Pat Bertram's Blog, page 111

Getting Back on My Horse

[image error]If getting back on a horse after falling off is a good thing to do, then I figure it’s just as good to get back on shank’s mare after taking a tumble. I really was leery about going for a walk, though walking isn’t the fear — falling is. I try to be careful, but accidents do happen (did happen!), especially when one is concentrating on something other than carefully walking around tools and supplies littering one’s yard.

I still hurt today. My knees are a bit sore, though worst pain is on the side of my foot that was caught in the strap, and my triceps. I can’t figure out why those arm muscles hurt. Maybe I jarred them when I fell or perhaps I somehow strained them when I pushed myself up onto my feet.

But arm muscles aren’t necessary for walking. So I did. Go for a walk, that is.

You will be pleased to know that, before leaving my yard, I removed the strap from the carport support pole. There might be other falls, but it won’t be because of that murderous piece of webbing.

I didn’t go very far — just to the grocery store. When I’d been there right before my fall, I’d seen Bailey’s Irish Cream chocolate chips, but I passed on by. I mean, really, who needs something like that?

Apparently, I do.

That was my excuse for the walk, those Bailey’s baking chips. Despite the stiffness and soreness, I did fine. Even better, I didn’t fall.

I’d planned to back out from my plans to get together with some friends and acquaintances at Christmas, but on my walk, I met a couple who offered to take me with them, so I might still go. I know I won’t be the only one suffering some sort of pain, and though I liked the idea of spending my first Christmas in my first house by myself, it will probably do me good to get out.

Or not.

I’ll see how I feel. It’s hard to be sociable when one is hurting.

Meantime, getting back on the horse with ten toes was the smart thing to do. At worst, I put any fear to rest. At best, I got those Bailey’s chips!

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

The Trip of a Lifetime

The trip referred to in the title is not a day trip or road trip or any kind of fun trip. It is a trip, as in . . . splat.

It was a gorgeous day with mostly clear skies, a warm sun, and a caressing breeze. I went for a walk because it seemed the perfect way to participate in such bounty at the very beginning of winter. As I passed the carport on the way out of my yard, I noticed the strap that was still attached to one of the support poles. The strap had been used to secure my just-delivered gates and even though the gates have now been installed for a few weeks, the strap is still there. Why? I don’t know. Haven’t a clue why the workers left it there.

There are a lot of tools and supplies spread out over my yard waiting for the contractor and his employees to return to work. Even more than the rolls of fencing or the bucket of ties, that strap suddenly struck me as hazardous, and I thought I really should do something about it. But I didn’t want to interrupt my walk, so I continued on.

Since I was out, I stopped by the grocery store, and headed home with several pounds of apples, a pound of nuts, a pound of butter, and maybe a pound or two of something else. A lot of pounds, in other words. I wasn’t carrying the groceries in my hand but on my shoulders via a BackTPack, which is supposed to be better for the back than even a properly fitting backpack.

A couple of blocks from the house, I felt a desperate need to relieve my bladder, so I quickened my steps. “Just a few more minutes,” I told myself as I opened the gate into the yard. I hurried, bypassing the zigzagging sidewalk and cutting through the carport and —

Yep. You guessed it.

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It was the hardest I had ever fallen, partly from the velocity — I was really hurrying when my foot got caught in the strap — and partly from the weight of the groceries I was carrying. Even when I’d destroyed my arm, I hadn’t fallen as hard. Back then, I landed on my wrist, and bounced onto my arm, pulverizing the wrist, destroying the elbow, and splintering my radius. I had no other injury, not even a bruise, since that arm bore all my weight.

This time, I landed flat, a full-frontal drop onto the bare ground. Luckily, I caught myself before my face hit the concrete sidewalk that I should have been walking on. I lay for a few seconds, shocked and scared and hurting and angry at myself and ruefully aware of the irony of the situation (not just the strap that I hadn’t moved when I should have, but also having mentioned just the other day that the last instructions my orthopedic surgeon gave me before releasing me from his care were that I wasn’t allowed to fall). When I took stock, I realized nothing was broken, nothing was sprained, so I clambered to my feet and hobbled into the house. I divested myself of my groceries and coat, emptied my still-full bladder, got cleaned up, slathered my knees with arnica gel, and dug out my ice pack. (Not peas, but a medley of stir-fry vegetables.)

My left knee hurt the most, so it got the attention. Later, though, other pains started making themselves felt. Since I was so stiff and sore and afraid of my joints stiffening up even further in the night, I took a couple of ibuprofen at bedtime. (Oddly, I never even thought of taking pain pills until a friend mentioned she needed to take some to relieve the pain from her fall, which had happened shortly before mine). I managed to sleep, at least as well as I ever do.

Today, I can feel the rest of my body, not just the knees. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Some of the pains I understand, like that knee (which must have been the first thing to hit), and the side of my foot, which might have been wrenched by the strap. Some pains I don’t understand, such as my very sore triceps. Nor do I understand why my deformed wrist and forearm don’t hurt. Don’t get me wrong — I’m glad they don’t — but I distinctly remember landing on that hand, too, and there is a small bruise on my wrist to prove it.

Needless to say, I am taking it easy.

I’m hoping this really is the trip of a lifetime, and that I never fall that hard again. But dare I confess? I have yet to go out and find a way to remove that strap.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Get Over It. Move On.

I notice that my latest grief posts have an edge to them — not anger exactly; more like disapproval.

This aversion is not towards grievers — never toward grievers — but towards those who don’t understand, won’t understand, can’t understand, and yet still feel they have a say in how people grieve.

Not all comments from non-grievers are as appalling as the one that prompted my post a couple of days ago, Grieving at Christmas. The comments are generally more clichéd, such as “get over it” and “move on.”

Luckily, I am past receiving any comment on my grief. Not only do I not let anyone know (except here on this blog) when I am feeling a bit of a grief upsurge, but I have mostly found an internal place to put my loss so that I can think of him and not think of him at the same time. (Or maybe I mean think of him sadly and think of him happily at the same time.)

But there are always new grievers, and the newly bereft do not need people’s attitudes. Do not need to be told to get over it. Death does not negate love. Telling someone to get over it is like telling someone to stop loving.

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Sometimes when people urge grievers to move on, they are not expressing insensitivity so much as a misplaced understanding of the nature of grief. (Which is why my book Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One was written both for grievers and for anyone who wants to understand this thing we call “grief.”)

Although people often think they are helping by urging grievers to get over it and move on with their life, they are merely showing that they themselves can’t handle the griever’s grief. Showing that they can’t handle the new person the griever is becoming. Friends and family want grievers to be the way they were before their loss, and the griever can’t be. Loss changes you. Grief changes you.

If those people were truly caring and sensitive to the griever, they would simply be there for the griever even years later, listen to the griever’s pain, understand that grief is a necessary mechanism, realize that no matter how much the griever’s pain upsets them, the loss suffered upsets the griever even more.

What I really want to say to all of those people who are impatient with a griever’s grief is, “Get over it. Move on. Their grief does not belong to you.”

See? Edgy. And not necessarily kind or helpful.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Happy End of the Creeping Darkness!

[image error]The creeping darkness will end this evening at 9:19 pm MT. “Creeping darkness” is a phrase I created, which is probably why you haven’t heard of it before.  I have a hard time with this time of year and the way the darkness comes earlier and earlier, stealing light from my days, and so “end of the creeping darkness” seems a perfect name for this particular event. The correct term, of course, is “winter solstice.”

“Solstice” comes from two Latin words, sol meaning “sun” and sistere meaning “stationary” because on this day, in the northern hemisphere, the sun seems to stand still, as if garnering it’s strength to fight back the darkness.

Technically, the winter solstice marks the moment when there is a 23.5-degree tilt in Earth’s axis and the North Pole is at its furthest point from the sun — from here on, the days will get longer, gaining us an additional 6 and 1/2 hours of sunlight per day by June 21st when the days begin to get shorter again. (This is reversed in the southern hemisphere, so today those down under will be celebrating their summer solstice.)

Though neo-pagans have claimed the solstice for their own, this is one of those natural holidays (holy days) that we all should be celebrating. The end of the lengthening nights. The triumph of light over darkness. We don’t even need the metaphors of light=good and dark=bad to find reason to celebrate this day. It’s simply a day of stillness, of hope. A day to give thanks for the promise that even in our darkest hour, light will return.

My celebration will be simple. I’ll turn on my bowls of light and go outside to toast the pale winter sun with sparking cider. Technically, I will be toasting the moon since the sun will have set hours before, but the sun won’t care. It will be shining brightly in the southern hemisphere, and will return to this part of globe tomorrow with greater strength.

Wishing you a bright and hopeful end of the creeping darkness.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Grieving at Christmas

[image error]The misconceptions people have about grief are appalling. Someone asked me today what grievers hope to accomplish by being depressed at Christmas (and not doing anything about it) when the grievers know being depressed won’t bring back their loved one.

As if we a choice about grieving. As if we want to be sad. As if drugging oneself into happiness is a viable choice.

Depression and grief are not choices. They happen whether we want them to or not.

Besides, grief over the loss of a loved one, at Christmas or the rest of the year, is not depression. Clinical depression is being sad for no reason. Grief is its own reason.

Holidays are painful. The first wedding anniversary, the first birthdays, the first major holidays. Each of these days brings a greater sense of grief because we are intensely aware that our life mate is not here to experience these once-happy holidays with us. Whatever traditions we developed together become obsolete when only one of us remains to carry on. The pain and the yearning to be together once more during these times can be devastating.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah, New Years are the big holidays with the biggest challenges. These special days are family celebrations, and often we are left alone with our memories and our feelings, even if we are surrounded by family.

The holidays during the second and third and fourth and even beyond can be just as difficult. Not only are our traditions gone along with our loved one, every commercial, every song, almost every movie tells us we should be happy, but all we know is that the person we most want to be with, the person who helped bring us happiness or helped magnify our happiness is gone. Even worse, we often need to pretend to be happy about our situation to keep from ruining the festivities of others.

The grief we feel at this time of year is not a conscious choice and comes even if we aren’t reminded of the holidays.

Our bodies remember the special occasions. Our bodies as well as our minds and spirits grieve, so even if we are able to put our deceased loved ones out of our minds, our bodies grieve for us with an upsurge of adrenaline and a change in brain chemistry.

It takes a lot of energy to try not to remember, not to grieve, which overwhelms the brain and exacerbates the very stresses we are attempting to overcome.

This is all in addition to normal seasonal effects, such as depression from the shorter days and longer nights. It’s also in addition to the normal stresses of the holidays.

No one wants any of this. No one ever thinks grief will bring the loved one back. We wish . . . oh, how we wish for one more smile or one more word, but it’s not going to happen, and we know that. But still, watching others have what we don’t is very painful, even if we are happy for them and their love.

Supposing we could do something about our sadness at Christmas, what do you expect us to do? Drug ourselves into oblivion? That’s a heck of a lot worse than feeling sad. Grief connects us in a tenuous way to our lost love; it’s a way of honoring them, and feeling the pain is the best way to learn to live without our love.

Jeff has been gone long enough that I no longer feel much of an upsurge in grief at this time of year, but I am very aware of what it used to be like for me and what it remains like for many grievers.

So, if you, too, have archaic ideas about grief, like the person who asked the question, please try not to foist your ideas on grievers. After all, one day you might be grieving at Christmas, too.

See also: What Do You Say to Someone Who is Grieving at Christmas? and Dealing With Grief During the Holidays.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Adventures at the DMV

This is the first time in nine years that I had to renew my driver’s license in person. The previous time I was able to do it online, but in Colorado, you can only renew online every renewal period, so I had to find a DMV office (next county over) and head out.

I don’t know why I was nervous other than simply having to deal with officialdom. When it comes to bureaucracy, nothing is ever simple. I was also worried about the eye test. I think I see fine, but what if they didn’t think so? I don’t like making appointments in the winter. I prefer being able to drive when it is my choice; i.e.: when the sun is shining and the streets are completely dry, and I didn’t want to have to worry about making appointments to get new eyeglasses this winter.

The first part of the eye test went well. They stopped me even before I finished reading the appropriate line of letters, so I presume I did okay. The next part, testing peripheral vision, was a problem — not the seeing part, the trying-to-figure-out-which-is-my-right-and-left part. So I raised my hand to indicate which side the light was on. Saved me from inadvertently blurting out the wrong direction.

Then, during what should have been the easiest segment of the process — the fingerprinting — things got strange, so strange, almost everyone in the office had to get involved. First, the machine didn’t read my print. Hands too dry, apparently, because after they wet my finger, the machine worked. But the print didn’t match the print they have on file. After a somewhat lengthy consultation, they decided the angle of the print was different this time. Or it could be just the excuse they used to enable them to override the system. The last time they took my print was a mere month after Jeff died, and I am not at all the same person I was back than. Fingerprints don’t change, or so they say. But grief changes our bodies in so many ways, so why not the fingertips, too?

They had asked me if I wanted to list an emergency contact, and I said no, but after she’d finished the “paperwork” and I’d signed the electronic pad, I decided I should add a contact. After all, if I end up dead in a ditch, someone somewhere should be told. So now another person in the office had to get involved because all the people I’d already corralled said it wasn’t possible to reopen my file — but obviously it was possible, because this new person did.

Then the coup de grâce — my photo. No glasses, no coat, no hat, no teeth. (No teeth showing, that is.) The photo is not necessarily supposed to look like us so that any person can check our ID; it’s supposed to look like a machine replica of us for easy identification by face recognition software. And the photo is in black and white. The pretty twenty-something photographer commiserated with the awful photo, then added, “But no one should have to look at it.” To be honest, I don’t know what she meant. That I was too old to have to show my ID to buy liquor or cigarettes? (Neither of which I buy anyway.) That if I drive correctly I won’t be stopped? That I looked like such a homebody I wouldn’t need to show my ID to TSA folk?

Doesn’t matter what she meant. I’m stuck with that photo for the next five years.

But, on a more positive note, I don’t have to go back to renew my license for another five years! Yay!

When I got home, being primed for dealing with officials, I went to the local Courthouse to renew my license plates. So now I’m good to go for another year.

Watch out, world. Here I come! Figuratively speaking, that is. I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

An Inside Look at a Small Town

Last night I attended a strategy session of the city council. I had no idea that’s what I was doing — the way it was originally explained to me, it seemed a one-time meeting to offer suggestions to improve conditions for senior citizens. Instead, it’s a seven-session focus group to address the needs of the community as a whole.

We discussed various matters, such as what we’d like the town to be, how it is now, how it is perceived by others, what change is under the control of the council and what is not.

Some things that need to be done, such as fixing the sidewalks and the storm drainage problem, are important, but won’t do much for how the town is perceived, though it sure would make it easier to walk! (Those of us who get around on foot generally walk in the streets.)

Most of what needs to be done, as far as I can see, is not under the control of the town. The loose dog situation is the county sheriff’s problem. Other situations are an individual’s problem. So many of the properties are abandoned, not just houses, but strips of what once were small businesses, though these places are probably not actually abandoned but still owned by someone who is simply not doing anything with them. Also, fewer than half the houses here are owner occupied, which makes for a tenuous situation at best, and there is no way to legislate away that ratio.

The council also wants to find a way to keep young adults here, and again, I don’t think it’s possible. The nearby towns that have brought in jobs are those that in the end destroy quality of life — one town brought in a feed lot, which, at certain times of the year, makes the air unbreathable. Same with the towns that brought in marijuana farms. Again, at certain times of the year, the air would be unbreathable. A neighbor a couple houses away has several marijuana plants, and in the summer, the smell of skunk is very strong. I can’t imagine an entire farm of that!

Other agriculture solutions are not feasible since so many rural folks sold their water rights. (That sure stunned me. Didn’t they ever watch westerns, where water rights are worth more than gold? But then, with agriculture collapsing in this area, I suppose they needed the cash in hand.)

Good paying jobs, such as those in the computer industry won’t be coming here, so ambitious young people would want to go out in the world and create a better life for themselves. The best the town can hope for is to make it a place where they want to come home to after they’ve seen and experienced more of life.

I did find it interesting that the youth and the older folk are looking at the situation from two different directions — so many of them are planning to leave, so many of us are here to stay.

A friend once said she thought the town should be advertising itself to seniors — because of the prevalence of small houses and their relatively low price as well as a moderate climate, the place is ideally suited for older people. (I mentioned this idea, but the council doesn’t want to focus on a single demographic.) I tend to think that over the years, this trend toward an older population is going to happen anyway because of the need for cheaper and smaller housing for retirees, though the lack of local doctors and urgent care could be a problem. There are doctors and a hospital about twenty-five miles away, but people who need specialists have to make the long trip to the cities along the front range — such as Pueblo, Colorado Springs, Denver.

No one seemed to care about my idea of an adult jungle gym since they didn’t think it had anything to do with changing how the town is perceived, though I think it does — it shows a progressive bent.

Even though this group isn’t what I thought it was, and even though I don’t really have anything to contribute (I can see the problems but not solutions), I might continue with these sessions. (As long as I can get a ride, that is — I’ve been told that it’s not safe to walk at night here, not even the few blocks to the town hall.) It gives me a different perspective of the town, and the councilwoman for whom I acted as a senior advisor last night wants me to come back. I know this woman from a painting class we took, and I like her, so I might continue for that alone.

Besides, the mayor asked me. Well, obliquely. He said, “Most of you are here because I asked you to come and be advisors, and those I haven’t already asked, I’m asking you now.”

So, there you have it, an inside look at the workings of a small town.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Time to Play

I’d planned to spend a leisurely day today, turning my mattress, doing laundry, cleaning up the mess leftover from my Christmas wrapping venture, meeting with the mayor. I’d only stripped the bed when I got an emergency call from a friend. They didn’t have enough people to play a challenging game of train dominoes, and could I please come.

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Ah, it’s nice to be needed. So, of course I said yes, though I feel a bit guilty about the chores that aren’t getting done. But there are other days for such things.

As for meeting with the mayor, that’s still on. The senior advisor to the mayor asked for volunteers to help plan community repair and beautification projects for this city in conjunction with AARP’s Liveable Communities Program. I’d merely suggested (requested, actually) that they get an adult jungle gym. And somehow, that got me volunteered.

I’ve seen a lot of photos for adult jungle gyms, which are nothing more than outdoor gyms with such things as stationary bikes, chin-up bars, and weight machines, which does not seem at all fun. The one I am interested in is the one I played on in Ponchatoula, Louisiana. Now that was fun! A rope bridge for balance, swivel boards, stairs, wheels to turn for strength, and all sorts of fun things. Even kids were intrigued by this playground. (To be honest, there were more kids than adults.)

I haven’t been able to find that piece of equipment online, but perhaps there are other resources. If this is being done in conjunction with AARP, I’m sure they would have some idea where to get one.

Meantime, I have to go play dominoes.

I just noticed a theme here: playing! I didn’t have much of childhood — too much responsibility — and I never really knew how to play. (Reading was all I ever wanted to do.) So now it’s time for me to play.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

 

Appreciation

A local woman’s snowman collection is being featured at the historical museum. There are hundreds of the creatures, all kinds and sizes (though none made of real snow).

I don’t have anywhere near as many snowmen as she did, but I do have a very small collection of my own. Though I have no particular interest in snowfolk, things do tend to accumulate.

This is an ornament I did in a porcelain painting class. The subject matter was chosen by the teacher, probably because a snowman is a fairly easy subject for beginners:

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This is a wooden wall decoration made for me by one of my new friends:

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This is a gift card a friend sent to me couple of years ago, that I thought was clever.

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And then there are these two five-inch-tall snowfolk who apparently think they are on an island adventure.

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I wouldn’t even have those last two except for Jeff. Although they took me forever to make (each hand-sewn body consists of eight pieces, plus another eight for hands and feet), I wasn’t impressed, and intended to get rid of them, but Jeff wouldn’t let me. He liked most of what I made, and if I did throw something away, he always rescued it. These two snowfolk adorned his desk for many years, and at the end of his life, when he told me what he wanted me to do with his “effects,” he requested that I keep them. (In fact, most of the things he asked me to keep were things I had made.)

I realize I am not bound by any promises to the dead, but it’s such a little thing Jeff asked for, and though I still don’t particularly like these little guys, they remind me of him. He was such an appreciator, not just of my things, but of anything of artistic merit.

Jeff was the sort of person movie directors hope would watch their movies, would understand their vision and appreciate all the nuances that went into creating that vision. He’d study the backgrounds and settings, special lighting effects, the subtleties that most people (including me) would miss. It wasn’t just movies — he appreciated music, books, even comic strips. When we got Calvin and Hobbes books, I’d scan through them, reading the words, enjoying the jokes, and was done in a jiffy, but he studied every line of every panel, sometimes taking as long to read/appreciate one strip as it took me to read the whole book.

Most of the things I kept of his are packed away, but I dug out the two island hoppers for this latest installment of my Christmas show and tell.

Now I’m sitting here, staring at the computer screen, tears in my eyes, wishing for . . . I don’t know. Maybe one more of his appreciative smiles. But whatever it is I want, it’s something I can’t have.

What I do have are things. And kept promises.

And a greater appreciation for my small collection of snowmen.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

All That Glitters

I haven’t done a lot for Christmas in recent years. When I was caring for my father, I made sure to make the day festive for him — decorating his small tree (which I inherited), making a requested meal (usually ham and potato salad), and getting token gifts. After he was gone, I did very little for Christmas, though I did exchange a couple of presents.

Since I’ve always saved wrappings and ribbons, I never had to purchase either. This year, however, I decided to go all out for Christmas — after all, it is the first Christmas/holiday season in my own home in my very own house. I’d used all the ribbons I had for hat decorations, and I had gotten rid of any paper when I condensed the stuff in my storage unit at the beginning of last year, so I needed to buy wrapping things.

The wrapping paper was cheap and pretty, and though I prefer blank undersides (to make gift cards and such), I had to admit the cutting lines made things easier. But oh, what a shock to find, at the end of the roll of wrapping paper not a cardboard tube (which I had plans for!) but simply rolled up brown paper. I did manage to roll that heavy brown paper tight enough to make an okay tube for what I needed (to store leftover window screening). But jeez. What’s the fun of buying rolls of wrapping paper if you don’t get a long tube with it?

And the ribbons. Oh, my. The upside: so glittery. The downside: so glittery.

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When I finished wrapping my packages last night, I noticed that glitter was everywhere. I was covered with glitter. The floor was covered with glitter. The countertops and table were covered with glitter.

I dry mopped, thinking that the trap-and-lock cloths would easily pick up all the glitter. Nope. Some, sure, but not even most. Then I tried vacuuming. Again, nope. Those little suckers stuck to the floor and wouldn’t budge. Then I wet mopped — twice — which got up most of the remaining glitter, but now, when the lights are on, I can see glitter between the floorboards. My floor is the original antique flooring that has never been refinished, and some of the boards have shrunk a bit in this dry climate, leaving space for glitter to settle. I have a hunch I’ll be cleaning up glitter until next Christmas.

I was already tired from a full day of festivities at a Christmas event put on by both the museum folks and the art guild. (Here’s some of us art guild members all decked out in holiday gear.)

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All that cleaning took me way past my bedtime (and I am not an early-to-bed-early-to-rise person) and wiped me out.

I try to end every blog post with some sort of hook or moral or lesson gleaned from the experience I’d written about — because otherwise, what’s the point — but the only thing I can think of to end this post is a note to myself: No matter how enticingly glittery the glittery things are, next year, be sure to buy plain old non-glittery ribbon and paper.

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[image error]Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.