Pat Bertram's Blog, page 8

I Coulda Been a Contender

I was cleaning off my desk yesterday when I found notes for a blog post, including the famous line from On the Waterfront, “I coulda been a contender”. At first, I couldn’t figure out what I’d planned to say about that famous line, but eventually I remembered the circumstances and what I’d been thinking. Nothing inspiring, that’s for sure. In fact, the complete opposite.

For the past year or so, almost every night as I get ready for bed, I get hit with a sudden pang of loneliness. On one particular night, along with the loneliness came the feeling that I was wasting my life, that I wasn’t living up to my potential, and the words “I could have been a contender” kept playing in my head.

And then I had an even worse thought — what if I am living up to my potential? What if this is all there is to me? It made me wonder which was worse, knowing you could have been a contender, could have been someone if things had been different or knowing you never could have been a contender, that it simply wasn’t in you.

I really do tend to believe that we all do the best we can at any given moment, and if we feel as if we are slacking, then perhaps there are other factors at work besides a disinclination to do what we think we should be doing. I’ve often thought I was lazy, even back when I was a child. I remember being sick once, and not wanting to go to school. I was out for a long time because I kept “playing hooky.” I stayed in bed and read, and was quite content. I don’t know what made me finally agree to go back to school; the only other part of that episode I remember was that I didn’t get a report card because I’d been out of school for so long. Years later, I mentioned this to my mother. She looked at me in astonishment and said, “You weren’t faking. You really were sick.” I don’t know what I had — maybe a cold. When I get sick, even with something minor, it tends to linger for weeks or even months, which is why I try to stay away from potential risks.

In a way, what I was feeling a couple of weeks ago is similar. Obviously, if I really had been sick when I was a kid, I couldn’t have gone to school even if I wanted to. And now, at my age and with my knees, there are a lot of things I couldn’t do even if I wanted to, like hiking great distances (or even short distances on treacherous ground). Even more unfortunately, I never could find a way to become a bestselling writer — I am not a salesperson, and despite my best attempts, I have never been successful at selling my books.

Looking back a few weeks to when I was feeling bad about being — or not being — a contender, I now realize it was in the middle of December during the bleak time of frigid temperatures and little sun. Because I didn’t really feel depressed (despite the depressing thoughts), it never occurred to me that I was having my usual winter bout of Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Luckily for my peace of mind, the feeling of wasting my life passed. Oh, it’s possible I really am not making full use of my life, but the sun is out, and we are back to our usual winter temperatures (highs in the forties, lows in the high teens and twenties), so it no longer seems to matter.

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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.

Body Farm

I’m reading a book about the body farm. In the first paragraph the name of the place was capitalized — Body Farm — and I wondered who Body was. In my mind, I pronounced it Bodie rather than Boddy, which mistake I immediately had to laugh at. I mean, I knew the book took place on the Body Farm. I knew it was a mystery written by the fellow who founded the Body Farm, and yet, there I sat, momentarily mystified by the identity of Body and wondering what we were doing at his farm.

I’d heard of the Body Farm before, probably the same way most people did — from a book of that name by Patricia Cornwell, back when I thought she was an okay writer. For some reason, I had the idea that the Body Farm was owned by the FBI since they use it for training exercises, so it came as rather a surprise that the FBI doesn’t have their own body farm but use existing ones.

The first body farm was created for the University of Tennessee Anthropological Research Center in 1981 by Dr. William Bass. Apparently, after a janitor cussed him out for storing a dead body in the restroom, he went to the dean to find a better place to keep the corpses he was studying. He calls the field (behind the football field, of all places) where the bodies were left to decompose “Death’s Acre,” but “The Body Farm” is how it is generally known. The FBI has been training there for 24 years as part of their Recovery of Human Remains course. There are now seven such “Bodie” farms in the United States, but Bass’s was the first.

The place is intriguing to read about, but even if I wanted to see the place, I couldn’t — they don’t do tours because if all the people who wanted to see the place were allowed in, researchers would never get any work done. Also, I’m sure, having sightseers tramp through the place would affect what they are trying to accomplish — studying how the human body decomposes under various conditions, which helps with identifying bodies as well as learning the time and manner of the death. Anyway, even if I could handle the gruesome sights, I probably couldn’t handle the smell. Over 400 different compounds are given off by a decaying body. Interestingly, the bodies of people who die during or shortly after chemotherapy decay a lot slower than normal, which leads to the question of whether chemotherapy is a sort of live embalming process.

This is all very macabre, I know, but it started with a mental mispronunciation. And speaking of macabre — like most people who read a lot, I had (have) a huge vocabulary. I remember once a father of the kids I had just babysat was driving me home, and I mentioned that something was “mackaber.” He laughed and laughed, which embarrassed the heck out of me. How was I supposed to know how the word was pronounced? And anyway, if linguists can’t even agree on pronunciation — some say it’s “mikaab,” others “mikabruh” — why is “mackaber” so outrageous?

I particularly remember the macabre debacle because that was the last time I ever spoke out loud a word that wasn’t in the common parlance. Now, apparently, I can’t speak common words in my own mind without recurring laughter, even if it’s my own.

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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.

Through an Author’s Eye

In yesterday’s post, “Body Image vs. Self-Image,” I touched on some of the difficulties in describing characters realistically. For example, if you are writing about ordinary characters and mention that they are overweight and out of shape, you’ve already lost your audience. Even in non-romance genres, such as thrillers and suspense, readers want the fairy tale of beautiful heroine/princesses finding their hero/prince.

To that end, writers are limited in how they describe a character. Characteristics that in the real world have no meaning but are merely the luck of the genetic draw, become destiny in fiction. For example, a weak chin denotes a wimpy character, though in actual fact, it means nothing of the sort. Thin lips, while common in the real world and say nothing about the person, seem to denote a strait-laced character who looks at the world with disapproval. A receding hairline, which means nothing in real life except perhaps an excess of testosterone, makes a male character seem less than manly. Likewise, thin hair on women characters makes them seem ungenerous, though luxurious locks certainly don’t indicate generosity.

Eye spacing is also part of the genetic crap shoot, though wide-spaced eyes are used to show innocence and narrow-spaced eyes to show deviousness.

A character past their youth can have laugh lines, which makes them seem pleasant. But crow’s feet or marionette lines seem to indicate not someone who is simply getting older, but someone who is not taking care of themselves as they are getting older.

I’ve learned to stay away from describing characters other than perhaps mentioning eye-color, hair-color, and a ready smile, and leave the judgement to another character. Although a character — like a real person — might not be all that attractive, they can be beautiful when seen through the eyes of love. Evil characters who might be considered attractive under other circumstances could be seen as ugly from the point of view of the character who is caught in their clutches.

It’s not just body parts that hint perhaps erroneously at character that has turned me away from giving more than cursory descriptions of my characters (more than three attributes is unnecessary in any case) it’s that too many authors who write that their character is beautiful then go on to describe facial characteristics that other people obviously find attractive, but that I don’t, such as pillowy lips, high cheekbones, and a narrow nose. In fact, because of this, I never read descriptions of characters any more — or settings, either for that matter.

It’s a good thing that in real life we have photographs that might tell the truth of how we look (I say “might” because as far as I know, no one’s driver’s license photo looks like them). If we had to describe our thin hair, thin lips, lumpy bodies, to people who have not yet seen us, no one would ever want to meet anyone.

Thinking about this and how we become fast friends with people who would never physically meet the standards of a literary protagonist, it makes me wonder if in real life we ever do see the physical person or if the body is sort of a mirage pasted over the truth of the person, as if we are seeing each other through the mind’s eye. If so, how lucky we are to see each other that way rather than through an author’s eye.

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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.

Body Image vs. Self-Image

In a book I recently read, a woman who’d recovered from anorexia but was slipping back due to stress, reminded herself that body image is not the same thing as self-image. That really made me stop and think because too often our self-image is reflected by our body image. For example, even though I am fairly realistic, seeing my body as it actually is, I don’t always like the way I look. I try to minimize my flaws, of course, but with mirrored closet doors in my bedroom, it’s hard not to see the unclothed truth. And, even though I generally accept myself for what and who I am, there are times when I can’t help but be influenced negatively by that mirror image of myself.

As a culture, we seem to think that beautiful, thin, fit folks have more worth than those of us who are rather ordinary and out of shape. Although people don’t treat me badly because of my looks (perhaps because the hat amuses them and my smile delights them), I can’t help but feel as if I’m not worthy of all the good things in life. Well, that’s not exactly true. I am worthy. It’s just . . . well, it’s hard to overcome that conditioning.

To be honest, I don’t want to fall in love again — I really am fine as I am — but it does bother me that deep down I think that I am not romantic material. Perhaps it’s due to my reading. In almost all books, whether thriller, horror, mystery, romance, suspense, the heroine — no matter what her age — is beautiful, tall, intelligent, feisty, fit, and attracts the well-muscled handsome hero.

Even if a writer wanted to have an out-of-shape, unattractive heroine, there’s really no way to present the character in a good light. All the adjectives to describe someone of oh . . . I don’t know, perhaps someone of my body shape, are rather unpleasant. Even “pleasingly plump” despite the “pleasingly” part, is rather negative especially since so many of us not-thin folks are not pleasingly plump — unpleasingly lumpy is more like it.

Stout, chunky, hefty, overweight, heavy, obese, chubby, dumpy, rotund, flabby, paunchy, stolid, pudgy, corpulent — these are not words that bring “heroine” to mind. Nor are they words that lend themselves to a love affair, even though most people do not fit the ideal portrayed in books or movies. One of the most disappointing movies to me was “Shallow Hal.” Jack Black was supposedly hypnotized into seeing the inner beauty of a 300-pound woman. Except he didn’t see the inner beauty — he saw her as a thin person which just exacerbated the whole “the only worthy woman is a thin beautiful woman” mystique. Or worse, that “inside every fat person is a thin person struggling to get out.” The movie would have been so much more satisfying if he actually saw the fatness but could see beyond that to the inner person.

It’s amazing to me that anyone of any body shape manages to develop a good self-image despite the current body image situation. Everything we see and hear corroborates that social norm of beauty as all important, so not-so-beautiful people tend to be at a disadvantage. It’s hard not to live down to that body image. As for those with the socially acceptable image, I imagine it’s hard to live up to it. Truthfully, I don’t have much sympathy for tall, beautiful woman because no matter what their self-image, all sorts of good things accrue to them because of how they look. (Of any two job candidates, the winner is generally the taller and prettier.) But still, I do concede that social conditioning is a hard thing to break out of.

No wonder I was so taken with the comment that body image is not the same thing as self-image. It’s an important point to keep in mind as we — no matter our size or age or level of attractiveness — navigate the pitfalls of life.

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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.

Snow Globe Weather

As I was walking home from work yesterday evening, I felt as if I were in a snow globe. Huge snowflakes fell, and the darkening twilight softened the usually harsh-looking street. It wasn’t really all that cold, which made the walk even more pleasant. We didn’t much snow, nowhere near the three inches they predicted (after they predicted no snow, then light snow, then no snow, then one to three inches). Shortly after the snow fell, the temperature must have dropped quickly because the snow froze and turned my footprints to ice. When I tried to sweep the snow off my ramp this morning, all I could remove was the top layer — the rest was solid ice. Needless to say, I’m not going anywhere until the ice melts.

I’m pleased that before this storm hit, I got some wildflower seeds planted, though I’m not sure if they actually are in the ground. The snows from early December finally melted — except where I wanted to plant the seeds, that is. Oddly, although the north side of the house doesn’t get sun in the winter, it gets too much sun in the summer, which is why the strip of grass died in that area. Fifteen hours of unrelenting summer sun is too much for many plants, which is why I want desert plants in the garden area on the north side.

Since the snow hadn’t melted, I raked it off the garden as best as I could — the snow had hung around so long, it had turned hard and icy, and didn’t want to go anywhere. Still, I got the area cleared as much as I could, tossed my seeds on the ground, and scraped the snow back over the seeds. If none of these come up, I have plenty more to plant closer to spring, but I’m glad about getting some seeds safely under the snow.

Considering how early severe winter weather came this year (last year, winter weather didn’t show up until winter actually came — most of December is fall, after all), it’s possible that we’ll also have an early spring. It’s just as possible, of course, that winter weather will continue way into spring. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. Around here, we can’t really plant anything until after May fifth since that’s supposedly the date of the last frost. (I say supposedly because there have been freezes after that day.)

Regardless of what happens, it’s good to know that one more chore — planting the wildflower seeds — is off my mind.

And yay! The sun just came out so perhaps I can go for a walk later after all. It will be good to stretch my legs, and besides, I’m due for some new library books.

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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.

What Big Events Took Place in Your Life During the Past Year?

When I stopped blogging every day, WordPress started sending me daily blog topics. It must have been a glitch since I didn’t sign up for them, and the prompts eventually stopped, but while it lasted, I found some of the ideas interesting, such as the question in the title: what big events took place in your life during in the past year?

I made note of this topic to use at some point, and apparently, this is the point, though to be honest, I can’t think of five events that have taken place over the past year let alone big events. Probably the most noteworthy thing that happened in that it devastated upset me was the death of swaths of my lawn as well as the invasion of Bermuda grass. Eventually, I will dig up the dead and unwanted grass and replant it, but all that brown is so unpretty! I’m learning that the yard will never be beautiful for long stretches of time because it is a living thing in constant flux, so it’s important for me to enjoy the beauty when I can. That lesson is not an event, of course, but is an important one that I hope to take to heart this spring and summer as various plants grow, fade away, and die.

Stopping my daily blogging is not exactly an event either since it’s something I didn’t do rather than what I did do, but it was a big deal — for three years I blogged every day, and then I didn’t.

My sisters came to visit, and that truly was a big event! (This should have been the first thing I remembered, since it really was the most noteworthy, and I am a bit embarrassed that my grass and blogging came to mind first. Luckily, my sisters don’t read this blog so they won’t know where their visit was relegated in memory!) All the big events of the year came during that visit — visiting Vogel Canyon, finally getting to see a tarantula, visiting Bent’s Fort, and various other activities.

It’s surprising to me that a year that went by so quickly is so hard to remember. It could be that in living for the day, I’m not storing the things that happened. It might be that since I gave up daily blogging and so didn’t write about everything, that events didn’t stick in my memory. Or it’s possible that memory retrieval is breaking down due to age. Whatever the reason, it was a year of big events and small, memorable and not. And I grew a year older.

At my age, that final point truly is a big event. During 2022, so many people did not have the opportunity to grow a year older (approximately 67 million), that I am blessed to have the opportunity to continue aging.

What about you? What were the big events of your life last year?

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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.

Cheers

I’ve never really celebrated New Year’s because it doesn’t mean that much to me and it’s a relatively arbitrary date. The calendar numbers change, but that’s all. It’s certainly not a universal new beginning. The Chinese New Year this year is on January 22, the Jewish New Year is on September 15, the Tibetan New Year begins on February 21. Various other cultures celebrate their new year on completely different dates.

January 1 is not even the beginning of a new season or of a solar cycle such as a solstice or an equinox. Nor is there any personal demarcation — no black line separates the old from the new. The world is no different today from yesterday, nor are we. We carry the old year with us because we have the same problems, sadnesses, hopes, fears.

Despite all that, last night when the fireworks awakened me at midnight, I felt relieved that the old year was done with and a new year was beginning.

Oddly, 2022 wasn’t that bad. In fact, a lot of it was good, though there were no major milestones to celebrate or times of especial gladness. Still, at midnight, there was that catharsis of letting go of the old.

Perhaps it would have been the same as every other year — just a mild annoyance at being awakened by the fireworks — but yesterday was rather unsettling. I’d accepted an invitation to spend the afternoon with some friends, but somehow the guest list changed to be more of an extended family gathering (their family, not mine), and no one told me. I didn’t feel comfortable — too many people in too confined a space, too many people I had nothing in common with, and too many more chances of catching one of the diseases going around. If I had known about the change ahead of time, I could have graciously made my excuses, but I didn’t find out until I was there. Since it would have been rude for me to turn around and leave, I stayed.

Some of it was nice, some not so nice, and the rest, just . . . ho hum.

In retrospect, it seems a fitting end to yesteryear. Some of the year was nice — I truly did enjoy seeing things grow, but the work did get hard to do, especially with my wonky knees. I also feel bad about my spate of compassion fatigue — it didn’t seem right to just drop people and stop my daily blogging because I couldn’t handle any more grief, mine or anyone else’s, but I didn’t see any other recourse. The rest of the year was unmemorable. To be honest, now that I’m looking back, I don’t know if it was truly unmemorable or if I simply didn’t remember a lot of what happened. (Though perhaps that’s the same thing? Anything memorable that happened would probably have been remembered, right?)

I don’t know what I expect of this year, but I am going into it with the attitude that it is new. A time not to start over so much as to start fresh. Today, when the year has just begun it seems sparkling with promise, as if anything could happen. I’m trying not to let the gray day or my normal realism dim the promise. And who knows — it could be a very good year, not just for me, but for you, too.

Cheers!

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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.

Daily Tarot Reading

In yesterday’s blog post, I mentioned what I hoped to gain by a daily tarot reading, and it was only afterwards I remembered that the only thing I hoped to gain was a feeling for and a knowledge of the cards. Although I made it sound as if I was looking for a deeper understanding of myself and my life, that isn’t the case. Or at least, it wasn’t. I have no idea now what I’m doing it for.

At the beginning, of course, I did a daily reading more as an homage to my deceased older brother because he was the one who collected the cards. I figured he did so in an effort to understand his life (which was confusing at best, and often horrific). As I’ve become more familiar with the cards, any true reading has to reflect me, my hopes, my life otherwise they are just playing cards.

Still, despite this disavowal, I am looking to them for something since my daily question is “What do I need to know today?” and more often now, “What do I need to focus on?”

I certainly didn’t get into this daily practice to find ways to improve me or to understand more about my life. At this late stage, I’m not sure it matters all that much. So much of what was to be has already been. The past is a long tail on the mote that is today, and today is a mere shadow indicating perhaps what is to come. If I look too far into the future, the end is obvious, so the secret is (perhaps) taking a short long-term view. Or not look into the future at all. And I certainly have no interest in rehashing the past. I’ve done that and have laid it to rest. So to a certain extent, I am a static being suspended in the crucible of today.

I hesitated about inserting “static” in the previous sentence since no one is truly static — we are all changing even if in small ways — but it feels as if I am a done deal. If I could have been smarter, or wiser, or more intuitive, or more radiant, or whatever, I would have thought I would have accomplished that already. Now I so often find myself tired and feeling the weight of my years. It’s hard to find enthusiasm for anything (though I do try, especially when I am posting a commentary here). I’m probably more interested in finding acceptance in myself that in instigating any big change in attitude or attribute.

And yet, there is that daily tarot reading. It’s become such an established procedure of my day that it’s gone long beyond being merely an homage to my brother. Maybe someday I’ll figure out why I continue to do it. Perhaps someday I will even become smarter or wiser or more intuitive. Or not. Who can say? So far, the tarot is remaining mum.

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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.

Mirror of the Soul

Ever since the summer, I’ve been doing a three-card tarot reading for myself, and it began to seem silly. The only thing I really needed to know was what I needed to know that day. The first two cards only served to muddy the reading — in my mind, anyway — so this month I went back to a one-card reading. Even better, I went back to using the Crowley Thoth deck. It’s not one I particularly like, but I do have a great handbook that goes with the deck: Tarot Mirror of the Soul.

As the title suggests, this particular guidebook, more than any other, uses the tarot as a mirror to reflect inner realities without judgment to give us a new perspective. Ideally, anyway. Admittedly, the tarot itself it a tool for self-exploration, though I have not often found it to be so. This book, though, gives me more of what I need to focus on each day’s lesson.

For example, today’s card is the Nine of Swords. It generally means cruelty directed at oneself and points to a tendency to put yourself down. In rare cases, it can mean physical or psychological cruelty by some heartless person, but no one lately is cruel to me. Actually, I’m not cruel to myself, either, though I have recently noticed a tendency to judge myself harshly when (perhaps) I am doing the best I can. Even if I’m not doing the best I can, that judgment call seems to be worse than whatever goals I breeched.

This particular card does seem to suggest that knowing the foible or lack is important — as important as knowing one’s good points, which I tend to ignore. It’s the cruelty of judging oneself that should be done without.

This book doesn’t just describe the symbols on the card and suggest what they mean, but continues with what the card indicates, which, in this case is about the necessity of recognizing the behavior pattern before it can be overcome. Another section is for questions to ask oneself, such as who judged you? And are you now ready to forgive your parents, others and yourself?

The section for the Nine of Swords then ends with an affirmation: I am loved, simply because the I am the way I am. This is something that I really do need to know. Concurrently with my recognition of how often I castigate myself for not being my ideal self, I’ve been wondering why people like me. (I suppose that’s a reasonable question. If I don’t particularly like myself — I don’t dislike myself, either, I just don’t go around patting myself on the back for my good qualities — then it makes sense I wouldn’t understand why they like me.)

People who know the tarot or who are more intuitive in their reading than I am can figure this out all on their own, but I like following along with the Mirror of the Soul. It helps me focus on one thing for the day (or at least for the start of the day because by the time I go about the business of living, I’ve already forgotten what I learned from the tarot that morning).

My plan for learning the tarot had been to pick one card each day for one year, two cards for the next year, three for the third, and so on, but the third year is only about half finished and I abandoned the plan. Eventually, perhaps, I’ll do a real reading with five or more cards once a week or once a month, but for now, this particular practice mirrors what I hope to gain from my daily tarot reading.

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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.

Feast for the Eyes

I got my first seed catalog yesterday, and oh! It sure brightened the dark, dreary day. A real feast for the eyes.

I’m not sure how much I want to spend on mail order seeds and plants this year. With all the price increases (not just groceries but also utilities and insurance), money will be tighter, but still. Flowers? Always a great investment since food for the soul is as important as food for the body.

Regardless of how it turns out, I can dream about glorious gardens and lush blooms. And anyway, with snow on the ground and more in the forecast, dreaming is about all that can be done right now. Luckily, feasting one’s eyes on beautiful if improbable flower photos in catalogs and dreaming about seeing them in one’s own yard takes a heck of a lot less work than buying the seeds and starters and actually planting them.

Even if I wanted to invest actual money in garden dreams, I still pretty much have to wait until spring and see what in my garden survived the winter. It’s possible that some plants I am counting on won’t make it through this horrendous winter; it’s also possible that other plants will have seeded themselves to fill in the gaps. Besides, if I pass on this opportunity to order plants, there will be other opportunities come spring when localized businesses bring out their gardening wares.

To be honest, this long winter chill has made me so lazy that the thought of working in my yard exhausts me. If I am even more honest, one of the thrills for me of having a garden is being able to take photographs of anything that comes up, so I could borrow someone else’s garden or even just rest on the laurels of past photos.

As if!

We both know that come spring, I’ll be out there doing what I can to reclaim and rebeautify my garden spots, even if it takes more work than I would like.

Meantime, I can feast my eyes not just on the all the catalogs that are sure to come, but also on photos of previous garden successes.

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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.