Feeling Lazy

August 16, 2026 — Pat Bertram

It rained a couple of nights in a row, with just a faint misting the third night (last night), which is nice for me, since I got a break from working, nice for the yard since it managed to recuperate from the long heat wave we had, and nice for the flowers.

Although there hasn’t been much color in the yard lately, the rain managed to bring some flowers to life. I generally don’t like sunflowers — well, I like the flowers, I just don’t like huge flowers that tower over and intimidate me. Nor do I like having to deal with the leftover trunk-thick stalks. But the sunflowers were in a package of wildflower seeds my sister had gifted me, and since she’s coming next month, I thought I should make an effort to grow those seeds.

What I ended up with were some cosmos and a bunch of sunflowers. I’d planted them in an area that usually lies fallow in the summer, though this year, I’d also I planted a few food plants and surrounded them with marigolds and lilliput zinnias I’d thinned out of other gardens, again, because of my sister’s visit. (I wanted the place to look as good as possible.) It turned out to be a jungle, but a fun one, especially since buried in all the foliage is a pumpkin the size of a basketball.

Of course, the rain made other things grow, such as the grass, but with heavy due and a ground still moist from the rain, I need to wait a bit to mow. And of course — weeds. Always weeds. I suppose I could go out, brave the mosquitoes, and do some work, but these days off have left me feeling lazy. Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow.

And as I have discovered, it’s often better not to do today what you can put off until tomorrow.

***

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: , , , , . Leave a Comment »

Self-Censoring

August 15, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I’ve been sitting here for a while, trying to figure out what — if any — of the many thoughts and worries going through my mind I want to write about, or if I should keep them to myself.

I hadn’t realized how much I censor myself, both in speech and in blogging, but I do it. A lot. There are too many triggering topics where a single remark or a simple question gets the full hate treatment. If you don’t believe what a certain group wants you to believe and dare to say so, it seems to unleash the beast that people try to hide offline. Or maybe they don’t hide it offline. Maybe, because I spend so much time alone in my little corner of the world, I’m just not seeing it. It does seem, though, that people are too willing to accuse others of hate speech, racism, fascist, or whateveraphobia. (At least one of those “phobias” is a realistic fear and shouldn’t glean the hate that it does, but still, in this political activist climate, you’re only allowed to say what is “approved.”) To those people, there is no rationale for a different belief. It’s all emotion, all the time.

Luckily, I don’t get a lot of that blowback, but that’s mostly because I tend to stay in the middle where I open myself to getting bashed from both sides.

I could still write about my concerns, of course, but the unpalatable truth is, although I like getting comments, I don’t always want to know what other people think about what I think about if they disagree with me, especially when it comes to certain hot subjects. Like “gender-affirming care” for minors. I’ve already been shot down more than I care to be over that one. And even merely asking questions of adults who have transitioned has left me with fewer friends. And when it comes to transwomen in women spaces, there again, I have questions that bring me no answers but accusations of cruelty, since the transwoman I know still prefers women. (Something no one talks about, and no wonder, if everyone gets shot down for simply asking a question.)

There are also people I admire, but since I know too many people who hate them, there’s really no point in trying to explain the good I see because . . . well, just because.

And then there’s all the truly insane political stuff — people who hate this country are being elected to various offices. How is that even possible? But oops. I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Just the question itself earns a person one of those whateveraphobia slurs.

The way I used to deal with uncomfortable issues was to write about them, but nowadays I need to be careful what I say, not just because the internet is forever but because I’m a lot more sensitive to censure than I like to admit.

So here I sit, rejecting one topic after another as I try to figure out what to blog about today.

I guess the answer is I’ll just post this discussion I’m having with myself about whether or not to continue self-censoring.

The answer, apparently, is yes, I will continue to try to keep my mouth closed and my fingers off the computer keys when it comes to certain topics.

Besides, there are enough opinions floating around; the world doesn’t need mine, too.

[What’s truly amazing about this post — to me, anyway — is that exactly ten years ago today, I posted an Open Letter to Blog Readers where I said that this was my blog, “If you are upset by anything I say, remember, this is not necessarily about your truth. . . . It’s about my truth and I cannot sort out my truth if I don’t mention the things that trigger a spate of emotionalism.” Apparently, things have changed so much in the world, or perhaps just in me, that I’m not comfortable talking about my truth. Though truly, in a lot of cases, I have no truth, just a lot of questions that seem to prove to people that I am not on the right side of the issues today. Well, I do tend to point out hypocrisy and irony, but that’s to be expected when there is so much of it going on, where they want us to believe things that are not true and to believe things that once were touted as good but are considered evil now that a different group is running things.] 

***

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

Posted in being me, blogging, history/myth, internet, life. Tags: , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Rain. Yay!

August 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram

It rained last night. Yay! I can imagine that those of you who are dealing with too much rain aren’t as enthusiastic as I am, but then, if it rained here, maybe it didn’t rain there.

We need the rain, which is something to “yay” about, but it also gives me a respite from outside work. The work hasn’t bothered me as much this year as in the past, partly because I’ve been able to keep grass and plants alive through the hottest spells, which I haven’t always been able to do, and partly because the work doesn’t feel as onerous as it did in previous years. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe I’m stronger, or maybe my knees are. Or maybe how I feel doesn’t matter as much — after all, my strength will probably ebb as I rack up the years, so how I feel on a given day is something I’m learning to accept.

But still, having a day of rest is good. Also, when it rains, the alley that my garage opens out into is a quagmire after any rain, so I can’t leave to do errands. Of course, if there was an emergency need, I could always walk to a store, but luckily, I don’t need anything.

So, a completely open day.

Normally, I’d spend such a day reading, but at the beginning of this year, I wandered through the library shelves as I have done more than a thousand times since I’ve been here, and anything I saw that might be interesting, I’d read at least twice. Most were popular books that barely held my interest, many I read the first and last chapter, and even that was too much. I’d been getting by with reading new books and books from interlibrary loan, but the new library director was buying junky books (at least they seemed so to me), and interlibrary loan doesn’t do any good unless you know what you want to read, and I’ve already read everything I know I want to read. The purpose of going to the library was to find books I didn’t know I wanted to read, and since I couldn’t find any that day, I left the library without checking out any books.

And I never went back.

I bought books for a while, but that wasn’t satisfactory since even the recommended books didn’t hold my interest. (After reading more that 20,000 books, not much does hold my interest, and now, with so much being written or enhanced by AI, I have even less inclination to read.) So I’m left with what is on my own shelves. A paltry selection of books to be sure — The Wheel of Time books, the Kingkiller Chronicles, Noel Barber’s books, Pat Bertram’s books (of course), and a few non-fiction books (mostly reference).

These books are all perfect for now. I have a lifelong habit of reading while I eat — in fact, if I had no books, I might not eat at all — so reading a single chapter of a book I know well is perfect for that. And another chapter to put me to sleep at night.

So, what to do when there’s nothing I have to do?

I could clean house, I suppose, but that’s not much of a day of rest. But don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. Like doing an online game or working offline pencil puzzles or reading all sorts of articles online. (Apparently, I switched from reading offline novels to online news articles to satisfy my reading itch, but the damage to my peace of mind is making me rethink that tendency.)

Whatever I do, I’m sure, the day will be restful one, all due to last night’s rain. Yay!

***

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

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Reflection of My Life

August 13, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Maria Rodale, whoever that is, wrote: Gardens are microcosms of our approach to living.

[I had to look her up since the only Rodale name I knew was Rodale Press that published books on health and gardening and other such topics, and it turns out she is one of those Rodales.]

If she’s right about gardens being microcosm of our approach to living, I wonder what my garden says about me, and if it truly is a reflection of my life. I tend to think it is. Since I am always balanced now (or rather, I try to be), not swinging too far from center emotionally, politically, or any other “ally,” it stands to reason that I would all unknowingly approach my garden the same way. My lawn is carefully tended and groomed, mowed and (sometimes) weeded though not, perhaps, as often as they should be. Some of my garden spots are also carefully tended, yet others are pretty much left to do what they want. For example, I planted petunias in my raised garden, and first they were overtaken by self-planted moss rose (portulaca) and then both the moss roses and petunias were overtaken by marigolds. I’m too soft-hearted to rip out those marigolds, and anyway, who am I to say what gets to live and die? (Though admittedly, I do try to roust a lot of the weeds that grow in my space.) And so, poor things, they are left to duke it out on their own.

It’s not a bad way to garden in a place that’s inhospitable to many plants because the things that grow well here tend to do very well, which is why I have so many purple magnus echinacea and red ice plant — they spread. On the other hand, the New England aster I was so proud of at the beginning, don’t do well at all anymore. They don’t like the heat, they don’t like the soil, and they especially don’t like the pH of this soil. (Like most soil in Colorado, it’s highly alkaline, a gift the primordial ocean left behind when it receded from the state.) Every year I cut those poor asters back since that’s supposed to help keep the plants from going brown; every year I think of maybe potting them or doing something else to make them thrive, and every year I just let them be.

My garden is also a reflection of my need to learn as well as my rebellious streak, where I don’t necessarily want to do what the experts suggest, so mainly I learn by trial and error. As I have always done. (Which is probably why I have an enormous and eclectic store of knowledge in my head while also being naïve about many things others seem to know instinctively.)

Most people, at a casual glance, would not be able to connect any of that garden approach with my mostly laissez faire attitude toward life (lately, that attitude is being drowned out by my sadness at the way communism is creeping into the country, but I still mostly try to go along to get along). For anyone who’s paying attention, my yard does say one thing: an old woman lives here. When Jeff and I would see a nicely kept up yard in any of the areas we lived, we always knew it was taken care of by a retiree because no one else seems to have the time or inclination.

And that, too, says something about me — unabashedly accepting my age.

***

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

End of the Heat Wave

August 12, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Today is the last day of a heat wave, and I am celebrating by . . . well, by talking about it. That’s not much of a celebration, but then, the end of the heatwave isn’t much to celebrate because out here on the plains, we still have another month or two of scorching weather. And anyway, the end of this particular extreme weather week might bring the temperatures down by fifteen degrees, but it’s still hot — low 90s, though it might dip down into the high 80s. There’s also a chance of rain in a few days, but I’m not counting on it. The weather folks seem to do okay on forecasting temperatures in this area, but they are so often wrong about precipitation.

Still, it would be nice to get some rain — we certainly need it. And I need a day off from working outside. Of course, if we do get rain, that day off will be followed by a massive influx of weeds, but oh, well. It all evens out in the end, I guess.

Surprisingly for this time of year, my yard is still mostly green, though there is a weird patch of brown grass that I can only imagine came from some animal’s excretions — a skunk maybe. They’ve been active around here, at least according to the smell. Luckily, they are a nocturnal creature, so I don’t encounter them, which I would not like at all.

There are a few garden spots of flowers, which is nice. Oddly, a couple of the chrysanthemums are starting to bloom. I thought lower temperatures were their instigation, but apparently not. Maybe it’s the lessening of the light that makes them bloom. Or it could be that since they started growing earlier this year, it’s simply time. Either way, I’m looking forward to seeing a bit more color in my yard. Right now, most of the color is in the front where I have two semi-circular flower beds filled with mini zinnias. I thought they’d be a sure winner for those areas since they love the sun, but apparently they don’t like as much heat as they’ve been getting because I’ve had a rough time keeping them going. But today, they are pretty, so there’s that.

Well, I’ve stalled long enough. It’s time for me to brave the heat and go out to water the zinnias and anything else that’s struggling.

***

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

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

Pat Van Winkle

August 11, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Even though we’re in the middle of a heat wave, the past few days I’ve gone outside in relative cool of the early morning to do some much-needed work — trimming overgrown plants, weeding, deadheading, and whatever else I happen to notice when I’m out there. It’s exhausting work, not just the activity but because “relative cool” in no way means “cool.” There is still a lot of weeding to do, but luckily, much of it is not in my view, so I can pretend the weeds aren’t there until I again get the inclination to work that hard.

Yesterday, after I finished working and recuperated a bit, I had to run errands and pick up a couple of food items. I stopped at the nearby dollar store, walked inside, and stopped cold. I stared around at all the Halloween items, totally confused. “What month is this?” I asked a nearby clerk. She laughed, knowing exactly what I meant, and replied, “It’s August.”

Whew! For a minute there, I thought something had happened when I’ve been all caught up in working, like perhaps a month or two passing without my realizing it. I joked and told her that the early seasonal products were not fair for us older folk living alone because we have a hard enough time keeping track of the days.

Although considerably younger, she admitted she’d felt the same way when they got the shipment of Halloween items, and even worse, they’d already received their Thanksgiving shipment.

I hope the moment of befuddlement, not knowing what month it was, isn’t a prognostication of my future. I certainly don’t like the feeling of utter befuddlement. It’s bad enough that the world is passing me by —

I had to stop there and think. Is the world passing me by, and if it is, is it a bad thing? And if it is a bad thing, do I care?

Actually, no. I don’t care, as long as I don’t get confused. For me, confusion is too disorienting, and leaves me . . . confused.

At least there’s no confusion in my mind now. It’s still August. We’re still in a heatwave, though it’s expected to cool down in a couple of days, and I’m still me, not any sort of out-of-time “Van Winkle.”

***

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, gardening, life. Tags: , , , , . 2 Comments »

So What?

August 10, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I came across an article where someone had asked the millennials why they hate the boomers and then shared the responses. Quite frankly, the responses seemed to me to be reasons to hate the millennials. Not really, but not “not really,” either. Most of the answers seemed to revolve around how older people use their phones. For example, they hate that “boomers” call instead of text, stop by instead of text, email instead of text. To them, all those things seem rude, but the only reason they would be dealing with these “rude” boomers is if they were related, in which case it seems to me as if they are too self-absorbed and not at all interested in reacting with those older folk in a way the older folk might appreciate.

I understand that mores have changed, and the phone generations think that not texting first is rude, but if someone calls, and you know who they are, it’s just as easy to ignore a call as a text and then call back when you have time. So what’s the gripe?

They also don’t like how “boomers” text, such as writing out whole words rather than using the made-up text language. What possible difference can that make to anyone? One millennial didn’t like that his father signed every text with “love, dad,” but so what? Apparently, they see these things as older folks not caring enough about them to learn the younger people’s way of doing things, but that works both ways: they don’t care enough about the older people to be grateful they at least are communicating and showing that they still care.

And they don’t like that “boomers” don’t want to deal with new apps. And if the oldsters do have to deal, they ask for help, which apparently the bratty millennials don’t want to give, even though trying to learn a new app would seem to be a way of connecting with the younger generations.

There were some other bizarre things they hated, such as older people not being frantic about “climate change” and the way they shrug it off with “the climate always changes,” when, in fact, in this case, the older people are correct. By now, most people have figured out the whole green movement was a scam, that climate is simply changing as it always does, so anyone who is still berating “boomers” about the climate are themselves now part of an older generation that isn’t keeping up with the times.

Other things they hate are that older folks share things that are not true, which is such a joke. Younger generations do that even more, secure in their arrogance that they know what is true when, because of their indoctrination, they haven’t a clue what is true. They only know what they know. (As does everyone, actually.)

They also don’t like that older people prefer cash or a check rather than “tapping” a card, but what business is it of theirs?

And, like everyone, they don’t like advice or back-handed compliments, or questions about their sartorial and body-decorating choices.

But basically, what they don’t like are the way their parents and grandparents use their phones and computers. I imagine, if I had kids or grandkids, they’d hate that I blogged rather than communicated with whatever app it is that they use nowadays.

It’s this sort of thing I started hearing from the older millennial commentators I used to check on occasionally but don’t anymore because who needs that attitude?

I guess this just proves I’m old, but so what? At some point, everyone grows old, at least, those who are lucky enough to live that long.

***

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

Posted in being me, blogging, culture, dealing with old age, internet, life. Tags: , , , . 11 Comments »

Off Balance

August 9, 2026 — Pat Bertram

This town is supposedly built on a giant ball of clay that moves, which puts doors out of plumb, even shifts foundations at times, and then it rolls again and everything moves in the opposite direction. I don’t know the truth of the “ball,” though there is no doubt that the soil here is heavy clay that doesn’t hold moisture. It’s also true that doors close differently at times, though, as someone pointed out, that could be due to moisture or lack thereof. Still, when I have to pull my north/south facing doors in tight to get them to latch, I also have to pull my garage pedestrian door in the same direction. And when I have to push the doors hard to get them to latch, the same thing happens to the garage door.

Also, a couple of years ago, I had to fix part of my foundation. There was a huge crack four feet from the corner on the western side of the southwest corner, as well as a huge crack four feet from the corner on the southern side, and that whole corner section moved several inches toward the southwest. Clay ball? Maybe. Moisture or lack of moisture? Could be. I don’t truly don’t know. All I know is that it happened. (I was able to get the foundation fixed. Whew!)

There is also a piece of concrete in the foundation that I had put in place to cover the coal chute since the coal burning furnace is long gone (and I wouldn’t know where to get coal anyway). That concrete slab moves back and forth — sometimes there is a fist-sized gap; sometimes no gap at all. The reason I had to have that chute blocked off is that the concrete that had blocked it off many years ago moved away from the house and sunk into the ground, making it useless.

So, the unstable clay ball could be the cause of all that. Or not. Who knows.

What brings this up today is that recently, at least a half dozen friends and acquaintances in this area have fallen. Me, included. I tripped on the edging around my lawn and fell slowly onto the cushioning grass that left me unharmed but with a single bruise I didn’t even know I had until days later, and more importantly, I had no trouble getting up, ungainly though my rise might have been. Not everyone was as lucky — some of the injuries were rather severe with a couple of people ending up in the hospital and needing care afterward.

It just seems bizarre that so many of us older women who have not even been in contact with each other lately have all fallen around the same time, especially since a couple of us are not prone to falls. I joked that maybe the earth moved and unbalanced us all, and once we’re acclimated, we’ll all be fine. Or it could be that the clay ball moved and did the same thing. (What makes the local ball the lesser explanation is that one of the falls did not take place around here, but at least five did, so that non-local fall could simply be an outlier.)

I do know it’s not one of those situations where once you become aware of something, you see it everywhere, because we all find out when one of our ilk falls, and generally it’s a one off.

But this time? There were too many falls. It must have been that old clay ball, either the local one or the entire globe putting us all off balance.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Well, no — I’m not sticking to that story, much as I liked it. I have a hunch we’re all dealing with the summer blahs as well as a heat wave that could be messing with our equilibrium.

***

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, house, life. Tags: , , , , . 4 Comments »

Human Motivations

August 8, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I read an article where the author mentioned two powerful human motivations: the need to belong and the need to reduce uncertainty. He was using these motivations to explain why so many young white liberals are voting for communist/socialistic candidates. Apparently, that party gives them the identity and the certainty they need without their ever having to look beyond the belonging to perhaps a different truth than what they “feel” is true. If that’s the case, I can understand the young falling for the fallacy of getting everything for free, but apparently, in a few of the primaries where the socialists have won, even older white liberals have voted for the so-called socialist.

This need to belong is also the reason (rather a reason) why the leftist media so gleefully touts the avalanche of new people joining that party (the membership stands at little over 100,000 which is not much of an avalanche, and yet their wins make it seem so). The reason this is so damaging is that people want to feel as if they are winners, so they jump where they think the winners are, especially if those winners promise free everything. It explains, too, why people don’t always vote for who they really want — they vote for who they think will win. I suppose that’s part of the need for certainty and belonging. If the person they vote for wins, it validates them. If the person loses, it leaves them feeling uncertain about themselves.

You’d think that after a certain age, people would have learned to live with both a feeling of not belonging and a sense of uncertainty, but apparently not. For me, that acceptance came during my years of grief after Jeff died. Since he was my home, and since we did everything together, being left alone catapulted me into free fall, not knowing who I was, where I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to be doing. I still don’t know any of those things, and despite my being settled in my own home, I still feel uncertain and alienated at times. Working in a garden helps with accepting that reality, where every day is a lesson in unbelonging (a garden belongs to itself; a gardener is merely a caretaker since so much is beyond human control) and a lesson in uncertainty (there is no guarantee that a seed will grow, that a plant will survive the weather conditions, that hordes of insects won’t come to feast).

I also see another powerful human motivation at play in the political arena — a need to be agreed with. If you belong to a group that validates you, you never have to deal with unbelonging, uncertainly, or being disagreed with. Although I have come to an accommodation with the first two motivations for human behavior, the third is something I still struggle with. Most of what I know has come from serious study, and it tends to irk me when people just wave that off because they “feel” differently, but it’s their prerogative to feel however they want based on their own experiences. I am learning (trying to learn) to simply let their disagreement pass me by, realizing that that what others think has nothing to do with me, but feeling it inside where it counts is something else.

Still, I wish that those understandable motivations aren’t leading so many people toward an economic policy that has never worked before and certainly can’t work today, because if it ever succeeds, then what they think will matter tremendously, no matter what I think.

***

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

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Chugging Along

August 7, 2026 — Pat Bertram

If I suddenly disappear, don’t worry. I’m probably fine, just taking a break from blogging. What’s going on in the world is just so discouraging that I get tired of writing about what I am trying to think through. Actually, I’m tired of trying to think things through, too, tired of trying to find a way to make everything — anything — make sense. (Though how does one make sense of what in many cases is utterly senseless?) In fact, I was seriously considering this to be my last post for a while, but a friend left me a message “Do not give up!” And that made a big difference. So thank you.

Not that I really want to talk about “the issues,” it’s that they are on my mind. Normally, I can push those thoughts away with talk of my garden, but right now, there’s not even much to say about my yard, not many pictures to show. At this time of year, the weeds sprout ten times faster than I can pull them up. (I am prone at times to exaggeration for the sake of making a point, but the speed at which the weeds are sprouting is the literal truth. Spurge, the worst offender, sure is a scourge! It’s everywhere.) Also, the summer flowers are mostly gone and the fall blooms still weeks away. Well, except for the marigolds. This year, they are like weeds, having planted themselves in copious numbers, even crowding out plants I paid for. What I discovered is that whatever marigolds are supposed to do to keep bugs away, they don’t. In fact, there are more bugs in my self-planted marigold beds than there are in the rest of the yard.

Although I don’t really like marigolds, except for their ability to brighten dead spots in fall, the French marigold is different. The odor isn’t as strong, the petals aren’t as compact, and the color is brighter. As with the traditional marigolds, these also self-seeded. In fact, I have more of them this year than were planted last year. (I didn’t plant them specifically — they came in an assortment of orange wildflowers.)

I do have a single pumpkin growing. I used to see a lot of thumb-size babies, but they all disappeared. I don’t even know how that happened. Maybe the momma pumpkin absorbed them. It’s a good thing I only need one pumpkin! Even though the tomato plant is as big as a bush, it still hasn’t produced a single blossom, and though the cantaloupe is producing flowers, it’s not producing fruit.

Yep. A discouraging time all around. Though that’s nothing new. According to blogs I posted at this time in previous years, that discouragement seems to a sign of the times. I can’t even blame my malaise on the heat — we had a couple of days hinting of fall before the 100+ temperatures returned.

I’ll chalk up my discouragement to the midsummer blahs, and keep chugging along, even if I do give in to my inclination to stop blogging every day.

***

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

Posted in being me, blogging, gardening, life. Tags: , , , , , . 10 Comments »
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