Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

My friend Ali was stunned to learn that I was 71, he thought I was about 50 and was genuinely shocked to learn he was a generation off. That’s right, I said, I’m old.

Last night, I read a book which referred to one of the characters as being “an old man now, he was 71.” I’m reading a mystery in which the once tough private detective is 71, and he regular ponders suicide, musing that at his age, there is not much point in working or living any longer.

How is one to process this harsh way of looking at aging. I like to think of it as the only remaining acceptable kind of bigotry, older people are absent from popular culture and many workplaces, thus are inviting targets for people who still need to feel superior to someone else.

I am liking getting older, I find I am happier and wiser and more productive than when I was younger, when I was sadly preoccupied with rage, ambition and dominance. I like to think that as I get older, I actually know something, some of the bad genes just die off, and of course, there is life, which will beat me to a bloody pulp if I get to be too smart for my own good.

As one gets older in our country, you start accumulating doctors like sports teams accumulate players. There are no more wise Marcus Welby’s to tap your heart and say, hey, you need to take it easy now. Instead, specialists see me once or twice a year to check me out and see how I am functioning with diabetes and heart disease.

One of my favorite specialists – I never really see them long enough to get to know them, or vice versa – has a routine. She comes into the examining room and looks at me.  She always makes some time to talk to me, she wants to know who I really am as well as what my cholesterol level is.

“You look great,” she said last week, as she sometimes does. “You look very healthy to me.” Since she hadn’t examined me or looked to study any data like the male doctors too, I laughed and asked her what this diagnosis is  based on.

“Well,” she said, “I look at the tests, but mostly I look to see if you look vital to me. I look at your color, I watch for your sense of vitality, I pay attention to the energy coming off of you. And I’m never off, people who are sick usually look sick, people who are usually healthy look healthy. It’s a spark you give off,  you seem very much alive to me. That is a sign of good health.”

And then she takes her tests and looks at her data, just to be sure. And I was healthy, she said. This time, we talked about things, women do take more time than men, for sure. I will never see a male doctor if I can avoid it.

My doctor asked me if anything was bothering me, anything that I needed to talk about.

I said there was one thing. Once in a while, I said, I felt drowsy – I take about a dozen different kinds of heart and blood pills – and I take a nap.

She looked at me, waiting for the next click. So?, she asked.

Well, I said, I never needed to take a nap before, and I’m wondering why I need to take a nap sometimes now..

She laughed. “Jon,” she said, trying not to laugh. “You do know you’re 71, don’t you? And that  you had open heart surgery four years ago, and have diabetes?” Yes, I said, I do know that, not sure where this was going.

“I have 40-year-old patients who take a nap every afternoon when they can, there is nothing better for you that. You race around all the time doing a zillion things, I gather, and good for you for taking a nap. I’d recommend you doing that every day.”

She suggested that i didn’t really know where I was in life, I didn’t know that at my age, I might sometimes need to take an afternoon off, or better yet, set aside an  hour a day for a nap. I admit this shocked me and got me to think.

I don’t want to take any afternoons off, I said, but I get the nap idea. I wish more people had a doctor like this, health is many things.

Let me ask you a question, she said. What keeps you vital and healthy? It’s not just medication.

I liked that question, I have been thinking about what health is, apart from the tests and data and numbers doctors use. We are not encouraged to ask those questions of ourselves.

Well, since you asked, I said, I work every day to feel gratitude for the small things in life – for good friends to have dinner with, for talks with Maria, for snuggling in bed, for walking with dogs, for writing on my blog, for taking pictures, for eating  a small sugar-free chocolate with raspberry jelly inside, for making love, for a few days of vacation, for the soft whinnying of donkeys wanting a carrot, for photographer’s light, for my work with the Mansion residents and the refugees.

I could go on and on, I said.

I’m grateful for the company of people who like me, choose gratitude over bitterness and offer hope and inspiration instead of argument and judgment.

“When you talk of vitality,” I said, “I think of the light.  I am always trying to claim the light, so that I will find myself becoming more radiant, even as I get older.”

Great, she said. You are obviously healthy.

Meet Ray Telford, he’s an experienced local carpenter and handyman, one of a dying breed of individuals who work for themselves and will take on just about any task, no matter how gritty or unpleasant (except for electrical work, he stays away from that).

He even does plumbing.

People like Ray are invaluable, it’s like acquiring a new member of the family. In the country, you will always need help, and usually, quickly, and I always like to introduce new members of our family to people on the blog.

Ray is awfully nice, the people who work with him adore him and can’t say enough good things about them, and we are finding out why He is thought, careful and conscientious. We hear he is also inexpensive, we’ll find out soon enough.

Like most handymen, he tries to explain things to me rather than Maria, although he is figuring out I know nothing and she is the one to talk to. Workmen up here are not used to conferring with women about repair work, it takes some time for them to get used to it.

We are also fortunate to know Jay Bridge, a retired engineer who loves to do engineer tasks. He is awfully busy, but he came to patch  up the porch roof, which was rotting through. Jay promises to return before winter to put some wooden gutter over the back door, too much water pours down on it.

On a farm, there are always a million tasks, you get to them one at a time, when you can afford them, otherwise the farm will go to pieces around you.

You can never get them all done, unless you are rich or a what they call a Gentleman Farmer, a noxious term.

We need some help.

Our donkeys have been eating the wood plants in the barn, especially when they get bored in the winter and can’t graze. There are three or four widening holes in the wall, and soon, there won’t be a wall. We tried various applications of chicken wire, but they pried the wire off and have been chowing down on the old wood.

On the other side of the barn wall is newly-arrived hay stacked up just a few inches away, and they are judiciously eating through the chicken wire and the wooden planks. Some of the holes are getting big enough for the sheep to walk through, and if that happens, we are all in big  trouble.

So we called Ray, who is out there in the hot sun with his jug of gatorade and a handsaw and SUV and cart. He brought some rough-hewn pine boards and heavy chicken wire to staple over it. He really does good work, and we hope to have him in our lives for a long time.

It takes a village to keep a farm going.

And it is a relief to think that the donkeys will not eat through our barn wall and  wreck our old barn, especially as winter approaches. Ray said even as he was beginning to work, the donkeys snuck up behind him to nibble on the boards.

Donkeys are crafty devils, they will try something else if this fails.

We are happy to have Ray in our lives. Next up is a new barn window on the side.

Ali and I are fast friends and brothers, something of a miracle for a Jew from Providence and a Muslim from the Sudan, we have joined together in the celebration of doing good, and in the selfishness of feeling good while so many feel bad.

We have been working together for well over a year helping the soccer team and refugees and immigrants without a bump or tense moment or argument.

We are almost frighteningly in sync. We do love one another.

This week we have our first fight, it lasted for about four hours, consisted of a few tense and loud phone calls, and was resolved at first light this morning.

Mostly, it was about nothing, which is true of 99 per cent of the fights I have had in my life.

A couple of weeks ago,  I raised some money from the Army Of Good so that the soccer team players going to high school could get some new clothes. As always, I insisted that I be there to photograph them, as that is something I promise the people who send me money – I always want them to see  who is getting the money they send, every refugee, every Mansion resident.

This work is built on trust and faith, I don’t wish to ever betray it.

It was a very intense week for me, I had to raise more than $6,000 for Sakler Moo’s tuition to the Albany Academy, and another $2,000 for the soccer team van’s new brakes in just a few days. I (we) also had to spend $1,700 for a new porch roof, and send off nearly $8,000 in quarterly state, local and federal taxes.

I have been saving for the taxes,and the Army of Good came through for Sakler, so I got through the week, but I can’t say my nerves were not rattled. I also agree to pay $6,000 a year for Sakler’s tuition for the next three years, so I better start saving now.

I was, to say the least, on edge. I felt alone with all of this fund-raising, I keep Ali a way from it, so he can focus on the kids and the refugees, sometimes it does feel lonely and sometimes I feel as if I am hanging out of a skyscraper window.

Suddenly, the soccer kids  decided at the last minute that they didn’t wish to be photographed, they didn’t wish to be seen as the stereotypical “poor refugee kids,” they said (very politely) that they would get the clothes some other way, they knew I felt strongly about photographs.

This was perhaps the last straw in a grinding week. I was  upset. I knew their parents didn’t have that kind of money, it bothered me that they wouldn’t get the new clothes they needed.

They know I always take photos, why are they balking this week?

Should I return the money? Make an exception?

When I thought about it, I told myself to get over it.

It wasn’t the kids fault, their concern was quite legitimate. I know what it is like to be ridiculed and stereotyped in school. They were being wise.

Ali was, as always, eager not to upset me or disappointment me. He had a big streak of Mother in him, and he always wants everyone to be happy, especially me.

Ali was baffled by my edginess, and shocked. Maybe hurt.

I could hear him crashing on the phone, he just deflated, he couldn’t figure out how to deal with it. I kept asking him sharply what was wrong, he sounded unlike himself, but he kept insisting he was fine, and this annoyed me further. He didn’t want to fight. I think this made me angrier.

So we got into one of those he-said, she-said things that was upsetting and strange for both of us. Tell me the truth, I said, if something is bothering you, or if I am bothering you, you need to tell me so we can sort it out.

I don’t want to have to guess what you are thinking, I said, always ready to slug it out.

I realized – my shrink once told me that I am an empath – that he was puzzled and frustrated by my anger, but he couldn’t say so. Our work and relationship are important to both of us, it did not feel right to feel estranged, even for a few hours.

it’s not an equal battle if one side is ready to fight and the other side doesn’t fight. It was on me to patch it up. He is such a good, sweet man. I am not as good or sweet. I know I sometimes intimidate people.

This morning, I called him up first thing and said we should meet at our office, I gave him a check for $600, somewhat less than the kids really need, but just about all that is left and  more than I usually give without showing people a photo.

My poor refugee fund is a bit battered, donations are tip-toeing in. We will be fine.

Let’s forget the photos, I said, just bring me a receipt.

My people will understand if I don’t take photos, and I understand, the kids are perfectly right. They have always co-operated with my need for photos, and if they didn’t want to this time, they had to have a good reason.

Transparency is a big thing for me, a reason  we remain active and successful. But any rigid rule is a bad one. I believe in change.

School starts Friday, so we had to move forward, let’s not waste any more time quibbling, I told Ali.

We had nothing really to fight about, we were doing great work together, there will be bumps.

The mark of a good friendship I said, is the same as the mark of a good marriage. The question is not how you can avoid all conflict, but how you can learn to resolve conflict together.

In a sense, I said, we are married in this work and in our friendship. So let’s work it out.

I was  a bit frightened.  I spent a lot of money last week, and it is upsetting to me to do that. I don’t want to make a habit out of it. It scares me, I know what it’s like to run out of money. I know this work is stressful, and much rides on it. I have to be aware of that.

I was irritated, I suppose, but mostly just fearful.

Sometimes, you just have to be bigger than yourself.

Ali cannot bear to argue, he wants to please everyone. I spent much of my life arguing, I consider it cleansing and spiritually uplifting sometimes. Ali said he was very unhappy that I seemed unhappy, and he cannot really bear conflict.

So we had a good talk. I said that arguing is part of being human. I was not a saint, and he needn’t be a saint either. Arguing, getting angry, is part of being human, part of learning to trust each other. We will come out the other end.

We all  have to learn how to do it. I thought of arguing sometimes as being like flushing a toilet, it just removes the waste and stress in a  relationship.

I told Ali that he and I could not expect to do the kind of intense work we do together, day in and day out, and never have a disagreement. Bumps are a part of life.

You are not failing me by getting upset with me, or if I have a problem,  I said, you are not my mother, you are not responsible for my happiness.

That is my job, and I am quite happy with my life, happier than I have ever  been. Don’t take that on, I said.

So we had a cup of coffee together, went back to laughing and plotting and planning. It is the kids that matter, we both agreed, we have to do right by them. And we are brothers as well as friends, I think we both learned that we can argue and the world will not end.

Our friendship, solid and true, simply reformed like some soft putty.

That is good for both of us to know.

I think I learned this lesson a long time ago, but I am a lot older than Ali, and I have many battles under my belt. I think he knows it now as well.

That, i said, it only makes our friendship richer and more secure. It think it means we care.

Audio: The moral of the story:

I have two muses on my desk and a couple on the floor, like most writers I’m superstitious, the muses have brought me to a life that I love and kept me there. I had an argument with a friend today and he said he was sorry that he made me unhappy.

Unhappy?, I replied. I love my wife, my work, my life, my farm, my dogs and donkeys. I am a very happy man. So I’m kind to muses, at night I put my new Blue Lamp – Maria bought it for me in Brattleboro, Vt. Sunday for $40 – on the muses as they stand together, one reminding me of life, the other of death. Keeps me humble.

Ali and Liam both like to lie in the sun in the same spot. When Liam get there first, Zelda comes and stares at him until he moves, which he usually does.