Learning Something New

Daily writing prompt
How do you stay motivated when learning something new?

This must be a question for people who are forced to learn things they don’t want to, such as for school or work or new technology, because otherwise it makes no sense. At least not for me. Learning something new has always been its own motivation. Now that I think about it, learning something new seems as if it is sort of the point of life. If we never learn anything new, where would we be? Lolling around in oversized cribs, I imagine, crying from sheer boredom.

The joy of learning is written in our genes. That’s obvious if you’ve ever watched babies, newly sprung from their playpens, crawling all over, learning new things, trying to pull themselves up. And oh, that grin of sheer pride and joy when they manage that first step. They didn’t need to stay motivated, the learning itself was the goal, though encouragement from their parents never hurt. Obviously, there are some things babies need to learn that perhaps they don’t want to, such as using the potty or not touching the pretty fire, but for the most part, babies learn because they want to. Because to them, learning is playing, and playing is learning.

There is an old quote: we don’t stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing. I never liked that quote because it’s too specious, too simplistic, too out of touch with reality. Look at professional athletes. They have to stop playing because they get too old to be able to compete with younger players, not the other way around.

Now, if I were to substitute “learning” for playing, then that quote makes sense, though again, it doesn’t always hold true. Often the elderly can no longer learn because of growing cognitive issues, but still, I tend to think curiosity (and boredom) does motivate people of any age to learn new things. Besides, whether we want to or not, we have to continue learning as we age if only to learn how to do things we once did with ease but that now seem complicated, like opening jars or bending to pick something up. For sure we have to learn how to be mindful or else a reckless step can lead to disaster.

Since writing this has convinced me of the importance of learning — with or without a need for motivation — I’m sitting here trying to think what I’ve recently learned, but I can’t really think of anything. At least nothing fun. I learned a lot of fun things in the past decade — dancing, camping, buying a house, taking care of a house, the tarot, landscaping, gardening — but not so much today except for small things I learn while reading or gardening or doing puzzles. The only specific thing I can think of is that I am learning more of the history of the middle east than I ever cared to know. I never did understand anything of their history or who they were or why they did what they did — it was simply too confusing, uninteresting, and of no particular value to my life, but now I’m seeing a much broader picture, one that dates back almost to the first days of civilization, but specifically back to the 7th century. Is it important to know the history? Only if I want to know the historical reasons for a lot of today’s events, which I don’t, not really. But it is learning, so that’s good.

What I need is to find something new to learn. Something I want to learn just for the fun of learning, something I don’t have to worry about motivating myself to learn. Though what that might be, I don’t know, because if I did know, I’d already be learning it.

***

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

Perfect Summer Day

It feels like summer, not the summer of adulthood when the sun glares and the heat burns and only air-conditioning makes it livable, but the fabled summer of childhood, when each day felt perfect. At least that’s the way we often remember our youthful summers, regardless of the truth.

Summer is still five weeks away, and so is the stultifying heat, but right now, the days feel lazy and warm, with bumblebees buzzing among the flowers, birds digging in the grass for their breakfast. Usually at this time of year, spring winds are almost constant and can be fierce, but they are currently absent. The air is still and soft and falls lightly on my skin. Even the lush blooms speak of an ideal summer, though around here, only a few flowers can keep from being seared by the intense July and August sun.

I tend to think that the mild winter coupled with a warm late winter/early spring helps to make this feel like summer because plants are further along this year than normal, and they are flowering longer. The columbines have been flowering for six weeks! And the larkspur have been flowering almost that long. This long-blooming period gives such a timeless feel to the days, which to me is a summer feeling. (Spring, with the winds and the hurried flowers and the rapid changes, often seems frenetic.)

Also, the temperatures are in the nineties, which in a lot of places, are summer temperatures, but around here, that’s almost cool for summer.

I’m making sure to remember these halcyon days (and if not in my mind, then here, on this blog), because once summer is here for real, all bets are off. And yet, in the past when we’ve had early summer weather, the actual summer months could be cool if the monsoons came. And there is a chance of a wet monsoon season because of predictions for a strong El Nino later this year.

But that’s all mights and maybes. All I know is that right now it feels like a perfect summer day. So what if it’s only May? It’s the feeling (and the feeling of gratitude that comes with it) that counts.

***

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

 

Books and Surprises

Daily writing prompt
What’s a book that completely surprised you?

I can’t say that any book completely surprised me, though some books have surprised me, in both good and bad ways.

I am currently rereading Noel Barber’s novels. I finished Tanamera and am now on Sakkhara. Neither should have surprised me since I’d read them before, but they did surprise me, though I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

I’ve always thought of Tanamera as a Malaysian Gone with the Wind, and Sakkhara as an Egyptian one, though to be honest, I never paid much attention to the romances that thread through the stories. To me, both of those books are about the exotic locations — Singapore and Cairo in the 1930s and 40s — and about the war experiences in those places as well as their problems with being British colonies. In both books, a British family is friends with a native family, and it’s through the relationship between those two families that the conflicts are filtered, and where the real story lies. What I especially like about the books is seeing World War II from a different perspective. Barber was a British war correspondent, so he tells the stories both from the British point of view as well as the location’s point of view. For example, the main war in Singapore and Malaya (as it was known then) was with the Japanese. And originally, the main war in Egypt was with the Italians before the Germans came.

All that is good, and what I remembered. What I didn’t remember — and why it came as a surprise — is that the romance is basically the same in both books and is rather boring: a love triangle (or maybe quadrangle) between the two families as well as an outsider that one of the brothers got pregnant and had to marry rather the woman he loved.

Not a problem, really. It’s no worse than most secondary romantic plots, though I found myself surprisingly on the side of the other brother. Though the first brother (the sort of hero) married not for love but because of his indiscretion, most things worked out for him. And in the end, so did the romance. While the other brother in both stories lost everything. (Makes me wonder if Barber had problems with his brother.)

Next on my list is Farewell to France, basically the same story as the other two, though — obviously — in France (in the Champagne district), and the hero is of American descent, not British. I don’t remember the romance part, though I would be willing to bet it too is the same.

Even though I found it surprising that I was so underwhelmed by the romance aspect and was surprised that the books told the same story, I still like them. It really is interesting seeing basically the same story told in three different countries showing three different perspectives of what truly was a world war.

***

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

Exercise Routine

Daily writing prompt
How can you build a regular fitness routine?

When I was in my twenties and wanted to start running, I asked my brother, a track star, for advice. He told me to run a block every day. No more than that. No less than that. Then gradually increase distance. I followed his advice, and within a couple of months, I was regularly running a mile a day. I did that for years, and then one day, for some reason, I forgot to run. And gradually, the “forgetting” became more prevalent. Also, my work hours changed and my early morning running time disappeared.

Over the years, I tried to get back into running, always starting with that one block a day regimen, and it always worked. What didn’t, was me. Things always happened to change my routine, and if I wasn’t in the groove, the habit disappeared. Amazing — when you try to break a bad habit, it takes forever. When you inadvertently break a good habit, it takes a single day.

Long after I stopped being able to run, I used to dream of running. I loved that effortless feel of almost flying along those dreamscapes, though waking to the realization that I could barely plod along was painful. Luckily, those dreams eventually stopped.

I did various other exercise routines over the years. Jeff helped me with weightlifting, and as with running, the advice was to start light and then gradually increase. After he died and my weights were packed away in a storage unit, I took up other forms of exercise. Mostly hiking. Stretching. Yoga. Dance classes.

I set up my weights when I moved to my house, but I worried too much about damaging my fake elbow, and I didn’t want to one-sided weight lifting, so that exercise, too, disappeared. Pretty much all I do every day anymore is a stretching routine that keeps me relatively limber and at least gives me the illusion that I am exercising. Now that spring and gardening weather is here, I don’t worry about other forms of exercise — I get plenty of movement outside taking care of my yard. Or so I tell myself.

Oops. This post was supposed to be about building a regular fitness routine, and I’ve mostly been mentioning how to destroy a regular fitness routine.

For what it’s worth, the best way to do anything physical is to do what both my brother and Jeff suggested — start small and build up.

Writing this almost makes me want to go out and do some sort of exercise. The relevant word being “almost.” Though if I could go back to dance class, I’d do that in a heartbeat!

***

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

Magic Yard

When people see my garden, either in photos or in person, they almost always say, “You must have a green thumb.” But I don’t. Until I moved here, I was seldom able to grow anything, and when I did manage to keep a plant alive, it wasn’t for long.

The same thing happens here, to be honest. Plants die. I’d say about half of all plants I bought ended up committing harikari. (Hmm. No, not harikari. I just checked the definition of the word; apparently harikari is a specific way of committing suicide — stabbing a dagger in one’s belly and cutting horizontally. Eek. Not a way I would like to go and a physical impossibility for plants since they have neither daggers nor bellies to stick them in.)

The point is, plants that can’t handle the alkaline soil or the searing sun or the frigid winters or perhaps just me, end up being a vague memory. The plants that hang around are ones that thrive in this yard, and they happily spread out or reseed themselves so that during springs like this one, they make it look as if I know what I am doing, when in fact, it’s the yard doing magic tricks. These gorgeous Asiatic irises were here when I moved in and do well with benign neglect. The purple larkspur, as seen in the top photo and in the background of other photos, are an example of a flower that reseeds itself. Magic, for sure!

The beauty of gardening (besides the beauty of the garden itself) is that mistakes don’t hang around so that when things grow, it seems as if everything grows, when that is not the case. Also interesting is when the plants themselves decide what they want to be. Below is a yellow columbine that decided it wanted to be half white.

I’m lucky, really, to live in a magic yard. I plant things, water them, admire them, and that’s it. No green thumb. Just plants that like being where they are. Even then, some years, like last year, they struggle to put out any blooms. I truly have no idea why this is a lush spring for me. We had almost no moisture all winter, and not much this spring. What we have had this spring is springing temperatures — one day it’s below freezing, the next day it springs up to ninety. Amazing that anything can deal with such extremes!

My grass is doing well so far, and I tend to think that has to do with the skunks. They come around every night and dig in the dead patches of grass for grubs, so what is left looks greener. (In the picture below, you might be able to see clumps of dead grass — that’s skunk work. I used to be upset with them until I realized that they are aerating my lawn for me, so as long as they keep their scent to themselves, I’m okay with their digging.)

Now if I can only find something that will get rid of the weeds for me. Some years, when I’ve had a lush yard like this, come summer, most things were eaten almost to the ground by grasshoppers, leaving only weeds behind. If scientists could develop a grasshopper that ate weeds and left everything else behind, that would be a great service to us non-green-thumb gardeners. Meantime, I’m just grateful I have a magic yard that knows how to do what I don’t know how to do. I’m not the only one who likes my yard. These young turtledoves certainly seemed taken with the sight!

***

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

 

Bizarre Day

I don’t know what got into me yesterday morning. I started out as I always do, just taking it easy, checking the weather, doing a puzzle, posting a blog.

Then out of nowhere, for no reason, I did a load of laundry. It’s not an onerous task by any means — it’s not as if I have to lug the stuff down to the river and beat the garments on the rocks to clean them — but my washing machine shakes and pounds during the spin cycles, and I can’t always deal with that awful noise. I could buy a new washer, of course, but that brings a whole new set of problems, mostly logistic, but still, not something I want to deal with right now.

Figuring I was inured to the noise, when that load was done, I stripped my bed and washed the linens and mattress pad. Oddly, the machine never made a sound. So when that was done, I did my last load of laundry just to get it out of the way.

Meantime, I emptied the dishwasher, rotated the mattress, cleaned house (dusted everything and dry mopped the floors), went down to the basement and changed the furnace filter. Then I packed up a book to mail, took it to the post office, ran a few more errands, and checked on a friend’s house for him while he’s out of town.

Utterly bizarre. I don’t usually do that much in a month!

The afternoon was a lazy one since I’d done everything that needed to be done, and besides, I was exhausted.

Today might be another lazy day. I don’t have to water, though I will go out and check on my newly planted petunias, and probably grab a few weeds while I’m out there. Then the rest of the day is wide open. I’m not sure what I will do with all that freedom. Just enjoy the clean house and pretty yard, I guess. Not a bad way to spend a day!

The photo below is what I see when I look out of a back window. Whenever I’m waiting for something to cook or boil or steep, I go to the window and just marvel at the beauty.

***

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

Solitude

I came across an interesting quote this morning by the French writer known simply as Colette: “There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.”

What’s interesting to me about this quote is that, although solitude was an issue with her, it isn’t for me. She died almost 75 years ago, so obviously, the times were different. Today I’m not sure there is such a thing as a poisonous solitude that makes one want to beat one’s head against the wall. We are all just fingertips away from connecting with the world, and if not that, then we’re just minutes away from a store where for the price of a loaf of bread, we can talk to a checkout clerk for a few minutes.

Admittedly, I am minimizing her pain, but I don’t feel that solitude is a big issue — not for me, anyway. I have people I can call or go visit, I can take a walk or work in my garden where people tend to find me. So solitude by itself isn’t a bitter tonic or a poison. Nor is it the heady wine she speaks of. It just is the way I’ve ordered my life (or perhaps the way life ordered me).

Loneliness, on the other hand, can be a bitter tonic if not poisonous, since it doesn’t have an easy fix. I mean, just by going out among people you can cure solitude, because even if you don’t know the people, you’re not solitary anymore. But loneliness isn’t as easy as being around people because one can be lonely in a crowd. One can also be lonely for a particular person, and if that person isn’t around, then the loneliness can be agonizing for sure.

Solitary and lonely — that’s not a good combination, though I tend to think it’s the loneliness that’s the problem, not the aloneness, but then, what do I know. I don’t often get lonely anymore since I am used to Jeff being gone. I am also solitary by nature, though if I am visiting with someone, I can be as garrulous and as sociable as those who prefer to wrap a peopled world around themselves.

I know some of you are lonely, though perhaps not solitary. Others are both lonely and solitary. Life can be bitter for those who have lost the one person that made their life a more loving and friendly place to be, so I don’t want you to think I’m diminishing your pain.

I’m just . . . thinking.

***

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

Minimalist Living

Daily writing prompt
What are the biggest benefits of minimalist living?

I had no idea “minimalist living” was a thing. A simple Google search showed me hundreds of articles about how to become a minimalist, including a lifestyle guide to minimalist living, a complete beginner’s guide to minimalism, ways to start living a minimalist lifestyle, how to ease into a minimalist lifestyle, how to convert your family to a minimalist lifestyle. And on. And on. And on.

Weird. Who knew you had to learn to live a minimalist lifestyle? It’s probably the simplest thing imaginable. You just live . . . minimally.

The truth is, I’ve been living a minimalist lifestyle my whole life, but I don’t call it that. I call it not buying things I didn’t need. I call it living debt-free, not buying anything I can’t afford right now. (My thought has always been that if I can’t afford it today, why would I suddenly be able to afford it when the bill came due? More than that, though, I’ve always had a fear of being in debt. Perhaps I read too many books about owing money to gangsters in my youth.)

I call my minimalist lifestyle “using, reusing, using up.” I call it not wasting anything, especially not food. (How do people live with themselves when they throw away perfectly good food because they don’t like leftovers? I don’t eat leftovers either. At least not by that word. I call any uneaten food a pre-cooked meal or tomorrow’s fuss-free lunch.)

I know one thing minimalism isn’t — following someone else’s guide to minimalism.

I have way more stuff than the minimalism gurus suggest, but a lot of that was hand-me-downs, such as my furniture. Instead of doing nothing in a relative’s storage unit, I get the use of those lovely items. (According to him, it’s my furniture now. I guess he was minimalizing his life by maximizing mine!) A lot of other stuff I own is left from the retail business Jeff and I used to run, though gradually, I’m finding people to dump the stuff on. (Oops. I mean finding people to donate it to.) All my extraneous stuff is neatly packed away on shelves in my garage, so it’s not in the way. Since I don’t like things on the walls in my house, my finished paint-by-number pictures and other “artwork” decorate my garage. And if I get something new, such as a gift, I get rid of something old. It doesn’t reduce what I own, but it keeps me from becoming a hoarder.

To me, minimalism isn’t so much about what I own but what I do. I try to do only one thing at a time. Not only that, I am truly a minimalist when it comes to letting — or rather not letting — the world intrude on my life.  I don’t listen to music while I do chores or whatever. Actually, though I am loath to admit it, I don’t listen to music at all because, to my tin ear, it’s all just noise. Besides, I hate having snatches of songs stuck in my head. I prefer silence. I don’t watch television, either, and when I’m on the computer, I have the volume turned off.

So what are the benefits of my minimalist style of living? Well, no debt, for one. (The typical U.S. household is carrying about $105,000 in debt. Yikes. How do people do that? Doesn’t it make them crazy to owe that much?) My income is also minimalist, but it’s not a problem because my minimalist lifestyle is one I can afford. At least for now. Since I’ve kept the same vehicle for the past fifty-four years, I don’t have to deal with a car payment, and since my driving is minimal, I don’t spend much on gas. (In fact, for me, gas is always the same price — I put in twenty-dollars’ worth each time I get gas, and that’s that.)

Other benefits — less stress since I don’t have to worry about paying off a debt. Peace of mind because I try to keep my mind as uncluttered as the rest of my life. A feeling of lightness since having too many possessions weighs me down. An ability to enjoy the small pleasures of life, such as flowers in my garden, since I haven’t straightjacketed myself into a hectic routine.

I can’t imagine living an opulent life (or whatever the opposite of a minimalist life would be). This minimalism is so ingrained in me that, to me, it’s just life.

***

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

My Ideal Life

Daily writing prompt
If you had to describe your ideal life, what would it look like?

If I had to describe my ideal life today, it would actually look like my life today, but that description has changed over the years.

If I had to describe my ideal life when I was a child, it would have been no chores and time to read all I wanted. And dessert after every meal.

If I had to describe my ideal life when I was a young adult, it would probably have been a job I loved that paid me a ton of money so that I could save enough to quit my job and read all I want. And yes, dessert after dinner.

In my middle years, my ideal life would have been how things were when Jeff was doing well — playing games together, working together, and making enough to get by. Ideally, we would have made enough not to have had to worry about neither of us working when he wasn’t doing well. Still, during those intervals, I had plenty of time to read, though not always money for dessert every evening.

Now, that I have grown up (actually more than grown up — I’ve almost grown to the stage of spoilage), and now that I have realigned my life after losing Jeff, my parents and my older brother, I can’t imagine any life other than the one I have. And rightly so. For me, it’s . . . ideal. Truly.

For example, this morning, after my stretching exercises, I went outside and mowed the lawn. I talked to one neighbor who crossed the street to chat, saw another neighbor out walking, and she stopped to chat. I watered the petunias I’d purchased yesterday morning and planted yesterday afternoon, then wandered around my yard, marveling at being able to live in such a fairytale environment.

Admittedly, the yard does take work, but right now, it’s easy enough to make the effort. Besides, the work I did today wasn’t work so much as an excuse to be outside in the clement weather, especially after the past two days of inclement weather.

Although I have time to read, I’ve run out of books I want to read, have no interest in scouring the shelves of the local library for more books I have no interest in reading, so I’ve been rereading the few books in my own library. And that dessert after every meal? I could have it of course, but then there’s the issue of my being smart enough not to indulge. But those “ideals” were left over from my childhood, so doing without isn’t an issue. Other things take their place. Blogging. Solving pencil puzzles. Painting by number. Gardening. Sometimes even visits with friends, whether impromptu or planned.

Best of all, I know that this is an ideal life. Since I’m in the aforementioned state of spoilage, I have no idea how long this particular phase of my life will last, though I tend to think that whatever happens, since I’m in the habit of being grateful for whatever life I have, I’ll find that an ideal life, too. Eventually, anyway. And if not, well, that life is in the future, and the future is up for grabs.

But I do know what today is like since I’m living it, and for me, it is the ideal life.

***

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

Ordinariness as a Super Power

Daily writing prompt
What super power do you wish you had and why?

When I was young, I thought mental super powers, such as telepathy and telekinesis, as well as the ability to see ghosts, were a sign of an advanced spirituality, that people who had such abilities vibrated at a higher frequency than normal. I found it disappointing that I was merely normal, not supranormal, just one of the masses. Nothing extraordinary.

Now I find comfort in that ordinariness. I’m glad I can’t read people’s thoughts, even more glad that they can’t read mine. To tell the truth, for the most part, I don’t even want to be privy to my own thoughts, which is why I try to focus on the moment and not let my thoughts overwhelm me. Besides, who needs telepathy when there is writing — seeing a few words or writing a few words exchanges thoughts from one person to another in a quite orderly and controlled manner. And conversation, of course. That’s an even more ordinary way of learning someone’s thoughts.

The telekinesis I exhibit is the ability to get up and get what I want, which is pretty remarkable, when you think of it. As for ghosts . . . no. Just no. My sister says she saw a ghost in my house, and if that old lady ghost lives here, at least she isn’t bothersome. I like being alone in my own space.

Although I sometimes think it would be great having the ability to manipulate the earth’s energy as do the power-wielders in The Wheel of Time books, I don’t see how that would add to my life. When I am reading those books, I can almost see the veneer of the world parting to allow me to step from one place to another, but there’s really no place I want to be other than where I am.

Unless a person is living in a comic strip or a magical novel, most super powers seem superfluous. Being able to fly, become invisible, shapeshift, time travel, control people’s minds, manipulate the weather, use elements such as fire and metal and water, foretell the future, live forever — it all seems too much of a good thing. I wouldn’t want to be burdened with any of it.

I tend to think my super power, if there is such a thing, is my ordinariness. Now that I am not young enough to want to be special, I would choose to be ordinary even it wasn’t already within my grasp. Because truly, ordinariness is a super power. At least, it is for me.

I can be . . . me. I don’t need to be someone other than what I am. Don’t need to grasp for specialness. Don’t need to compare myself to others. Don’t need to reach beyond what I have. Being ordinary and accepting my ordinariness allows me to embrace the special joys that come from simple pleasures, allows me to look beyond myself and engage in meaningful moments with others. Admittedly, ordinariness isn’t the sort of super power that creates comic book characters, but it’s the sort of power that allows a person to live a life of peace.

***

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