Pat Bertram's Blog, page 77

Thirty Days Hath . . .

Thirty days hath September, April, June and . . . you guessed it. November!

Since this is the thirtieth, tomorrow starts a new month, and that means a new tarot deck for me. I had a hard time deciding which to use of the dozens I own.

Some of the traditional decks passed down from medieval times are too odd and the images too angular and misshapen for my tastes (deriving as they do from traditional woodcuts), and so are many of the decks based on those old cards.

Some of the newer versions, though intending to seem old, using as they do, images from the Renaissance, are often too . . . natural . . . for my tastes. I don’t need to see anatomically correct pictures (or at least anatomically correct enough to know which cards depict males). It seems jarring, though I’m sure there is symbolism in the nudity, perhaps showing the necessity to put off the falsehood of clothes, and be who we are, but I can get that symbolism with clothed images, too, since the raiment people don is also symbolic. (Even in today’s culture, clothes are symbolic, though I doubt people stop to think what it is they are trying to broadcast with their apparel.)

Some of the decks are simply too symbolic, with more icons and Jewish letters and astrologic signs and qabalistic codes than I wish to study right now. I’m still trying to get comfortable with the cards themselves, as well as trying to find the deck that speaks most clearly to me.

So far, the deck I like the most is The Cosmic Tarot, created by Norbert Losche and printed in Germany in 1988. The cards have a hint of the 1920’s about them, and most seem evocative of something, even if not what was intended. The following is the Queen of Wands from that deck:

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The deck I decided to use this month is the Egorov Tarot, a Russian-inspired deck that is so very elegant with shiny gold borders and highlights. (Unfortunately, the gold photographed as brown, but you can still see the vast difference between this deck and The Cosmic Tarot.)

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Someday, if I get bored or ambitious, it would be interesting to photograph all the queen of wands from all the decks and see how they compare. Meantime, I’m just glad I made the decision which deck to use during the coming month.

***

Please check out my new book!

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“I am Bob, the Right Hand of God. As part of the galactic renewal program, God has accepted an offer from a development company on the planet Xerxes to turn Earth into a theme park. Not even God can stop progress, but to tell the truth, He’s glad of the change. He’s never been satisfied with Earth. For one thing, there are too many humans on it. He’s decided to eliminate anyone who isn’t nice, and because He’s God, He knows who you are; you can’t talk your way out of it as you humans normally do.”

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

Conundrums

I’m reading a thriller where several people are hunting for some sort of Jewish treasure that Columbus apparently took with him on his final voyage in an effort to protect the articles from the inquisition. The premise of the story is based on the theory that Columbus was a Jew who converted to Christianity as a way of avoiding being tortured and killed, and that his name was not Columbus. Columbus was his adopted Christian name, not his real name. Supposedly, he did not set out on his journey to prove that the earth was round or even to hunt for an easier route to the Spice Islands. He was actually looking for a place where Jews could live in peace, so his backers were predominately Jewish.

I was already aware of these theories, so that is nothing new. What the book did was make me think of what is going on in the world today with all the fights over statues and renaming of holidays.

Columbus Day was originally a New York holiday to honor Italian-American heritage. Franklin Delano Roosevelt made the day into a national holiday, and therein lies the problem, including that of a nearby city. A statue of Columbus resides in the middle of that city, a century-old memorial to its large Italian-American population, but a vocal element wants to tear down the statue, as if Columbus were personally responsible for all the ills of this country, which is silly. Columbus never even set foot in North America, and in fact, was only one of the many seafaring people who managed to cross the ocean, some even thousands of years previously.

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The truth is, there are no Native Americans. All of us, even the American Aborigines, are immigrants from elsewhere. There are signs that people from all over the world, for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, were enveloped into and contributed to the development of “native culture.”

The problem is not with Columbus but with an overpopulated world — at the time, the arable land in Europe was divided up and owned by the nobility. People with no other options needed a place to go to start a new life, and here was a whole continent (two continents, actually) where few people lived and harsh laws (except for the harsh laws of nature) had yet to take hold.

The wave of Europeans came decades after Columbus’s voyages, so none of that is to his credit or discredit. The times and a dying way of life were the real culprit.

Still, even if you believe the myth that Columbus discovered America, destroying statues of him (which aren’t really of him since no one knows what he looks like) is utterly hypocritical. If people think we are wrong for being here, they can always go back where they came from. Tearing down a statue, renaming a holiday, apologizing for things someone’s ancestors did (not mine — mine were still living in feudal countries and didn’t even come here until the twentieth century) in no way changes the past. No one is seriously considering making reparations and giving the country back to the Indians, and why should they? If the various tribes had been less obsessed with their traditional enemies and had banded together against the new one, they could have halted the population growth at the Mississippi River. At least for a while. But a time that has come, has come. There is no stopping it.

Which brings me to the whole idea of reparations. If the BLM has their way and they are granted reparations, who is to pay them? Those of us whose ancestors were not even here? That’s absurd. So who? England? After all, the slaves were first brought here when the area was still under control of England. And later, the slave area was under the control of the Confederacy. They could be paid with Confederate dollars; I’m sure there are plenty of such dollars in collections. And yet — signs of the Confederacy, such as statues, are being destroyed. If we’re writing history to erase the whole slave era, then who’s to pay? There’s no one left.

Sheesh. Here I’ve been doing so well staying away from the news and local issues and all the conundrums of our times, and an awful book brings me back. (Awful because there are too many separate stories and too much redundancy since each of the stories is basically a repetition — hunting treasure and killing people. Worst of all, huge portions of the book are in Italics, and Italics always tell me that particular portion is not part of the book and so I skip it.)

For my own peace of mind, I might have to give up reading, too.

***

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If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

A Winning Situation

Lots of activity today! I’d ordered some hydrangea bush/trees from The Arbor Day Foundation (well, actually, I donated a token amount of money, and the hydrangeas came along as a gift), but hadn’t received them, so I thought they forgot me. But the hydrangeas came today, which surprised me. I mean, a couple of days until December is still fall, but not what we generally think of as fall. It also surprised me that the ground was thawed enough to plant. I guess a little sun during the day offsets a lot of cold during the night. I thought I was only supposed to get four of the plants, but they sent me five, so I cheated and put two in the same large hole. It’s a place where I particularly want the bushes, so hopefully, at least one will survive — Arbor Day Foundation trees are notorious for not growing. In fact, all the trees I got from them died, and although the lilac seedlings didn’t die, they didn’t grow, either. Maybe next year!

A couple of workers planned to come early this morning to spread the breeze (crushed rock) for part of my walkway in the yard, but they couldn’t come that early because the breeze was frozen solid. I guess the snow had made its way down the heap, and that’s what froze. I can’t imagine that rock itself freezes, but what do I know. I’m new to this gardening/landscaping thing.

The workers did finally come, and in fact, they are still here.

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Wow! That breeze rock sure is red!! It’s supposed to dry to a paler red, but we’ll see. I don’t suppose it matters. It’s all earth tone — the garage, the decorative rock around the garage, and the breeze. In the middle of the red pathway is a long rectangle that will be a raised garden.

It’s really interesting to me that although I am doing these things — the raised garden, the pathways, the ramps — for practicality, it’s all turning out to be so lovely.

People keep asking me why I need pathways in my yard, and the truth is, although I will appreciate having smooth walkways, I don’t really need them yet, but as I get older and unsteadier on my feet, I certainly will need them. I wouldn’t want to risk stepping into a depression in the grass and tripping and falling. So many older people’s lives are irrevocably changed by a simple fall. Also, since so many people not that much older than I am using walkers, I want to be prepared. If it got to that point, I wouldn’t want to be housebound just because I couldn’t get around my yard. And if not me, then my friends — I already know several people using walkers or wheelchairs, and I will be ready if ever they were to visit.

Another practicality — the more rock covering the ground, the less lawn or yard to take care of.

Many people either don’t want to think that that far ahead, or simply don’t think of these things, but since I am the only one who will be taking care of me when I get old, I figure the person I am now needs to prepare for the agedness of the person I will become. If I’m lucky, I’ll never need as much accessibility as I am having put in, but at least it will be there in case.

And anyway, it really is fun watching my mini estate taking shape. What’s also fun is seeing how the people who work on my yard really get into it. Although it’s hard work, it also gives them a creative outlet. And I let them do many of the things they think of. So it’s a winning situation all around.

***

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If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

Feted!

As if a feast wasn’t enough celebration yesterday, my host and hostess also feted me.

They set up a chair and a table, asked me to be seated, and said that they had a ceremony to perform.

I shook my head, not wanting any part of it (he tends to be a bit of a joker, though not at all mean), but she said, “You’ll like it.”

I sat down and warned them I was not a good sport. And I’m not — I don’t like pranks and practical jokes, and I don’t like being embarrassed, and I particularly don’t like being called a bad sport for putting up with abuse. (Which so often practical jokes are.)

Again, though, my hostess said it wasn’t a problem, that I would like it.

So I sat on my throne, and a minute later, my host dressed as a herald, solemnly marched up beside me and intoned, “By His Lordship of the Shire: Today will auspiciously be remembered as the appointing of She Who Must be Obeyed. In recognition of this momentous occasion, She Who Must be Obeyed will officially be written into the parchment of memories. Whereas her name shall not be forgotten! (Unless erased.)

“Wench, bring forth the quill of everlasting symbols that fadeth not.”

My hostess solemnly marched toward me, holding a pen out in front of her with both hands as if it were a wand or something special, and handed it to me.

Then he said, “Bring forth the parchment that She Who Must be Obeyed may enter her mark upon history.”

She left the room and came back, again, she marched toward me, holding out a tray covered with a fancy cloth. She ceremoniously removed the cloth to reveal a zippered bag. She slowly unzipped the bag, and pulled out my book, Bob, The Right Hand of God.

I laughed. You, of course, have already figured out what was going on, but I was totally surprised. And delighted — both by the ceremony and that they had actually bought a book. When I mentioned my surprise, he said, “Did you doubt we would?” Well, yes. Not everyone who says they will buy a book follow through.

Anyway, I signed the book, we took photos, and then he intoned, “In celebration of this historic occasion, a feast for all! Happy Thanksgiving.”

I must admit, it was a memorable occasion, and she was right, I did like it.

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***

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“What if God decided to re-create the world and turn it into a galactic theme park for galactic tourists? What then?”

Click here to order the print version of Bob, The Right Hand of God. Or you can buy the Kindle version by clicking here: Kindle version of Bob, The Right Hand of God.

Fusion

A special benefit of holidays, particularly in times such as these, is that people make an effort to reach out, even if only by phone or text. Because of this, even if I hadn’t made plans to go to friends for dinner, I would have been far from lonely. Not that I would have been lonely either way — I’m used to being by myself and besides, holidays have lost much of their appeal. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m alone or getting old or becoming jaded, but that’s the truth of it.

Still, it was nice to spend the day with friends — more than friends, actually: a makeshift family of sorts. None of us have biological family nearby, and we mesh well. It seems miraculous, this “family.” None of us were born in this town, two of us weren’t even born in this country. And yet somehow, here we all are, blown together by the fates.

The feast reflected this cultural fusion with the traditional turkey and cranberry sauce, but also Korean potatoes, Thai spring rolls, and a Mexican cheesecake for dessert.

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Because the table was heaped with food, we each ate at our own little table. Though it was unplanned, we did what we were supposed to and kept a “social” distance.

I hope your day (whether it was a holiday you celebrate or not) was as nice as mine.

***

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If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

So Much Gratitude!

I spent the morning cooking, which is something I rarely do anymore. I mostly do quick meals suitable for a single person, so I truly enjoyed the experience.

What did I make? Cranberry compote and chili. Odd combination, right? They both begin with “C” so that’s something they have in common! Other than that, not much.

I had to make a cranberry compote to take to dinner at a friend’s house tomorrow. (Cranberries, oranges, apples, honey and water.) And I needed to cook up a bunch of ground meat. Both the sausage and ground beef that my contractor brought yesterday were in pound packages, and because they were already frozen solid, I couldn’t cut them into smaller portions to freeze as I normally do. Hence, the chili.

I figure since I’ll probably be eating all sorts of treats tomorrow, I might as well get started by treating myself today, and since I make chili so rarely, it really is a treat. Even better, I can freeze it in meal-size portions for later on.

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Although I know tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and although I will enjoy be celebrating the day with friends, it seems rather . . . I don’t know . . .  redundant. I give thanks every day for my good fortune in having this truly wonderful place to live. Whenever I look around, I see evidence of the help people have given me, whether they were paid or not. I see gifts — both new and hand-me-downs. Truly, other people’s discards are a treasure to those who appreciate them. I bask in the feeling of being home — in the house, in the yard, in the town, and with friends.

It’s hard not to be grateful when one is steeped in things which engender gratitude.

So although I will be thankful tomorrow, I’ll also be thankful today and tomorrow and all the tomorrows that come after that.

***

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And oh, yes — on the top of my list of things I am grateful for is my newly published absurdist novel that asks, “What if God decided to re-create the world and turn it into a galactic theme park for galactic tourists? What then?”

Click here to order the print version of Bob, The Right Hand of God. Or you can buy the Kindle version by clicking here: Kindle version of Bob, The Right Hand of God.

Showers

The workers showed up this morning before I could take a shower. They weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow — they were needed to help put up trusses on a commercial barn — but the wind prevented them from working at the farm, so they came here. I considered taking a shower anyway. I mean, it’s not as if anything would happen. But when they started working on the other side of the wall where the shower is, I decided against taking the shower even though I have to go to work later. I doubt anyone would care either way, but the idea made me feel a bit vulnerable. Besides, what if something happened that needed my attention, and I was otherwise occupied?

Within an hour, though, hail started pounding the area, so they took off and I got my shower.

And the hail turned into snow.

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I hadn’t expected the snow showers. It’s been so warm, I figured it might rain a bit, but certainly didn’t expect it to wet the ground. We haven’t had a significant rain in months, and that was merely an isolated shower. (Hmm. Seems as if I have a theme here — various showers. Too bad I’m going to work and not heading out for a baby shower or a wedding shower, then I could really milk the theme!)

Later, my contractor stopped by with a care package. He’s getting into the butchering business (this guy can do anything, I think, even rodeoed when he was young) and I get the benefits of this new business of his. Maple cured ham steaks. Bacon. Steaks. Sausage and ground beef. All grown and butchered right here, not three miles from where I live.

I also get local honey from my beekeeper neighbors. Such a treat, all of this! Too bad there aren’t many produce growers around here anymore, but I’m going to have a raised garden built, and so I might be able to grow some of my own.

Meantime, I will enjoy the largess of others.

And I will enjoy the snow. If I remember correctly, this is the first inclement weather we’ve had since I started working, so it should be interesting. Still, the walk is only two blocks, I have good hiking shoes that are perfect for walking in the sort of snow we get, and I have a walking stick.

Besides, by the time I need to leave, it might be warmed up enough that the snow turns into a shower.

***

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If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

Watching Workers Work

I’ve spent a nice lazy day watching men be anything but lazy.

My contractor has a new employee, one who is old enough and knowledgeable enough and conscientious enough to work by himself, so he’s been coming to lay decorative rock and dig pathways to fill with crushed rock called “breeze.” Why is it called breeze? I don’t know. All I know is that it will be nice to have flat paths to walk on as I get old and unsteady.

It’s interesting to me how everyone who has come to work on this house or yard has become caught up in the planning and offered fun and practical ideas for improving the lot and making the place accessible for the old lady I will become. (Of course, since these men are all considerably younger than me, they probably already see me as that frail old woman.)

I certainly hadn’t planned on doing all this (or rather, having it done), but once I can see where the worker is going with his idea, I can’t unsee it. And so, gradually, my yard is taking shape. It truly will be a mini estate when it is finished, with wild areas, garden areas, grassy areas as well as big bushes and small trees creating various “rooms.” And amazingly, when it is all finished, the entire cost of the house and landscaping will be a tiny fraction of what a similar property in any other part of the country would be.

It also looks as if the foundation will be repaired soon. This same worker who is laying down the rock will be digging away the dirt around the foundation, fixing the cracks, and then putting it all back together. As much as I appreciate the aesthetics of the landscaping (and the practicality of it), I am especially looking forward to having the cracks fixed. The house is sound even with the cracks, but since the biggest cracks are in the corner where my bedroom is, fixing them will give me great peace of mind. Not that I worry about it, but fixing the foundation ensures that I will never have to worry about the house collapsing while I am sleeping.

I’d take a picture of the work, but to be honest, all it looks like right now are rocks and dirt. Hmm. Maybe I need a waterfall. Then I’d have an interesting photo to post!

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***

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If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

When a Door Opens

People often say things like, “When a door closes another one opens” or “When a door closes, a window opens.” Sometimes people don’t use the passive voice, but have God or the universe opening the door.

I know the intent of the quote — to encourage people to look beyond a failure or a loss or a disappointment and to keep trying because, as Yogi Berra said, “It ain’t over until it’s over.”

As admirable as the intent might be (I say “might be” because no one likes being jollied into a different outlook after a disappointment), the saying itself is beyond idiotic.

The entire door quote, attributed to Alexander Graham Bell, is: “When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

Whether you use the long or the short version, the quote completely ignores the nature of a door. When a door closes, you can open it again. That’s the nature of a door. It closes. And it opens.

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The worst use of this witless saying is to comfort those who are grieving. (And yes, people do say this to people who lost a spouse or a child or someone else whose death is catastrophic.) Apparently, they think . . . well, no. They don’t think. The loss of a beloved to death is in no way akin to a door closing. An unscalable wall suddenly thrust in one’s path is more like it. Or the sun losing its warmth. Or a tsunami hurling you into a completely different world. There are hundreds of applicable synonyms, but a door? No.

The truth is, though, things do change. Even in a seemingly static neighborhood, every time people open a door to the outside, they see something different. Sun and flowers, perhaps. Or snow and blue skies. Or a car passing. Or shadows that weren’t previously there.

And when someone dies, seemingly destroying your life, you can veer off into a different path and develop a new life.

After all these years since Jeff died, a different path opened up to me — a new town, home ownership, gardening and landscaping. It’s a good path for me, though it’s not one I would have ever chosen if Jeff were still alive. It’s not one that would have ever even entered my mind.

Come to think of it, Bell’s saying is silly on all fronts — not just the door analogy, but not being able to see the newly opened door because we are so fixated on the closed one. The truth is, often we can’t see another way because at that time there is no other way. It took many years, many changes in me and my outlook, several deaths (not just Jeff but parents and siblings) for me to find the new path.

But other than death, from which there is no recourse, when a door closes, just open the dang thing again.

***

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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

Confusion Is the Name Of The Game

We’re back in near-lockdown again, or rather buildings are in lockdown. For me, that means no library, though if I were desperate, I could send them a list of books and they would hand them out the door when they books were ready to pick up.

I understand that people have died from The Bob, and I know many people who know people who have died, but I don’t personally know anyone. Instead, during this time, I’ve known people who were diagnosed with cancer, heart problems, and a whole host of other horrific diseases. I’m not really trying to be controversial, just mentioning my experience.

I feel bad for people who are having to deal with catastrophic diseases during this time because no one seems to care about anything but how many tested positive for The Bob, even if most of those positives were not accompanied by symptoms.

Except for the library being closed, and my feeling bad for those with untreated illnesses because of limited medical services at this time and my feeling even worse for those undergoing various treatments while trying to steer clear of The Bob, my life isn’t any different. And it hasn’t been. I guess it helps being a hermit — one who is quite content reading, playing a computer game or two, and watching one’s property slowly being brought into submission.

Others have a different experience, I know, and I am in no way making light of those experiences, but some of the bureaucratic idiocies surrounding The Bob are appallingly ridiculous. For example, Colorado has implemented a color dial system to let people know how they are supposed to behave, with purple being the most restrictive and green the least. It makes me wonder how many of our tax dollars were spent coming up with such an utterly unnecessary system. Why not just tell people they have to stay home or they can go out but not in groups or whatever. Being told one is orange or red only confuses the issue because then people have to try to figure out what that means. But I suppose confusion is the name of the game. It keeps people focused on something other than that we are still dealing with governors with delusions of greatness and illusions of total power.

It’s funny that no one talks any more about the original projections that put all this insanity into play. If, as was postulated, that 80% of the world’s population would die, then yes, these restrictions would be necessary. But although people are getting sick and dying, the numbers simply don’t add up to such a destruction of normality.

And yes, I do take precautions, but that’s not because I’m being forced to. It’s because I always take precautions when it comes to illness. To force people to stay home, not because they are sick, but simply to protect their neighbors who might get sick if one didn’t stay home is beyond anything I could ever have imagined while steeping myself in conspiracies and government machinations for my first books.

But at this point, there’s not much any of us can do about the situation — and the confusion — except find an acceptable level of isolation and preparedness and interactions with people, and ignore what is anathema.

***

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If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842