Puzzled About Puzzles

May 2, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Now that I’m not going to the library and am only reading or rereading the books in my house, I’ve mostly exchanged my reading time for pencil puzzle-solving time. I have a foot high stack of puzzles that I bought years ago when I moved here, but then I got caught up in visiting the library because it felt like such a treat.

Well, library visits aren’t a treat anymore, and the puzzles are.

When you are working a puzzle, such as a crossword puzzle, and you come to the end of what you can do on your own, do you consider it cheating to look at the solution for hints so you can finish the puzzle? Or do you see checking the answer as part of the fun of doing puzzles? Or do you abandon the puzzle unfinished to keep from cheating? If you do consider it cheating to check the solution for an answer you have no way of figuring out, do you also consider it cheating to ask someone, to use a crossword puzzle dictionary, or to look online for the answer to the clue? Do you find yourself shying away from difficult puzzles because you can’t do them without periodically checking the answer?

Years ago, I might have considered it cheating to look at the answers, but I don’t now and haven’t for a long time. It’s all part of the game for me, a way to keep the puzzle going if I hit a wall, a way to up the challenge. If I only do puzzles that are easy enough to “win” all the time, what’s the point? And anyway, if I complete the puzzle, I don’t consider it a win as much as a chance to start a different puzzle.

I’m just curious what people think. Doing the puzzles again reminded me of a discussion I had with someone years ago. I didn’t know her, she was just responding to a blog post where I pretty much asked the same questions as I am doing here, but it shocked me when she berated me on my behavior. She was appalled that I would cheat, because even if you “cheat” when it’s just a game you’re playing against yourself, then it’s still cheating

So, I know one person’s answer!

And I know mine. To me, cheating connotes an intention to deceive, and since I’m not deceiving anyone, not even myself, doing the puzzles, however they are solved, is all just a way of passing the time. Maybe it’s even a way of exercising my mind. And perhaps I’m even learning something along the way. Besides, tossing out a puzzle just because I couldn’t finish it without a quick look to see where to go next, is a waste of money. Admittedly, I bought past-date puzzle books in bulk, so each puzzle probably cost less than a penny, but even at a penny, an unfinished puzzle is a waste.

Speaking of puzzles, I created the following puzzles in 2009 for a promotion when A Spark of Heavenly Fire was published. Instead of numbers, these Sudoku puzzles use the letters from the title of the book: A, S, P, R, K, O, F, I, E.

Have fun solving! And if you get stuck, click here to find the solution: Spark of Heavenly Fire Sudoku solution.

***

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

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , , , , . 2 Comments »

Queen of the May

May 1, 2026 — Pat Bertram

The month of May was named after Maia, the Roman goddess of spring, nature, and growth, and was the “maiden” associated with the three stages of a woman’s life: maid, mother, matriarch/mystic. In Latin, Maia meant “greater.” Greeks also had a goddess Maia, the mother of Hermes, and is associated with motherhood. In Greek, Maia meant “mother.”

May celebrations (the Roman Maia kind) have been held for two thousand years. Well, they used to be. We don’t celebrate such things nowadays. Although dancing around a tree as part of fertility rites existed way back then, it wasn’t until the fourteenth century that Maypole dancing was first mentioned. For centuries, a pole was erected on May first, decorated with flowers and ribbon streamers, and then dancers would hold the ribbons, weave around one another, and create intricate patterns with the ribbons.

Another big part of such festivities was crowning the “Queen of the May.” The “queen,” usually a young girl dressed in white, would be crowned with flowers and then she would reign over the festivities.

A long-forgotten tradition was the passing out of May baskets — forgotten by the world, that is, and barely remembered by me. When I was young, every May first, my mother would make cupcakes for my class, add pipe cleaner handles that matched the cupcake papers and icing, and then decorate the handles with tiny flowers. Oh, they were so cute! I loved passing them out. (My brother remembers her making them for his class, and he was utterly embarrassed to bring them to school.)

Occasionally I think of making those cupcake baskets for my friends and neighbors, but it’s hard to find the right pipe cleaners, and tiny fabric flowers disappeared from the stores decades ago. I thought of decorating the cupcake itself with icing flowers, but that’s just too much work. Maybe someday, though.

Or I could go back to the traditional May basket routine of filling baskets and leaving them at people’s houses, which I used to do, but I stopped when the husband of one of my friends threw the basket out in the street because he thought it was a bomb. This was decades ago, long before people in safe neighborhoods had to worry about such things, but his actions broke my momentum, and I never did such things again.

Today, I ‘m celebrating May Day with my own pretty basket. The basket was a tennis trophy my father received in his youth when he played at Forest Hills. The ribbons were scrounged from gift wrappings, and the flowers borrowed from one of my hats.

Hey! I just remembered — I have flower wreaths! I use them as hatbands, but they were supposed to be worn separately. Maybe I’ll crown myself Queen of the May. Why not? Someone needs to celebrate this special, mostly forgotten festival. For my first duty as queen, I bestow upon you myriad wishes for a lovely day!

[Incidentally, the Mayday, Mayday distress call has nothing to do with May or Maia or Maidens or Mothers. The word was created in 1923 and comes from the French m’aider meaning “help me.”]

***

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

 

Posted in being me, culture, history/myth, life. Tags: , , , , , . 7 Comments »

Warm Flowers for Cool Days

April 30, 2026 — Pat Bertram

It’s a dark and chilly day here. Grey clouds laden with moisture hang overhead but not a single raindrop falls. This seems like the perfect time to post a few flower photos from the warm end of the spectrum. I doubt they will do anything to brighten the day outside, but they will certainly brighten my day inside where it counts.

I planted firecracker penstemon seeds three years ago, but it took two years for a few of the seeds to germinate. By the time those few seeds germinated, I’d forgotten all about them and thought they were weeds. Luckily, I realized they weren’t weeds in time to save the last plant. I didn’t know what it was until it flowered. I’m certainly glad I managed to save this last plant.

Now I’m hoping that it reseeds itself. Anything that takes hold in this climate is worth allowing to spread since so many plants that like our winters don’t like our summers and vice versa.

The snapdragons weren’t grown from seed, but they, too are a surprise because normally, although they do reseed themselves, they don’t survive the winter. And yet here they are, still a week before planting season in these parts, blooming cheerily.

Columbine, like firecracker penstemon, seem to take a couple of years to germinate, at least, this one did. It was grown from seed at the same time as the penstemon and took as long to flower.

This is an interesting columbine — not just the color, but the size. It’s about half the size of the others in my yard. Still, though small, the vibrant color gives them as much panache as their larger relatives.

I hope these flowers have brightened your day. They sure did brighten mine!

***

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: , , , , , . 5 Comments »

The Camping Life

April 29, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Have you ever been camping?
View all responses

The summer before my epic cross-country trip, I lived in a friend’s camper in Northern California where I could tramp along the coast and hike the redwood forests. Although most people call this camping, to me I was simply living in a tiny house and enjoying the environment that was so different from anything I’d experienced before. (And enjoying the friendship, of course.)

The other end of the camping spectrum is “cowboy camping” — out in the wilderness with no roof over your head except the Milky Way and so many stars you wouldn’t believe. Although the romanticism of that appealed to me, the physical sensation of being out alone and vulnerable in that vastness seemed too intimidating, so I never did it.

I did camp in a tent, though, which seemed, Goldilocks-like, to be perfect, falling as it does somewhere between a tiny house on wheels and an infinite roof overhead.

I loved tent camping. Like most of my adventures, people kept telling me I couldn’t do it — I was too old, it was too dangerous, too many things could go wrong — but that didn’t deter me.

The first night I camped out was the first night of my cross-country trip. I’d practiced setting up the tent, so that wasn’t a problem, though it was a bit awkward since the tent was a six-footer. (I got a big one because I wanted to be able to stand up. And it was on sale.) I had a folding lounge chair big enough to sleep in since I wasn’t sure I could sleep on the ground, and all sorts of other comforts, including the main one — a restroom within walking distance.

I woke in the middle of the night to use that rest room. By the time I got back I was wide awake, so I lay on the top of the picnic table and drank in the stars. Eventually, I went back into the tent and finished the night in my cozy pallet on the ground.

I learned a lot about how to be comfortable in that tiny space. I spent most of my time outside, of course, so it was only at night and in the heat of the day that I sought shelter. A few nights were frigid, and I couldn’t get warm, so I opened my backpacking tent inside the larger tent, and soon became warm enough to sleep comfortably.

During that trip, I camped in deserts, mountains, forests, near swamps and lakes and on a beach. Each campsite was special. Each experience was exquisite. Each person I met was an instant friend. One slightly older woman had gone to the same high school I did, which made us even instanter friends. She was a retired teacher whose retirement funds didn’t stretch enough for a conventional life, so she spent most of her time on the road, living in her tent. Although campers were only allowed a two-week stay, she’d been there almost a month. There were few campers during that February, and so they let her stay.

I considered doing what she was doing, and if I hadn’t lucked out on buying a house, I might have lived the camping life, though to be honest, as much as I loved camping, I’m so much more comfortable living in a stationary house with a roof and heat and running water and my own bathroom.

I didn’t camp every night during that trip. Most often I was with friends, who treated me royally. Occasionally I spent nights in motels, especially if the weather was bad or I was tired or there weren’t any nearby national parks. (I did stay in a couple of state parks, but so many were almost as expensive as a motel that it didn’t seem worth it.)

I still have that oversize lounger. Maybe this summer I’ll drag it out and sleep under the stars. Or not. Although it’s a nice thought, second thoughts remind me that mosquitos, skunks, and other denizens of the night aren’t so nice.

It’s funny — sitting here writing this, I know I had all those adventures, but they seem as if they happened to someone else, as if I’d just read myself into some fictional character’s life — a character who is spontaneous and adventuresome and courageous, all things I’m not.

Except, apparently, I am those things. Or at least I was.

***

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. Tags: , , , , , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Nix on the Happy Face

April 28, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite emojis?
View all responses

I have never liked any emoji even before they became emojis. Especially the idiotic happy face that began it all.

I wasn’t aware of the smiley face in its infancy because it was an inhouse graphic created for State Mutual Life Assurance Company in 1963 to make their employees happier about a corporate merger. The face quickly moved beyond those bounds, and in Denver, in the late sixties, a jewelry store passed out happy-face stickers for a promotion, so that sappy yellow face was everywhere. I don’t know why — perhaps because it was everywhere — I couldn’t bring myself to like the insipid thing.

Even worse was after Hallmark took over the design in 1971, added “Have a happy day,” and then expected people to . . . I don’t know . . . give Hallmark happy days by buying happy faces, I guess.

I disliked “Have a happy day,” even more when it replaced “thank you,” as a farewell to shoppers who’d completed a purchase. I was depressed a lot back then, which made that whole “have a happy day” thing seem like a slap in the face, but more than that, it was so utterly phony, it depressed me further. Ironically, I’d give anything to have people go back to “Have a happy day” if they’d only get rid of today’s version, “Have a good one.” That sure makes me cringe! “Have a good one what?” I ask when I’m feeling particularly curmudgeonly. I can’t help but think of caregivers asking their elderly constipated patients if they’d had a “good one” that day.

In my life, almost always things I like disappear, most recently the most useful sprinkler I’ve ever found, with several water patterns as well as an ability to convert it to a hand-held sprinkler. But that sappy face? Nope. Now that it’s a global necessity, embedded in almost all computer programs, it will hound me forever.

Admittedly, I’ve used various emojis when trying to elucidate what I thought a witty comment, but that didn’t always work well.

Many years ago, I signed up for a dating site at the instigation of a married friend who wanted the vicarious experience. I eventually ended up communicating with one fellow who mentioned that he loved laughing and humor, and I don’t remember the comment I made, but it was supposed to be a humorous response to his humorous comment, and to emphasize the point, I added a happy face emoji. He took the comment at face value, and got nasty with me. I explained that the emoji was an indicator of it being a joke, and he got even more angry and said he didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone who had to use happy faces to explain what she was saying. Apparently, the only one who was supposed to funny was him. I tried a different site, and there he was again. So, to my friend’s disappointment, that was the end of my efforts.

But not, alas, the end of emojis. If I do grit my teeth and use any emoji to end a text conversation, it’s something simple like a heart or a tree, but mostly, I stick with (gasp!) words. It’s so much better for my peace of mind.

***

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

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Decision Fatigue Redux

April 27, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Here’s irony for you. Yesterday I wrote about decision fatigue and counted myself lucky that I have so few decisions to make. Today, I’m sitting here at the computer, staring at a pretend piece of blank paper, sorting through a multitude of options, trying to decide what I want to write about. And it is making me so very fatigued!

So much is going on out there in the real world that I could talk about, maybe even should talk about — not so much what is happening, but my reactions to the reactions of what is happening. Are people really so unhinged nowadays they bemoan that an assassination attempt failed, while others demand that next time they find better shooters, and still others scream “staged”? And are so many as blasé as they seem, that such behavior (both the attempt and the aftermath) is so expected, that it’s simply ho-hum?

None of this behavior is anything I want to deal with. It certainly makes me determined to take better care of myself. Many of the people teetering on the edge (and some that have flat-out fallen on the side of derangement) are in the age group and even the profession, that will be the caretakers of my generation. Crikey, I so do not want to have to deal them now — I can’t imagine being dependent on such people in my feeble old age. Luckily, unbalanced and heartless folk seem to be a minority (at least, I hope they are). Even luckier (if it can be called luck) my limited finances won’t support such care, which again comes down to my taking better care of myself.

After all my waffling about what to write about, I made my decision. There’s nothing I can do about anything that’s going on and nothing I write is going to make any difference, so I’m going to shut down my computer, turn off the outside world, tune into my own world, do the best I can for myself, and make this a peaceful day.

Wishing the same for you.

***

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, dealing with old age, internet, life, writing. Tags: , , , , . 3 Comments »

Decision Fatigue

April 26, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I just read an article claiming that people living alone suffer greatly from “decision fatigue.” Apparently, there are 35,000 decisions each person makes every day, and though that number seems to be accepted, no one knows how that number came to be established.

A lot of those “decisions” sound like habit to me. To hit the snooze alarm or get out of bed immediately. To take a morning shower or to brush one’s teeth. To drink one or more cups of coffee. To drive to work or take the bus. All things people do by rote.

Some decisions, such as what to wear, are also by rote, because whether they know it or not, people tend to wear uniforms, such as business attire when going to work or jeans and a top when staying home.

Most of my decisions lie in the category of habit, which is why I blog every day — I don’t need to make a decision about whether to post something. I just do it. I sometimes need to make a decision about what to write, but I generally just go with whatever flows. (Unfortunately for you, it adds another decision to your list — read or not read.) Nor do I have a lot of decisions to make when it comes to food. My meals are simple and getting simpler all the time because of food concerns and a growing aversion to cooking complicated (and not so complicated) dishes.

I am on a watering and yard maintenance schedule, which also removes the need to make decisions. When I see something in passing that needs done, I do it immediately, which saves on having to make a decision later. Of those hypothetical 35,000 decisions that people make every day, I consciously make a dozen. Maybe less. Even the decisions I do make, such as whether to play a game or read are instinctual. When I get bored reading, I play. When I get bored playing, I read.

I tend to think this is the same with a lot of retired people. Working life, of course, would heap decisions on people, decisions they would probably not want to make but have to, but the article wasn’t about the difference in decision fatigue between working people vs. retirees. It was about how people living alone are more at risk for decision fatigue.

The article postulated that those who live alone have to make all the decisions in the household. One example the writer gave was coming home from work. If you live alone, you have to decide what to eat, as well as make all the decisions that come with meal preparation. If you live with someone, that person might have a meal ready or could help decide what to fix and when to fix. That’s when the claims in that article fell apart for me. I couldn’t help but think of all the single parents who come home from work, have to cook dinner, have to take care of the kids, have to do all sorts of things and make all sorts of decisions that people living alone don’t do. Sometimes, if it’s a two-parent household, one person does have a meal prepared, but that isn’t always the case. And sometimes one, or even both, have many more decisions to make than single people because more people in the household means more people to make decisions about. Making those decisions also takes way more time and energy because of all the needed discussion.

Luckily for me, I live a simple life. Most of my major decisions, such as where to live, have been made. And since I live alone, if I don’t want to make a decision, I don’t. There is that old saying, “not to decide is to decide,” but for sure, not deciding takes a lot less energy, especially for someone like me who generally doesn’t care whatever way a decision might go. Of course, not caring about the result of a decision leads to other issues, such as inability to do anything that requires a decision to be made because it’s almost impossible to decide between two equal situations.

Still, that’s something to worry about another day. Or not.

***

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, dealing with old age, life. Tags: , , , , , . 3 Comments »

Pleasing My Eyes

April 25, 2026 — Pat Bertram

The recent frost did more damage than I originally thought. Although the plum blossoms made it through that first night, they soon turned brown and dropped off the branches. It’s what I expected, but still, it’s a bit disappointing. The lily tree forest was also more damaged than it first seemed — more brown than was first apparent — but I still think there should be plenty of lily flowers come July.

I took a few photos when I was out watering this morning. These irises aren’t mine; they are growing in my next-door neighbor’s yard, though they might as well be mine since there’s no one else to see them. It amuses me to think that I spend so much time outside watering and grooming my yard, and his totally unkempt (well, not totally — he does mow the weeds a couple of times during the summer) and completely unwatered yard yields these majestic flowers.

Then there is this photo of a columbine that planted itself. On my phone, the picture was perfect, the color the lovely purple of the plant itself, but when I uploaded it to my computer, it turned blue. Must be the difference when the P3 wide gamut space on my phone was converted to the standard sRGP for web display. I have no idea what that means, but that’s the answer I got when I Googled, “Why is the color different when uploading a picture from my phone. So that’s why, instead of the original purple, you see a blue columbine. Or maybe you see a different color? Purple maybe? Or orchid?

Another photo I took doesn’t do justice to what I wanted to memorialize. I’d just finished watering the lilac bushes when I noticed water drops clinging to the denuded flower stems. In the morning sun, those long-past-their-prime lilacs glittered like crystal. It was an awesome sight!

This last photo was a surprise. I must have pushed the button as I was walking away from those lilacs toward my gazebo, because this photo showed up on my phone. I loved the colors, especially the blue of the sky, so I kept it. (In the interest of honesty, I have to admit I skewed the photo from the original slanted image to get this version, but otherwise, the phone did it all on its own.)

A lot of plants are showing their first shy blossom, such as the larkspur and the cottage pinks, so perhaps I’ll have different garden photos to show in a few days.

Until then, I have these photos to please my eyes, and perhaps yours, too.

***

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

Posted in gardening, home, internet, life, photography. Tags: , , , , , . 7 Comments »

What Makes Me Nervous

April 24, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What makes you nervous?
View all responses

Appliances make me nervous. Not operating them. Not even so much the thought of their breaking down. But what comes after when they do malfunction.

I try not to worry, and mostly it’s easy. I just turn my thoughts in another direction. But when a particular appliance makes an unfamiliar noise or what sounds like it could be a vibration, then I go on alert.

My washing machine needs new rods or new bearings because unless the load is small and perfectly balanced, sometime during one of the final spins, it shakes and rattles so hard that it makes me very nervous. I’ll get a new machine soon because there’s no one around here that I know of who fixes washing machines (the one repair service in the next town over has never returned my calls). That’s what really worries me — having to deal with a machine that suddenly stops working with my wet apparel locked inside. Even worse is the thought of having to deal with all that buying a new washing machine entails, and all the decisions that have to be made until everything is settled down once again.

In rereading what I wrote above, I noticed that I used the words “worry” and “nervous” interchangeably, so I checked online to see what the difference is. Apparently, worry is long term, is mostly in the mind, and often centers on specific future scenarios. Nervousness is short term, primarily physical, and often centers on an immediate or unfamiliar situation.

So I suppose what it comes down to in my appliance scenario is that I am worried about being nervous about dealing with breakdown issues.

What does unequivocally make me nervous are appointments. I don’t care how important or trivial those appointments might be, I always find myself getting nervous. I suppose the nervousness comes not just from worrying about a perhaps negative outcome of the appointment, such as a dental visit or a DMV appointment to get my license renewed, but it’s also because of someone else being in control of the situation. I am lucky to be pretty much in control of my life. Admittedly, I have a self-restricted life — I don’t go out much, don’t party or “have fun” (whatever that is). I do simply things, try to be mindful of dangers that come with letting my thoughts wander, and generally take as good a care as possible of myself and my house and property. I am pretty much in control, barring accidents and appliances breaking down, so it makes sense that I’m nervous when I have to deal with an appointment where suddenly, I am not in control. Someone else temporarily gets to have a say in my life. So far, those “say”s have worked out, but that’s not always the case.

Oddly, the one appointment that did have a negative impact wasn’t even my appointment, but a friend’s. I’d accompanied her to the eye doctor, and while waiting for her, a woman sat next to me and began to chat with me. That wasn’t too much of a problem until she started coughing. Then she admitted she’d just come from her medical doctor and had been diagnosed with bronchitis, but that she wasn’t infectious anymore.

I moved away from her, of course, but it was too late. I’m still dealing with the lingering result of her uninfectious bronchitis.

It might seem as if my life is fraught with worry and nervousness, but the truth is, I am almost always focused on the moment, which brings, if not serenity, at least calm and a modicum of contentment.

Wishing the same for you!

***

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

Creating Favorite Holidays

April 23, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?
View all responses

My favorite holidays are the ones I created or created with the help of a friend. When I was young, I lived in Denver, not far from City Park where an ancient elm resided. A plaque beneath the tree said “Shakespeare Elm: The scion from which this tree was grown was taken from the tree at Shakespeare’s grave at Stratford-on-Avon.” The plaque also noted that the tree was planted on April 23, 1916, which is exactly 300 years after Shakespeare’s birthday — April 23, 1616. (And exactly 110 years before today —April 23, 2026, hence this post.)

How could such a momentous occasion not be celebrated? Many years ago — decades ago! — a friend and I baked elm tree cookies, made a “pin the leaf on the tree” game, stirred up gallons of green punch, even baked a tree shaped cake with candles. We sent hundreds of invitations to friends, family, Denver notables, the media, but on April 23, only family and friends showed up. And two cops.

The cops stood apart from all of us, though they did nibble on cookies and take tentative sips of punch. At one point, one of the cops turned to the other and said in amazement, “They really are having a birthday party for this tree.” Apparently, they had been dispatched to the site in case we were staging a drug rendezvous or some such. As it turns out, it was lucky that no one showed up. Since it ended up being simply a family picnic, we weren’t fined for putting on a public event without a license. Whew!

In honor of that tree and that friendship, I celebrate April 23 every year, if only with a nod to the past and a text to my friend.

I used to celebrate the birthday of “Pat Bertram,” the day I signed up for the internet and started a new life with a new name (Pat Bertram is my pseudonym, though it is a form of my offline name). Somewhere along the way I stopped celebrating, perhaps because that online persona gradually morphed into my offline persona. Still, next year will be the 20th birthday of that Pat, and it should be — will be — celebrated.

I never forget to celebrate the first day of winter. I call it the End of the Creeping Darkness because the nights stop growing shorter and light gradually begins returning to the world. Truly something to celebrate!

Perhaps my favorite holiday was one that could come only once in a lifetime — the day my father turned 35,000 days old. Of course, I had a party for him; how could I not!

And this isn’t the end, of course. There are always holidays to celebrate or create.

Until then, happy birthday, Shakespeare’s Elm!

Since I don’t have a picture of that Elm party, I’m attaching a photo of my father’s party.

***

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

Posted in being me, internet, life. Tags: , , , , , . 13 Comments »
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