No Regrets

April 19, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.
View all responses

I don’t like taking risks. Too often I’ve seen people taking risks, such as with their investments, because as “everyone” knows, the bigger the risk, the greater the rewards. Except, of course, when those risks don’t deliver the sure thing people are expecting. Quite frankly, I’m not sure “everyone” knows what a risk is — if they don’t get the outcome their bravery at taking the risk seems to call for, then they’re shocked and they get upset. But that’s what a risk is — you take a chance, and it might work out or it might not.

In my case, I never take a risk if I can’t handle the negative outcome. Which means, I don’t take risks.

And yet . . .

I’ve done a few things that other people considered extremely risky, though I didn’t. Ten years ago, when I planned a cross-country trip in my vintage VW bug, people were horrified and kept telling me I couldn’t do it, that it was too dangerous for me to go alone. Of course, none of those people offered to go with me to mitigate the danger, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The point was for me to do it by myself.

I wasn’t foolish about the trip. I had my car restored, a new engine put in, bought reliable camping equipment, and stocked up on emergency supplies for when unexpected and perhaps dangerous things might happen. And dangerous things did happen, but I handled whatever came along. To me, it was all part of the adventure, that willingness to go wherever the road took me and to live with the uncertainty (and consequences) of each day. Even more than that, it was a way of reclaiming my life after the death of both Jeff and my father. (After Jeff died, I was left homeless, so I went to take care of my father, and after he died, I was left homeless again.)

Perhaps the trip was a risk, but I didn’t see it as such. I wouldn’t do a long trip again, though just writing this I think maybe . . . someday . . . Still, the car is ten years older, as am I, and I’m not willing to put myself in the danger a trip could bring, not just the driving danger, but the uncertainty of the situations I might encounter — the USA isn’t the same as it was ten years ago, and even back then there were times I wasn’t sure what country I was in.

Besides, I’m homeful now, not homeless, so there is a lot more at risk than there was a decade ago.

Another risk I took was when I bought this house sight unseen. I’d seen photos, of course, and had an inspector check out the house, but I never saw it as a risk. The way I figured, it was my house, and I’d do whatever needed to be done. Other people were appalled at what they thought was my lackadaisical outlook, and the realtor made me sign a document absolving her of any responsibility if things didn’t work out.

I don’t regret either of these risks. Both worked out, but however they would have worked out, they would have worked out. I’m just glad, and so very thankful, to have had both these experiences.

Nope, no regrets at all!

***

Pat Bertramis the author ofGrief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Posted in Adventure, house, life. Tags: , , , , , , , , . 5 Comments »

Treasure Hunt

April 18, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I went hunting this morning. I even took a few shots! Camera shots, that is. And the game I was hunting? Treasure!

Although right now there aren’t many flowers in my yard in comparison to the size of the lot, when I looked at each treasure for itself rather than a piece of the whole, I found a whole lot of color.

The most surprising to me was the flower on the vinca. When I moved here, there were a few plants in the way of my soon-to-be sidewalk, so I transplanted them. It seemed as if they all died, so I eventually planted other flowers. Then, of course, the vinca decided to grow. So I moved it to another location, but it didn’t like the new place and pined away. And then the original transplanted vinca came back. I just left it alone and this year, it seems to be taking over that garden spot. I suppose I’ll leave it, especially now, after seven years of being barren, that it’s decided to flower.

The plum trees have blossomed the past couple of years, but so far only a couple of those blossoms managed to grow into plums. Maybe this year there will be more than a couple greengage plums for me to savor.

Unfortunately, there was a frost last night, so who knows what will happen. Meantime, the blossoms still are cheerful!

A few columbines are now flowering.

The wallflowers provide a colorful backdrop for one of the columbine plants.

The wild roses are just coming into bloom. Too bad they have such a short bloom season, but the vibrant color makes any bloom season a joy.

Lilacs, of course, are always a joy. This year, I’ve had a longer lilac season than normal because the white lilacs didn’t start blooming until the purple ones faded.

The garden today was such a delightful place. So many treasures!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in gardening, home, life, photography. Tags: , , , , , . 6 Comments »

Gift of Companionship

April 17, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday was one of those special days that can’t be planned. Well, I suppose it could be planned, but the logistics of arranging such a day and making it all come out to perfection would take more energy than I have. Besides, part of the perfection was the unexpectedness, the way everything that happened coalesced into something special.

When I was outside watering my lawn, a neighbor stopped by to visit. We chatted a bit, then I asked him if he was still strong enough to wield a hammer. (Maybe not a tactful question, but it’s something I am aware of, both for myself and other not-young folk.) One corner of my raised garden planter was pulling away from the rest of the boards, and though I tried, I couldn’t hammer a nail through that thick, two-inch board. It turns out that he could do the hammering, but unfortunately, the support post was all but rotten. Anyway, he worked on that planter for quite a while and finally was able to strengthen that corner so the weight of the soil wouldn’t keep pulling it out of whack.

Meantime, to my delight, a friend who I haven’t seen in ages stopped by to visit. She followed me around while I finished my watering and admired my flowers.

By then, the neighbor had finished doing what he could, so the three of us hung out in my gazebo to chat awhile. After he left, my friend stayed a couple of more hours, so we were able to get caught up. Such a joy that was!

After she left, I spoke a bit with a different neighbor. Then later I had a long text conversation with my sister. It was good to get caught up with her, too.

For sure, yesterday was a special day, and it wasn’t just the company after a long stretch of aloneness that made the day a good one, but the people themselves.

Today, I’m back to my normal hermit-y self, but I still am feeling the glow of friendship from yesterday. Maybe the remembrance of the day will make me more conscientious about keeping up with friendships, but who knows. Sometimes overcoming the inertia of aloneness to make plans seems insurmountable, which makes yesterday’s gift of companionship even more special.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Posted in gardening, home, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , . 9 Comments »

Blogging

April 16, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
How do you use social media?
View all responses

The only way I use social media is by blogging. I do check out a couple of people who scavenge the internet for pertinent news articles. Since it’s difficult to do the work myself, it’s nice to have someone else find the kernels of truth (or maybe the grains of wisdom) in that teeming chaos. But for what I myself post online? It’s this blog.

For the past nineteen years, this blog has been there for me when I needed an outlet, whether it was to talk about the writing process, promote authors, discuss books I’ve read, help me find a way forward during my years of grief (and coincidentally helping others as I helped myself), tell about my experiences as a first time home owner, showcase my garden, or express gratitude for my life even while my body is slowly declining into old age.

I’ve seldom considered why people read this blog (or why they don’t when they don’t). Sometimes I know, though, especially when people come to read my grief articles to find out that they’re not alone or to find out why they are going through what they are going through. Others use this blog as a way to keep track of me, not in a creepy stalker sort of way, but as a concerned friend. All too often, we let life separate us from our friends, and so this blog shows them that I’m still around and doing okay. But for the rest? Their reasons for reading belong to them, and really have no part in why I write.

Today I found a comment on an article I wrote back in February about my current run of daily blogging, where the commenter asked if blogging every day makes us confuse quality with quantity, and if it’s narcissistic to think that people want to read every day what one writes.

For the most part, I don’t write for others. I write for myself, and anyone who wants to can come along for the ride, so I responded: I suppose one has to ask if the blogger cares what people think of their blog. Sometimes it’s for the bloggers — keeping to a discipline, clarifying their ideas, telling their truth to a (perhaps) uncaring world.

And their rebuttal: Well, when you publish something it’s for a public. If you need an exercise for your discipline keep it to yourself and don’t publish it.

I don’t understand the point of this exchange. People always write for themselves. Even if the writing is published, it’s still for themselves. If bloggers didn’t get anything from writing, published or not, they wouldn’t do it. And just because bloggers publish their articles, no one has to read them. In my case, it’s not as if I’m chaining readers to my computer.

Do I want to be heard? Of course I do. Although I say I write for myself, I consider blogging to be a form of communication, a longer way than simply posting a comment on some other social site or sharing someone else’s commentary. And communication, even in such a sideways fashion as this, is important to one who spends most of her waking hours alone. Do I consider this blog to be narcissistic? Since it’s centered on me and my life (who else do I know well enough to write about?), I suppose it could be considered narcissistic, but then everyone who writes would by definition be narcissistic. And even if it is narcissistic, who cares? If what I write doesn’t resonate with anyone, they simply stay away. At least I’m not heaping more outrage on an already outraged world, not spewing hatred or trying to make anyone believe what I want them to believe. More than anything, it seems as if I show appreciation for whatever the day brings.

As for quality vs quantity, again, what difference does it make? I sometimes have interesting ideas. Sometimes I’m just letting a piece of my day slip out into the open. And always, I write to the best of my ability, proofreading until the piece is as well written as possible. (This is also part of the discipline factor, something I would not do if I were simply jotting entries into a for-me-only journal).

I might be getting away from the blog prompt of how I use social media and getting into the why of it, but it still comes down to the same thing: the only way I use social media is by blogging.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in blogging, internet, life. Tags: , , , , , , . 7 Comments »

Satiation

April 15, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I used to like trees, but after digging up hundreds of sprouts from seeds blown into my yard from neighbors’ trees, I’ve become wary of them. The harsh winds occasionally blow branches into my yard, but at least those are easy to get rid of, especially if the owner of those branches hauls them away. But it’s the seedlings that cause the most work for me.

One next-door neighbor has locust trees, and those trees sure are prolific. Every year I find dozens of new baby trees to dig up. So far, the seedlings seem to be evenly distributed over the years, so I know what I’m getting into. Too bad that’s not the worst of it.

About three years ago, my other next-door neighbor’s ash tree had what is called a mast year — a year when it dropped a flood of seeds. I woke up one morning to find my entire yard a pale green. All the rocks around the house, the grass, the pathways, the garden areas were covered in ash seeds. I raked them, swept them, blew them, picked them up by the handfuls. I thought I’d gotten most of them, but two years later, I found hundreds of ash seedlings. That year, I felt almost kindly toward weeds — at least they were easy to pull up. Those seedlings? Not so much. They’d had an entire year to develop deep roots, and so each had to be dug up, not just pulled up. A not so fun year! I’m still finding seedlings, but now they’ve had an extra year to develop, and are harder to dig up because of that well-developed root system.

This year, Siberian elm trees belonging to both of my neighbors are having a mast year. A few days ago, the ground was almost completely covered in those tiny saucer-shaped seeds. The heavy winds we’ve been having do not blow those seeds out of my yard, only into it, so I get double my share of seeds no matter which way the wind is blowing. There have always been elm seedling for me to dig up because the normal amount seems to have a huge rate of germination, but I sure dread the work when this massive proliferation of seeds starts to sprout.

A mast year is also called “predator satiation.” Sometimes this satiation is cyclical, sometimes it’s an answer to a dry winter, and sometimes, I think, the trees just want to torment me. The satiation, of course, is to make sure that there will still be seeds left to become trees even after predators have eaten their fill. If I were out in the country, I wouldn’t care. If I didn’t spend so much time on my yard, I wouldn’t care, or at least not much. But as it is, I’ve come to dislike trees. None of my neighbors’ trees benefit me. I just get the mess and the work. And boy, talk about satiation! I’ve sure had my fill of trees trying to take over my yard.

Oh, well. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And sometimes that “another” isn’t a bad thing. A couple of years ago, a columbine seeded itself into my hen and chicks garden, and I hesitated to pick it. It doesn’t belong there, but it’s not a weed, either, and it didn’t seem to be a problem, so I just let it grow. I’m glad I did. It’s not like any of my other columbines, which are the more traditional bluish purple and white as well as a couple of bright yellow plants.

This creamy columbine is a small thing to offset the dread of the seedling invasion, but it’s an important thing since it reminds me of the unexpected beauty a garden can bring.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in gardening, home, life. Tags: , , , , , , . 3 Comments »

Gardening Season

April 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram

In less than a month, it will be spring planting time. I won’t have to buy as many plants as usual because several that usually die off made it through the winter. Out here, where the heat is blistering and the cold is frigid, many perennials, such as snapdragons, that survive in less harsh climates are grown as annuals. Snapdragons reseed themselves, so they might as well be perennials, though the seeding is sporadic at times. This year, though, the snapdragons managed to stay green all winter, so I am much further ahead than I expected. Mostly, I want to see if I can find a few more colors of snapdragons since all I could find last year were yellow ones. If so, then one problem garden will take care of itself. After that, all I’ll have to do is get petunias for my container gardens and hanging plants and then plant seeds in the raised garden. It’s shaping up to be so much less work than previous years.

Of course, when the plants are available for sale, all bets are off. I’ll probably splurge on a few untried plants and see what happens.

Meantime, there are a few tulips still hanging around, but those were the flowers that got afternoon shade.

Most of the rest, the ones that get the burning afternoon sun, fizzled out before they flowered.

Still, there is a bit of color in the yard. The Siberian wallflower is doing well. It’s one of my favorite early spring flowers — so cheery! Unfortunately, it’s a two-year biennial. The first year there are a few small plants, the second year they are mini bushes, and the third year, the poor things are kaput unless they’ve reseeded themselves.

The lilacs did well this year. Lots of blooms!

I’m hoping for a good gardening weather so that plants (and the grass) don’t fry in the summer sun, but the hope is all that’s in my control. What the weather does is something else again.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in gardening, home, life. Tags: , , , , . 2 Comments »

In Ten Years

April 13, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
View all responses

Where do I see myself in ten years? Alive. I hope.

My mother died at the age I will be in ten years, as did her mother, which makes me wonder if that’s an age written in my genes. My father’s family was long-lived, so that might be a mitigating factor, but I take after my mother more than I do him, so we’ll see. Of course, life might have other plans for me, so that ten years might not be a given. Still, I have what I always have . . . today.

Oddly, we don’t seem to be able to project the view of ourselves into an aged, weakened state, so the way I truly see myself in ten years is mostly the way I am today: knees that don’t always cooperate as well as they did when I was younger, foods that don’t always agree with me, but for the most part, my body works well. My mind, too, works well (at least as well as anyone can judge their own mental workings).

I see myself still living alone, still working in my garden, still grateful for my house, and still grateful for my life.

I can only hope that I really will be as I see that self. I’m to the age where the body doesn’t recuperate as well as it once did, and so minor ills will tend to add up to an eventual fragility, but I can’t “see” that. I suppose it’s a good thing we can’t even imagine what we will feel like and what we will be like when we are very old — it would make life feel . . . frantic, maybe, as we try to fit in everything we want to do before that decline. Or perhaps it would make life feel defeating as we try to overcome thoughts of our end.

So, unless there’s a blog prompt asking me where I see myself in ten years, the overriding factor is that I can’t see myself that far in the future. I don’t even bother to try.

I’m just glad I can see myself here today.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in being me, dealing with old age, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , . 15 Comments »

Literary Tragedy

April 12, 2026 — Pat Bertram

The Kingkiller Chronicle by Patrick Rothfuss was supposed to be a trilogy, but to date, no third book has been published. Although rumor has it that the author is still working on The Doors of Stone, it’s been fifteen years since the publication of the second book, so who knows if the third will ever be available.

Though some people think it would be a tragedy (in the common sense of misfortune) if the trilogy were never be finished, I’m not sure I care. There’s an underlying feeling of doom in the two published books, which leads credence to the author’s warning that Kingkiller Chronicle is a tragedy (in the classic sense of a hero being destroyed by his own “fatal flaw”). If that’s the case, I’d rather leave the story in limbo, where he isn’t exactly happy, is tormented by his past, and yet is still alive, rather than have so much of the foreshadowing come true.

Unless . . .

The catharsis of a classic literary tragedy is supposed to be in the minds and emotions of the audience or reader, coming to terms with the inevitable downfall and dealing with the buried emotions the tragedy brings to the fore. But what if, in this case, the catharsis is actually experienced by the hero, and so he’s allowed to somehow come to peace with the actions that led to his downfall?

But then, it wouldn’t be a tragedy, though authors are allowed to subvert traditional story forms.

Still, that feeling of doom, of the hero falling for his own legend and often acting impulsively, leads me to believe that the hero won’t survive. Oddly, there is an irony inbred in his impulsiveness. Although he often acts without thinking (meaning rashly) and so brings about disaster, he also sometimes acts without thinking (meaning intuitively) and so brings about victory.

If the book ever comes out, I suppose I’ll read it. Knowing ahead of time that the hero will die would make it easier to handle the tragedy, especially if he comes out of his self-imposed exile to write whatever wrongs he committed. (Oops. I’m getting the writer and his self-imposed exile mixed up with his hero’s exile.) What I meant, of course, is that a tragic ending will be more acceptable if the character rights his wrongs.

I don’t know which would be more tragic, though — to get the final book and learn of the character’s death or not get the final book and miss out on the experience. Either way, the books I have were well worth the dime I spent for each.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in books, fiction, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , , . 2 Comments »

Being Silly

April 11, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Describe something you learned in high school.
View all responses

In high school, specifically the first couple of years, I learned to be silly. I’d always been serious, spending whatever time I could manage with a book, but then things changed. I changed.

I went to a high school where I knew only a couple of people, and we were in different classes, so I no longer carried the burden of eight years of being a social outcast. It was freeing, to say the least.

One friend I made seemed to bring out the silly in me. Our high school had a long, straight hand rail on the steps leading to the building, and one day we decided to slide down the banister. Unfortunately, it wasn’t slick enough. So the next day we brought some wax paper, which brings me to another thing I learned in high school — wax paper is a good polisher. After we polished that railing, we went sailing! I don’t remember if we got in trouble or not, but I vaguely remember a disapproving frown or two.

When Christmas came around, we got our photos taken with a department store Santa. I remember giggling about that, and even today, it brings a smile to my face.

She and I often talked about what we would do when we were grown up, and we thought that it would be fun to open a restaurant in Georgetown and sell things like Alferd Packer pancakes and Democratic sausages. That, too, makes me smile.

I managed to be silly on my own for a while after high school. One of my first jobs was at a fabric store. We got in a collection of appliques, and one of a smiling frog tickled me, so I bought it and pinned it on my dress. I wore that frog every day until I stuck myself with the pin. When people asked why I stopped wearing it, I told them that it bit me. I thought it was funny, but my boss didn’t. She thought I was crazy as in certifiably insane, but luckily, I managed to keep my job when I finally convinced her I was just playing and that I didn’t think the silly frog was real.

Like most lessons I learned in high school, I eventually forgot what I learned. Or maybe too many people like that boss helped quash the impulse, and I again became the serious person I was as a child. Occasionally I consider doing something silly, but it just seems too . . . silly. And anyway, being silly by oneself is no fun, to say nothing of the energy it takes.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in Adventure, being me, life, relationships. Tags: , , , , , , . 3 Comments »

100 Days

April 10, 2026 — Pat Bertram

January seemed to pass so slowly, I was relieved to turn the calendar to February. If nothing else, it was proof that January wasn’t going to be the permanent fixture it felt like. Now suddenly, here we are, 100 days into the year. I haven’t kept track of the days and probably wouldn’t even have noticed how much time has passed, but I got a notification yesterday that I was on a 99-day blog streak. So today is not only the 100th day of the year, but also the 100th day of daily blogging.

That’s amazing to me, to have written so much this year. To be completely honest, I haven’t been able to write every day, but since some days I wrote an extra blog or two, I have been able to post every day, which counts as daily blogging, and certainly counts as part of the “streak.”

It’s funny how this blog seems to change. At the beginning, it was all about writing, then about promoting authors. Then, after Jeff died, it was all about grief. Once I bought my house, this became something of a gardening blog. Now it seems to be mostly a book blog, though I doubt that will last long. I’m still reading, of course, but I’m only reading the books in my own miniscule library, which means rereading and re-rereading the same books. Every once in a while, I think I should go to the library and pick out something different, but the thought of looking at those same shelves for the 1000th time changes my mind. (That number isn’t hyperbole. In the seven years since I’ve been here, I’ve gone to the library about 12 times a month. That’s a lot of library visits!) I’m sure someday I’ll return, but I can’t force myself to go back quite yet.

I look for books to buy, of course, but I want them to be in the mythological epic series category, where there’s depth and meaning not available on the first, second, or even third reading, and those books are hard to find. Some such books I enjoyed the first couple of times, especially when I was young, like the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but those stories got old. As did Harry Potter. Still, I continue to look.

The point I’m trying to make is that you can’t have a book blog without books, so I’m open to a new blog path to follow. Luckily, spring is coming. Oops. Spring is already here!! We are far from January!

Now that spring is here, I can go back to writing about gardening, assuming I can find a way to engage myself in the process rather than just going through the motions as I did last year. (I’ve already been doing a lot of work, such as weeding, digging up Bermuda grass, and watering, but nothing worth rhapsodizing about.)

Or I can continue to do what I’ve always done when it comes to blogging — just wing it. Write whatever comes to mind, and if the posts end up fitting in a category, that’s fine and dandy. If not, well, they still fit in a category — me. Ultimately, whatever the subject, it comes down to my thoughts and my life, even if my life is contained in the few thousand square feet of land I occupy.

But that’s all for the future. Today I am celebrating 100 days!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

 

Posted in blogging, books, gardening, life, writing. Tags: , , , , . 6 Comments »
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