 10 inches. Don’t you realize that people in the comments are laughing at you?” I was worried that Peter would be the first man to have a stroke over my writing. I hope and pray he will recover. As it turned out, it looks like 12 inches. There’s a lot of snow.

Peter was the only one laughing at me in the open but he doesn’t know me. I got another message from the Social Media unit was also a bit unhinged by my type. They move fast,  but the typo was soon fixed.

People have been laughing at me for decades, Peter; I never got that attention when I was young. And I don’t care.  Peter  was correct but also late; the typo was long and quickly fixed. I’m never sure when I get messages like this whether I have dementia or just a 77-year-old man with heart disease who should know better to shovel snow for two hours and then write and work for many hours more (I did also spend a lot of time outside taking pictures as the storm petered out.

I think Peter will get over it. I would hate to kill somebody over my typos, and Peter was on the edge (and yes, I am crazy; no news there). My doctor says I have much more energy and clarity than most of the younger people she sees. I explained that one of my big problems is that I can’t stand to be inside a warm and dry house while Maria is outside shoveling paths and caring for the animals.

There are worse things in life than typos, Peter. If you don’t get some manners, you might encounter them.

I know what it’s like to clean up a farm after a storm; I did it for six years while living alone on the first Bedlam Farm. But I can’t do it anymore and shouldn’t.

Peter, I work hard, and the blog is free. However, people like you comment only on mistakes, not the content. Hmph. That stings. I also accept that social media has killed off graciousness, gratitude, and manners. It’s a high price for this much freedom, but ultimately worth it. The earth remains intact this morning.

Please take a deep breath, Peter; you’ll overcome this trauma, and your life will continue.

I always have work to do, not just writing and taking pictures. I’m unsure when we will return from today’s wool trip; the mill is a few hours away. I’ll see you later today or first thing tomorrow. Maybe I’ll rest when we get home. There’s an idea.

I hope you have a (more) meaningful day. You too, Peter.