Pat Bertram's Blog, page 23

Twenty Wishes

I just finished a book where a group of widows, in an effort to find joy in life again, decided to each make a list of twenty wishes. It was a project they put a lot of time into, trying to come up with so many wishes. The wishes weren’t supposed to be a to-do list, but in the end, some of their wishes were things they were able to do for themselves rather than leave it up to the fates. (Buying a pair of red cowboy boots, for example, vs. falling in love again.)

It was a clever idea, but something like that would never work for me. Though come to think of it, I did attempt to start wishing about three years after Jeff died. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very successful at it. I just couldn’t think of many things I wanted, except truly impossible things like hiking one of the long trails.

As it turns out, so many of the good things that have happened to me — or that I made happen — after Jeff died, were things I would never have wished for because I didn’t know I wanted them. Dance classes, for example. They were an important part of my life for many years, but dancing was not something I’d ever wanted to do, and performance? Totally out of my realm. And yet I did go on stage.

Then there was my cross-country trip, my backpacking trip, my house, my garden. None of these things would ever have ended up on a wish list (except perhaps for wishes that included hiking) because they just didn’t seem feasible. And more importantly, weren’t things I wanted.

And yet all of those things have made my life what it is today. A special life, for sure.

One thing that I might have put on a wish list is a gazebo because I’ve always loved the idea of a gazebo. Weirdly, I still don’t have a gazebo — what I have (or almost have) is a hut.

Instead of being a light, airy, white wrought iron structure, it’s dark and heavy. But it functions the same, or even better, since it’s cool and shady under there. And it will be comfortable when I decide what furniture (if any) would be appropriate.

I’m not really sure the hut fits with my other buildings — the house and the garage, but I have a hunch that if I had painted the hut to match those buildings, it would be too much of the same thing.

But, gazebo or hut, I have a covered structure in my backyard. I’m looking forward to entertaining the Art Guild in a couple of days, and with any luck, the weather will cooperate. Right now, though, the sky is as dark and heavy as my hut. Eek! I sure hope those construction workers manage to get off the roof if a storm rolls in.

But I’m getting off the topic — perhaps — of twenty wishes. Making such a list worked for the women in the story, but in my life, not so much. I certainly wouldn’t want to limit myself to only things I can imagine. I would have missed out on too many great life experiences.

***

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 Rest of Today

This was another of those days where I spent many hours outside. I hadn’t planned on it, but with a possible thunderstorm expected tomorrow, I thought I better mow my lawn before it got drenched again. And then, since the thunderstorm is only possible, I thought I better water my grass and other vegetation because some of it was looking a bit droopy. And then, I had to plant a few things my neighbor brought over. And then . . . Well, the day got away from me. I only stopped working because my legs and feet gave out on me.

As it turns out, it was a good thing I did all that. Now the forecast says that dangerous storms are possible today as well as tomorrow. Yikes.

It was also a good thing I planned ahead, unlike yesterday, and wore my gardening clothes.

People have asked me if spraying my gardening clothes with permethrin helps prevent mosquito bites, and it seems that it does. Yesterday I ended up with a few hugely swollen mosquito bites (I tend to be sensitive to the bite of little critters) and today, I had none at all. The pants I mosquito-proof are khaki rather than my usual black, so that helps, too, but I tend to think the major help is the mosquito repellant, both on my clothes and my hands. (I use lemon-eucalyptus oil on my skin which works as well as Deet and is supposed to be a lot less toxic, though I still use it sparingly just in case.)

Unfortunately, I have yet to find something that works to eradicate the itching once I have the bites. I use witch hazel as a wash, and that does help some, but what comes next is rather a crap shoot because sometimes a thing works and sometimes it doesn’t. I’ve tried everything, included things people have suggested, such as Melagel, Campho-Phenique, After Bite, Lidocaine, hydrocortisone cream, Caladryl, and several others. The only thing that ever worked for me was on the market just a short time — it was a homeopathic product put out by TechNu, but it’s long gone. (Amazing how that happens — every single time in my life I found a product that actually works, it disappears, and I’m left trying in vain to find something to fill the need.)

But, sore feet, mosquito bites and all, these two days were worth it. My yard looks great! Even better, because of all the work, I have nothing much to do tomorrow but dig up the patch of ground that spent almost three years beneath the pallet of shingles. Not only is that ground hard rock (the truth, not just a cliche), but the grass and weeds that survived the lack of sun, moisture, and air are wickedly strong. I did water the area today, so I’m hoping the moisture will make it easier to dig down to remove the weeds when I get around to doing the work.

But that’s for tomorrow or even the day after that. For the rest of today, I’ll . . . rest . . . and enjoy the single johnny jump up that jumped up and showed its pretty face.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of intriguing fiction and insightful works of grief.

Workers!

I spent the day outside. I needed to clean up after the wind and hailstorm yesterday. All I really needed to do was pick up small branches that were blown in from a neighbor’s tree, so it wasn’t an arduous task, just a long one. I also weeded a part of my yard I’d been letting go. I’d planned to mow when the grass dried out, but . . . ta da! Workers showed up!

While I had their attention, I pointed out various small jobs I’d like them to finish, and then I remained outside to look around in case I’d forgotten anything. And to watch. It’s always a joy seeing work done on my place. Work that’s not done by me, I mean.

The garage was built a couple of years ago, but somehow the gutters were never finished, and the parts that had been constructed hadn’t been done right. So today they worked on the gutters and yay! The garage is now completely finished.

They also cleaned the gutters on my house. Oy. What a mess. They hadn’t planned on doing that; I merely asked if they could check to see if there was any debris blocking the downspouts, and yes, there was. A whole bucketful of leaves and dirt. But not anymore. They are clean for now.

And they did some work on the gazebo, hoping to get it done before the Art Guild meets here next week.

It felt good to have so many niggling projects finished.

What doesn’t feel good are my myriad mosquito bites that are itching like crazy. Since I hadn’t planned to spend the day outside, I didn’t wear my mosquito-repelling clothes. I wore my normal black pants, and oh, do those voracious little creatures love black.

That’s life, I guess. Taking the bad with the good. And the good — workers showing up — was very good.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

A fun book for not-so-fun times.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

I Saw Something Nasty

I saw something nasty today, and it wasn’t in the woodshed as in Cold Comfort Farm. Not that I have a woodshed for something nasty to happen, unless my garage could be considered a woodshed since I do have some wood in there. Just boards, though. No firewood. Still, as far as I know, nothing nasty has yet happened in there.

No, the nasty thing was on my lawn, and it horrified me. Bindweed! Not just one, but several of them. Of all the weeds to find, that is the worst. Others you can dig up or pull up or even ignore in the hopes that they will disappear in the mowing, but bindweed? That thing grows like a . . . well, like a weed. And you can’t get rid of it. The more you pull it up, the more it spreads, though apparently, eventually all that pulling will dissipate the weed’s energy and it will become more controllable.

I have a bad patch of bindweed in the back corner of my yard, but I have been mulching that area with the grass clippings because mulch can help control the weed. I can’t do that on my lawn, of course, because a thick mulch might kill the lawn, and if not, would certainly be unsightly.

I’m not really sure where the bindweed came from. The grass is so thick that I doubt any seeds could take hold, so perhaps the bindweed was in the soil beneath the sod and pushed its way through like a couple of tulips did. Whatever its origin, the weed is there now. I’ll just have to patrol that area of the lawn daily and hope I can keep on top of it.

That wasn’t the only nasty thing I found. This area is swarming with feral cats, due in part to the loss of funding for the spay and release program and in part to the neighbor across the street who feeds the cats. The cats used to use my front easement (between the sidewalk and the street) for their litter box, but now that I’ve covered it with rock, apparently, they’ve moved to my lawn. It’s surprising because I wouldn’t think grass would something they’d gravitate toward since they can’t bury their waste as they tend to do.

Luckily, nasties weren’t the only things I saw today. There was plenty of beauty — the grass, of course. The plants that are doing well, especially those that will bloom this summer. The larkspur that’s going to seed. (That might not be pretty, but it sure makes me feel good to think of all the larkspur that will grow from those seeds next year.) And the wildflowers.

Although the wildflower areas are small rather than a field, they are every bit as beautiful as I’d hoped, with not a nasty thing in sight!

***

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.

Afternooze

I feel like I just woke up from a long winter’s nap. It was actually just a short spring afternoon snooze, but it might as well have been winter’s nap. Today was cloudy and cool with only a brief hint of sun. In fact, this is the first June I can remember where I turned on the heat in the morning! It wasn’t that cold, only three or four degrees below my normal winter temperature (though a whopping ten degrees below my normal summer temperature) but without the sun blasting through my windows, I couldn’t be sure the house would heat up on its own. In previous years, I just dealt with it by layering on clothes, but today I didn’t have the requisite fortitude. So I got lazy and turned on the heat for a few minutes this morning.

So why the afternooze? (I meant to write afternoon snooze, but I like the typo, so I’m claiming the word.)

I don’t exactly know why I napped. Tired, of course. The lack of sunshine, perhaps (the clouds parted for a second just now and the sun peeped out at me, putting the lie to my words). I’m probably to the age where I should be using lights in the afternoon on dark days to keep me and my brain awake as is recommended for those dealing with Sundowners Syndrome. I tend to think I’m still a decade or two away from having to deal with Sundowners. Although sundowning (growing tired, confused, agitated as the daylight dims) is often associated with dementia and Alzheimer’s, it can also appear in the elderly who show no signs of dementia. Researchers say it has to do with a disruption of circadian rhythms, the biological clock being out of sync, and/or a shrinking brain’s inability to cope with the stress of daily life.

I doubt I am so elderly that I need to worry about sundowners (since I spend so much time alone, though, would I even know if it’s an issue?), but there is no doubt I am sensitive to light and dark. I’m not as susceptible to Seasonal Affective Disorder as I was in my younger days, but my body does seem to want to shut down when it doesn’t get enough light.

And so I nap.

I also wake up inordinately early in the morning — at first light. This isn’t my choice, of course. I’d much prefer to sleep in, but ever since I moved here, I’ve seldom been able to sleep beyond sunrise. It’s as if my body decided that since I dragged it to a rural area, then by gum it would keep farmer’s hours!

Oh, well, at least I’m not complaining about the heat and too much sun, though I’m sure that will come. And then I’ll blame the heat for my afternooze.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of intriguing fiction and insightful works of grief.

Cocooning

This was a cocooning sort of day. Chilly. Dark. Heavy clouds. Rainy morning. Misty afternoon. A good day to stay inside, huddle under the covers, and read.

So I did.

The end.

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***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

A fun book for not-so-fun times.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

Cactus Flower

My prickly pear cactus bloomed today. It’s always such a treat to see those lovely blossoms, and the main reason I never got rid of the plant.

I transplanted the cactus from my neighbor’s yard (at her urging) when I first got here because they don’t need to be taken care of. That was back when my idea was to make a care-free yard, so that as I grew older, it could take care of itself and still look passable. I gave up on that idea last year when I had the lawn put in. It was supposed to be a small lawn, just for a bit of green, but I bought the leftovers from a project the local landscapers did, in the hopes that it would be enough for what I wanted. Instead, it covered half my yard! And then there were all the flowers and plants I couldn’t resist, so now I have a yard that is far from care-free.

Even the areas filled with gravel aren’t as care-free as I’d expected. There’s always some sort of cleanup such as weed picking or leaf blowing, but at least it doesn’t have to be watered and mowed.

The cactus doesn’t really fit with the rest of my yard, though it is rather a point of interest. Still, if it weren’t for those elusive flowers, I’d probably get rid of it. It’s a vicious thing. Well, perhaps not vicious. Maybe it just wants to be left alone. Those huge thorn-like prickers say “stay away” loud and clear! If those prickers were the only problem, there wouldn’t be a problem, even if one were to ignore the warning and clear away weeds, because those spines are big and easy to see. The problem is with the tiny hair-like barbs (glochids). You don’t even have to touch the prickly pear cactus to be nailed with glochids; they can attach to a person who’s just in the vicinity of the plant. And ow! Do those things hurt! They are so tiny, they are almost impossible to see, and yet you have to get rid of them or they will cause additional problems. (I just read that if they get in your eye, they can cause blindness. Yikes.)

I have been able to tweeze the glochids out of my skin, and when that doesn’t work, masking tape will.

Every time I have an issue with the glochids, I think I should get rid of the plant, but I don’t see how to dig it up without getting hurt. I wear gloves, of course, but the glochids get inside the gloves, making them impossible to wear. So I put it off, and put it off, and then one day, like today, the cactus blooms, and it all seems sort of worthwhile.

There should be a life lesson in this, a moral of some sort. That even if you can avoid the obvious prickles of life, the small, unseen problems can do you in, but in the end, it’s all worth it.

Well, maybe not.

Still, it is a gorgeous bloom.

***

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.

Ill-Conceived Stories

There have been a whole slew woman characters over the years who were amateur detectives. In many of them, the amateur was smarter than the whole police force put together, and she managed to find out the truth while they were still bumbling along. In others, the amateur had a cop boyfriend or a reporter or someone who could feed her information while she made fools of them all. Some put a twist on the story, and make the woman character the detective — private or otherwise — and she still finds out the truth before the professionals with all their equipment and resources.

I’ve recently come across still another version of this same archetype, a variation on the cop boyfriend theme. In this version, the amateur and the cop are not in a relationship but are merely best friends. (Even though it’s obvious to everyone but them that they really are in a relationship, just haven’t gotten to the sex part yet.) What makes this version so appalling is that the girlfriend, whether an ex-cop or merely a know-it-all, is allowed to accompany the cop on his investigations, as if she were her partner, and no one has any complaints about this — not the other cops, the police higherups, or the victims. They all just go along with that. Despite the ridiculousness of this, and the ridiculousness of the girlfriend showing up the cop, the worst is that the cop is a doofus and lets the girlfriend tell him how to do his job and even does her bidding when she sends him on assignments. For example, in once case, the amateur tells the cop, “I’ll go talk to the guy. You go find out what the woman has to say.”

How did these books get published? I suppose stories like this made sense before women became street cops and detectives, but it doesn’t make sense that such inane novels would be published now.

Luckily, not all books are as poorly conceived and written. There are plenty out there for me to choose from.

Even luckier, at this time of year, I don’t need to hunker down with a good book quite as often as I do in the winter.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

A fun book for not-so-fun times.

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God.

Focus on My Garden

With so much going on in the world — wars, unrest, shootings, wind-driven horrors — is it any wonder that I focus on my garden? Out there in my yard, all is serene.

Well, except when the wind is blowing, and even then, all is serene because I am inside looking out. (Apparently, the winds really have been bad this year — dustbowl bad. It’s not just my perception.)

Oh, so weird! MSWord wants me to change the word “bad” in the above paragraph to “bid” or “bidden.” What the heck?!

Maybe I’ll just stick with pictures today. As far as I know, there is no spellcheck-type program for images, though I’m sure, with all the “big brothering” online, it will be coming soon.

All these pictures were taken in my yard this morning. From the stately oriental iris to the humbler wildflower patches, there were plenty of photo opportunities! And plenty of beauty for me to focus on.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of intriguing fiction and insightful works of grief.

Where the Day Takes You

The current crop of young clerks seems to be even less gracious than the last couple of generations. Back in the day, it used to be that clerks thanked customers for shopping at the store. Then it got to the point where clerks expected us to thank them for deigning to wait on us. Actually, we’re still to that point. I wish I could break myself of the habit of saying “thank you” to someone I just gave a fistful of dollars. But I was a touch rude today, so perhaps that offset the thanks.

The clerk, as they all do now, told me “Have a good one” in a bored tone as she handed me my change.

What does that even mean, “Have a good one?” So I asked her. She just stared at me as if I were Homo Unsapiens Unsapiens, then finally responded, “Day?”

So why not say “Have a good day”? “One” and “day” each have a single syllable, so these clerks are not saving any time by using “one” instead of the more concrete word. Perhaps it’s that “one” is comprised of soft sounds, and “day” is not, which might make it infinitesimally harder to say.

Oh, well, it’s not my world anymore. My world is one of precise speech, words that mean something, people who care not just about words but about those they come in contact even if only for a moment.

I suppose it’s foolish of me to waste time and words on such trivial matters as to the meaning of a meaningless phrase when the rest of the world is resorting to desperate measures and coping with trauma, but for the most part, you have to go where the day takes you and deal with day you are dealt.

And the hand I’ve been dealt today is a good one. It’s such a beautiful day that even a barely civil clerk couldn’t ruin it.

The day after tomorrow is Memorial Day. If you’re travelling this weekend, please take it easy.

And if you want to play a silly game, count how many movies titles I used in this blog.

***

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.