That “R” Thing Again

February 20, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
If you could permanently ban a word from general usage, which one would it be? Why?
View all responses

There are many terms that really get on my nerves, words and phrases I don’t use and would like expunged from the English/American language: “110%” (a physical impossibility); “intestinal fortitude” (just have the guts to say “guts”); “veggies” (the very sound of that mawkish word gags me), and “climate change” (the term is redundant. Climate is change. Climate is always changing).

Recently I have expunged another word from my vocabulary, and though I would like it banned from general use, simply the idea of suggesting banning it would seem to prove the very thing I would like banned.

It’s that “R” thing I wrote about yesterday. The word is so dangerous, so powerful and pejorative that just being called that “R” thing will bring down collective wrath on your head. It’s the one thing that is outside the normal rule of “innocent until proven guilty.” If you’re called that “R” thing, whether or not you did anything to earn that slur, that’s what you are. End of story. Except it’s not the end. Just being called that “R” thing can get you banned from social sites online and community groups offline, can get you ostracized from family or friends, and can sometimes get you fired from your job. It also subverts the law — too many district attorneys refuse to charge criminals for minor crimes and even great crimes, and they ignore fraudsters for stealing billions because they don’t want to be tarnished with the brush of that “R” thing.

I’m not saying the “R” thing doesn’t exist, but that the word itself has become something separate from the behavior it describes. It’s become such a triggering word that the true definition has all but been lost — there seems to be a disconnect between how easily the word is thrown out there and what it actually means.

People have become hyper-vigilant toward cultural nuance or slight and what can be perceived as aggression (even if it’s not directed at them), and they are quick to point it out. At the same time, we have become hypersensitive to and fearful of being called that “R” thing. In a world where words are considered an instance of violence, this could be the most violent. It’s also a weapon, a sure-fire way to silence opposition, to shut down any discussion, and with it any hope of true understanding because it’s an attack on the speaker, not on what is spoken.

Nowadays, it seems as if everything is viewed through that “R” lens, even when unnecessary, even if what you say is true or is not in any way divisive or derogatory.

Yesterday, I posted a blog about the conservative black commentators I have been following. As far as I can see, there was nothing discriminatory about what I wrote, and yet I hesitated to post it because of that “R” thing. I’d already been slandered on Facebook for simply sharing a post from a black commentator, and I didn’t want to continue being slandered. On the other hand, why should I not be able to write what I think just because others might see that “R” thing in my words?

Anyway, whatever anyone else does, in my little world (basically just me and this blog), I am getting rid of that word. There are plenty of other words to use to describe that particular attitude, words that aren’t as incendiary, words such as prejudiced, biased, intolerant, discriminatory, xenophobic, ethnocentric. Too bad I can’t also get rid of the emotional connotations attached to being called the “R” thing, but I’m afraid it’s now embedded the world today, and even in my own psyche. Still, there’s hope . . . well, probably not. I’ve always been sensitive to any sort of slight, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.

***

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

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The “R” Thing

February 19, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I don’t know if I’ll ever post this because of . . . you know, the “R” thing. Still, I’m writing this for me because I think it’s interesting and because it’s something I’ve been noticing and thinking about.

I mentioned once or twice before that I sometimes listen to conservative black commentators. I started because I wanted to hear what they thought about white liberals insinuating (if not flat out saying) that blacks were too stupid to figure out how to get an ID in order to vote. Interestingly, most of those commentators ignored the issue, as if it had nothing to do with them because of course, it didn’t. The insinuation is merely talk from people who haven’t a clue what they are saying and no concept of how the world works.

I continued watching these commentators because they are smart and informed, they have great sources and resources, and they gave me a different slant on what was happening in this country. I especially wanted to hear things from their point of view rather than from the white liberals who are always telling us what blacks think (or what they should think).

That’s neither here nor there. It’s just something I did. But here’s what’s interesting: suddenly, I’m seeing a lot of these non-white people asking, “Where are the whites?” You’d think (if you listened to liberals) that living in a white-free world is what people of color want, but it isn’t. These commentators want what most of us want — to be known as Americans (or rather, United-States-ians since “American” suddenly means something different from what it always has meant), and they want to be part of a country where the races can intermingle. The first time I heard a mention of disappearing whites was from a black commentator who reviewed the half-time show. She said if it was supposed to be inclusive, “Where are the whites?” And then she admitted she missed seeing them.

Another black woman said that if it’s okay to promote black-owned business, then it should be okay to promote businesses as white-owned, but instead of doing either, she concluded, all these businesses should simply be promoted as “American-owned businesses.”

Then another black commentator noticed a white student being blocked from entering a “multi-cultural” area on campus and pointed out that “multi-cultural” by definition would include whites.

And yet another black commentator mentioned the difference between black pride and white pride — one is hailed as a good thing, the other evil.

And one often tells the history of slavery and mentions that whites are the only ones who fought to get rid of slavery, a practice that has gone on all over the world for thousands of years.

A prevalent comment left on these videos is from whites telling them they are betraying their race. Luckily, the commentators continue to voice their opinions despite this.

It seems ironic (or maybe fitting? I don’t know) in a world that’s trying to erase whites, where whites are made to feel ashamed of their heritage and skin color, where you can’t state simple facts if those facts include “whiteness,” where the European influence on the founding of this country is being overwritten, where an entire generation of white boys have been demonized for things that happened before they were born, it’s blacks who are pointing this out.

Maybe I am that “R” thing as so-called friends on Facebook once railed at me when I merely shared a post by a conservative black commentator who refused to be told what to think simply because her skin was a certain color.

Still, I think it’s an interesting turn of events, and apparently, since you are reading this, I decided it was interesting enough to post here on my blog.

***

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

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A World of Opinions

February 18, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Sometimes if I check online to see what other people think a cryptic passage in the Wheel of Time means (because Robert Jordan seemed to love being enigmatic and making readers work), I end up falling down the rabbit hole of old online discussions. That everyone would have a different opinion makes sense when it comes to these cryptic passages (especially those that prophesy the characters’ journeys), but this difference holds true even when Jordan is very clear about what is happening.

For a hypothetical example, say that a character went to a tavern to eat, and someone in a forum asked what Jordan meant. By the end of the discussion, you would think that the character was motivated by a desire to foment rebellion rather than a simple desire to assuage hunger. Admittedly, it’s not necessarily a cut-and-dried sentence since, as I said, Jordan delighted in being enigmatic, but still . . . The character went to a tavern to eat. Simple. No discussion required. And yet there are dozens of different points of view even though everyone read the exact same sentence. Or maybe they didn’t read the same sentence; maybe everyone’s eyes saw different words and hence the confusion.

There is also a difference in the way readers look at the saga as a whole. Everyone seems to admit that Jordan got caught up in his vision, and lost the forward momentum of the story about three-fourths of the way through. Some people see this as a vindication of their belief that he is a terrible writer. Others, like me, overlook those parts (that might have made sense if Jordan had been able to finish his epic) and see the brilliance that he did display elsewhere.

So, yes. We do see things differently even when we see the same thing.

A few years back there were all sort of photos going around the internet, like a pair of shoes or a dress. Oddly, though everyone saw the same photo, people saw different colors. I think the shoe was supposed to be pink and white, but I saw grey and turquoise. The dress was supposed to be blue and black, which is what I saw, but some people saw white and gold. Even when people would look at the same screen, such as on one person’s phone, they still saw different colors. Supposedly, there is an explanation, but explanations differed, so who knows the truth of it. The point is the vast difference in perception.

[It reminds me, though, of something I always wondered — do two people actually see the same color in the same way? If I were to show a blue flower, for example, everyone who is not color blind would agree that it was blue, but are we actually seeing the same color or do we just give the name “blue” to whatever color it is we see when shown that color?]

In cases like those I mentioned above, where opinions vary widely, where even what one sees varies, the difference is rather meaningless, since it doesn’t affect anything.

But this divergence holds true even when it does mean something, when it’s not a simple difference of opinion, when the disagreement can affect our very lives. Like the direction the country is going. Some people want open borders, equity more than equality (equality is giving everyone the same opportunity; equity is making sure everyone ends up in the same place), free trade, and a continued move toward globalism. Others want a sovereign nation with closed borders, putting legal citizens first, fair trade, less reliance on inimical countries, and a return to nationalism.

Those who want globalism also, paradoxically, believe in democracy. They believe that they are able to choose their own destiny, and so they can’t see that the policies they support are being pushed on them by outside global influences. The nationalists often do see that globalism hides in certain policies, such as open borders and punitive tariffs placed on American goods, and so they want to retract from world-wide policies that seem to go against sovereignty. For years, these nationalists were hushed by taunts of “conspiracy theorist,” but labels don’t affect the truth that these are two disparate visions of the United States.

It makes me wonder if both sides are seeing the same thing but interpreting it differently, as in the example of the hypothetical sentence in the Wheel of Time mentioned above, or if we are seeing completely different things as with the example of the shoes and dress.

I used to not pay much attention to current doings (it’s easier to study the past because it’s not ever changing as is the present). But now I worry about what could happen when the difference is so great, when whatever opinion you have is subsumed into one of those two vastly different visions. I also worry that the country I die in will be unimaginably different from the one I was born in.

Oh, well. That’s my fault for blogging every day. When I wasn’t blogging, if I had ideas such as these, I’d just let them pass, but now I think about them so I can write a cogent essay. A good reason to stop blogging, but so far, I don’t have an opinion about whether or not to continue.

 

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

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Conspiracy Theories Coming True

February 17, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I came across a quote the other day: “I need new conspiracy theories. All my old ones are coming true.” I had to laugh because it sure seems to be right on.

When I was twelve or thirteen, I discovered the book, The Annotated Alice, which decoded the puzzles, wordplay and obscure Victorian references in both The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. Around the same time, I discovered The Annotated Mother Goose, which gave the hidden truths behind familiar nursery rhymes. It astonished and delighted me to discover that there were secrets not commonly known to everyone, and that led me to a lifetime of trying to discover more secrets hidden in books.

My first discoveries were rather unimportant in the long run, such as the idea that the continents were all one land mass. At the time I found this theory, it was still controversial and ridiculed by scientists. Years later, in a science book I was reading, I came across the same idea, though by then, it was not a theory but an accepted fact. Shocked me, for sure! That, I think was my first acquaintance with a so-called “conspiracy theory” coming true.

As I discovered, there were — and are — many conspiracies in the world that form our lives. These aren’t theories so much as things “important” people do and enact without our knowledge. Sometimes the acts are benign, sometimes not. To keep the non-benign conspiracies from coming to light, people who find hints of these conspiracies are called “conspiracy theorists,” which is — in the minds of the conspirators — a way of diminishing the conspiracy hunters.

During research on such behind-the-scenes machinations, I saw the phrase “The New World Order” — the idea that an elite group was trying to steer the world toward a one-world economy, ideology, and ultimately government. Those words have been around for centuries (I came across the phrase in financial histories of the 1600s when the first central bank was established), but it was always a hush-hush idea, one that was consistently denigrated and denied. Denied, that is, until George W. Bush actually used the phrase in a speech. Shocked the heck out of me because I wasn’t sure I believed anything I’d read about that theory, but still, it was another example of a “conspiracy theory” coming true. (Despite Bush’s use of the phrase, “new world order” still seems to have connotations of conspiracy theory, though the term “world order” is commonly used now, which should tell us something.)

Sometimes those conspiracy writers are not at all the fringe lunatics they are portrayed to be. In fact, Antony C. Sutton, one of the first in modern times (if the 1970s are still considered modern times rather than ancient history) to write about those secret machinations was a graduate of the University of London, a well-respected economist, an Assistant Professor of Economics at California State College, and later a Research Fellow at the Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace, at Stanford University. Some people think his books about the international corporate elites that were behind much of the events of the cold war were well researched, but scholars never went for the books because they didn’t believe his idea of a global plot by a rich few; to them, it seemed his books were geared too much to the conspiracy crowd. And yet, here we are today, with words like “globalism,” “global elite,” and “the agenda of the liberal globalists” being bandied about as if they were sweets for the children. Shocking, but another conspiracy theory coming real.

It’s no secret anymore that world players have probably always used the world as their playground, but there are still some things that mystify me, such as the following:

In a single decade, 1861 to 1871, the United States fought the Civil War, the serfs were emancipated in Russia, Italy was unified, Canada was unified, the German Empire was proclaimed, the Austria-Hungary Dual Monarchy was established, Thailand was reorganized, the Meiji Restoration in Japan gave power to a western oligarchy, and Das Kapital, a philosophy for the New World Order, was published. It seems too much of a coincidence that global movements of such magnitude would rise independently of one another. Did someone, or a group of someones, rebuild Europe along with large chunks of the rest of the world? Could there be some sort of elite group that’s above even the globalists of today, someone or some assembly that they get their orders from? Now I’m being silly. Or am I?

With all the conspiracy theories coming true, why not this one, too.

 

***

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

 

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Moving the World

February 16, 2026 — Pat Bertram

A friend and I recently discussed the Walk for Peace and what we thought would happen now that it’s finished and the monks back home. She thinks it will have a lasting effect and will make a big difference to the world.

Me? Not so much. People tend to get caught up in the spirit of the moment, especially big moments, and they hold on to that feeling of peace or commitment or awe or whatever for a while, but then life happens. And keeps happening. And the feeling that they thought would last forever dissipates and eventually gets put away, only to be remembered long afterward as a curiosity. For sure, some people’s lives were changed. Some people will follow through with the daily affirmation that was handed out during the walk: “Today will be my peaceful day.” Some will practice mindfulness as the monks urged, doing only one thing at a time. Some will even set their phones down for a while and just live in the offline moment.

Those things are important. After all, that was the monks’ message and their hope — that people would find inner peace. But will it change the world in the long run? Interestingly, the monks didn’t set out to change the world. They merely set out mindfully on a walking meditation with no announcement, no big production, no online presence. Just twenty monks walking. (Nineteen human and one canine.) That was it. They thought a few people would pause for a moment to watch and perhaps be moved to find their own inner peace, but they had no expectations beyond placing one foot in front of the other.

And yet people found them. Because of the interest, monks who stayed behind set up a map, websites, social sites, made and uploaded videos. The news of the walk spread, and hundreds of thousands of people stopped their lives to stand by the road and watch the monks walk by. Millions all around the world participated vicariously through videos and live streaming. During those months, there was a vast outpouring of kindness, compassion, harmony, love, and hope. All that energy would have to go somewhere since energy can’t be destroyed, so maybe there was enough power generated to move the world.

I keep thinking about a certain episode in The Wheel of Time books. The weather in their world has gone out of whack due to the Dark One’s effort to destroy the world and even humanity. But a couple of the girl heroes (“witches” some call them) have managed to find the ancient, long-lost bowl the sea faring people once used to control the weather, and these heroes as well as the sea people — Windfinders — get together to change the weather back to the way it’s supposed to be, pouring into the bowl huge amounts of the power only they can wield.

Afterward, they collapsed from exhaustion, but there was no immediate discernible difference in the weather. One of the heroes asks belligerently, “All of that, for what? Did we do anything or not?”

‘The Windfinder struggled to her feet. “Do you think Weaving the Winds is like throwing the helm over on a darter?” she demanded contemptuously. “I just moved the rudder on a skimmer with a beam as broad as the world! He will take time to turn, time to know he is supposed to turn. That he must turn. But when he does, not the Father of Storms himself will be able to stand in his way.”’

Is it possible my friend is right and the walk for peace will have this sort of effect? Is it possible peace will ripple through the world, changing things in ways we can’t even imagine? Maybe in ways we can’t discern but are still subtly effective? Despite my rather cynical view of people, I would like to think the walk for peace will make a difference.

***

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

 

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Seeing and Being Seen

February 15, 2026 — Pat Bertram

When I watched the videos of people watching the monks walk for peace, I noticed how many had tears in their eyes. I imagine the in-person experience was overwhelming because just watching videos of those terracotta-robed men walking barefoot or wrapped up against the snow and wind was powerful in itself. But I think it was more than that. I think the watchers felt seen.

I bet many bystanders were surprised by that “seeing,” because after all, they stood, sometimes for hours, simply waiting to see the monks go by, but as the monks passed, the walkers looked at their watchers and the watchers were seen. It worked both ways. The monks themselves admitted they felt witnessed, not simply watched as if they were a parade, and it touched them. Hence, the tears from both the walkers and the watchers.

In the movie Shall We Dance, Beverly Clark (Susan Sarandon) says: “We need a witness to our lives. There’s a billion people on the planet . . . I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you’re promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things . . . all of it, all of the time, every day. You’re saying ‘Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness.’”

Admittedly, this walk wasn’t a marriage (and a lot of marriages don’t work like Beverly Clark’s anyway). I didn’t mention the quote for the marriage part but for the witnessing part. (Though, in a way, that brief connection between walker and watcher could be construed as a marriage in the sense of a combination of two or more elements, but still, not important to this discussion.)

I think so many of us are hungry to be seen, not simply as a body standing by the side of the road, but as a person, an individual, perhaps as someone who wants to participate in something greater than ourselves. And those wise Buddhist eyes saw. And those bright Buddhist smiles drew everyone into the heart of their mission.

By the time the walkers reached Washington, so much of that “witnessing” aspect of the walk had disappeared. (At least on video. I have no idea what those thousands upon thousands of bystanders experienced.) The crowds were too huge, for one thing, and for another, members of congress showed up, with cops helping them bulldoze their way through the crowd, wanting merely to be seen seeing the monks. (To me, that was the most bizarre part of the whole walk, even more bizarre than the people who followed the monks through several states, heckling them and exhorting them to convert.)

I have a hunch this need to be seen is why the social aspect of the internet is so immense. Or maybe not — too many people hide behind user names and seem more interested in creating havoc than in merely being witnessed, but who knows. It could be why I write this blog, but again, who knows.

What I do know is that for one hundred and twenty days, people saw and were seen, and lives were changed.

***

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

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Favorite Drink

February 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite drink?
View all responses

My favorite drink? As in favorite everyday beverage? Or as in adult beverage?

For an everyday drink, I generally stick with a cup of tea in the morning, or perhaps a weak milky coffee, and then drink water the rest of the day. Boooring!

So I won’t talk about that — I’ll talk about my favorite “drink” drink. As in alcohol. To be honest, I barely drink, even though my sister once gifted me with a lovely miniature liquor cabinet, something I always wanted. (Yeah, I know — weird for a self-proclaimed hardly-ever drinker to want something like that, right?)

A couple times a year, if I’m feeling under the weather, I’ll make myself a hot toddy with a fiery ginger tea, lemon, and spiced rum, but that’s for medicinal purposes. And every once in a great while, I’ll take a nip of something in my liquor cabinet just to experience my wild side.

Though I seldom drink even them, there are two drinks I do like, but mostly because they come with memories.

Exactly ten years ago today, I camped at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument on my travels across the county. Stunning scenery, beautiful weather, congenial fellow campers. One evening, a camper (drawn by my car, more than me), who was exploring the south and west on his motorcycle, brought a bottle of Grand Marnier to my campsite. He and I sat under the bright stars with the glow of Mexico to the south, sipped our drinks, and chatted. It was such a magical experience that even today, a sip of Grand Marnier will take me back to that warm star-lit night.

I also occasionally have a sip of Bailey’s Irish Cream, but mostly, I save what I have so I can drink a toast to my mother on her birthday or deathday as a memorial, since it was her favorite drink. The glass I use is a regulation Bailey’s glass that once belonged to her. (She used to have a cupboard full of unmatched stemware. I kept those goblets when I cleaned out the house after my father died, and so now I, too, have a cupboard of unmatched glassware.)

Even considering those special two drinks, that little glass display case sits in my kitchen cabinet mostly unused but delighting me with the thought of finally having my very own miniature liquor cabinet.

***

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, life. Tags: , , , , , . 6 Comments »

Comeuppance

February 13, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I’ve had a bit of comeuppance. Or maybe a come-down-ance? Been humbled, anyway.

I’d read that screenwriters are told to repeat the plot of a story at least four times during the course of a movie because viewers no longer have the ability to follow a plot all the way through. Not only are they distracted by their phones, but all that scrolling and seeing small snippets of videos, comments, and headlines has made them unable to focus. That lack of focus is also why few people read books — they can’t comprehend what they are reading, can’t keep the story in their head long enough to make sense of it.

This made me feel proud of myself that even at my age I could focus on a story, often being able to read an entire book at a sitting and keep the whole thing in my head. I’m even getting to the point where I can keep the entire four million words of the Wheel of Time books in my head, which is important because of all the foreshadowing. (You can’t tell when something that was foreshadowed happens if you can’t remember the foreshadowing.)

Anyway, lately I’ve spent a lot of time online, following the Buddhist Monks’ Walk for Peace, listening to black conservative commentators (I was interested in seeing what they thought about being told they were too stupid to figure out how to get an ID), following the backlash of the halftime show and its alternative (what I learned is that if you didn’t like either, you’re probably just plain old), and various other things.

And you know what happened? I can no longer focus on reading. I can’t keep even a chapter in my head, let alone an entire book. Can’t sit still without wanting to go check to see what’s going on elsewhere.

I never planned this experiment, never planned to test the theory that online activities shorten one’s attention span, but I sure got a quick result. Luckily, I figured out what the problem is and know an easy solution — spend less time online. But what about people who have lived their entire life practicing what I did for just a few weeks? Can they ever learn to concentrate? Though I suppose what it comes down to is if they even want to. And I doubt they do.

The world has seldom been a comfortable place for me since I’ve never fit into any socio-cultural setting. We didn’t have a television when I was a kid and we weren’t allowed to listen to popular radio stations — my father wanted us to grow up to be different and, well, he got his wish. Hence, growing up I seldom understood the cultural references of my classmates, and since I don’t have television now, I don’t understand today’s cultural references. My preferred music is silence. My preferred activity is reading books. My preferred companions are those who know how to think. So even though I’ve usually been able to find a niche for myself, I never felt as if the world was mine.

And now I know for a fact that the world isn’t mine. I might still have a decade left or possibly even two, but I’m on my way out. The world belongs to younger people. And in their world, maybe being able to focus or keep stories in their heads isn’t an issue.

As for me, I’ve learned that even a bit of misplaced pride can end up being humbling.

***

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

 

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Peace Pilgrims

February 12, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Several years ago, I seriously considered doing an epic walk — hike one of the long trails like the Pacific Crest Trail, trek along the Pacific coast, or walk across the United States. I was just starting to come out of my deep grief after Jeff died, and I wanted to find a deeper connection to both myself and the world, maybe even go through some sort of spiritual transformation. When I mentioned this desire to a friend, she suggested that I walk for a cause like the Peace Pilgrim did because if I had a cause, people would be more willing to help supply food, water, a shower or even transportation if I need it, and they might even get others to help. I never did find a cause, nor, despite training for it, was I ever able to do that epic walk. Instead, I took hundreds of day hikes, an overnight hike, and finally a 12,000, 21-week cross-country road trip, camping and hiking when I could, staying with friends or even treating myself to a motel when I wanted to or needed to.

As epic as that trip was, it was not what I’d originally envisioned, which was something akin to what the Peace Pilgrim did. The Peace Pilgrim was a woman who, in response to a spiritual awakening, had taken a vow to “remain a wanderer until mankind has learned the way of peace, walking until given shelter and fasting until given food.” Her pilgrimage began in 1953 when she was 44 and ended with her death in 1981. She carried only a pen, a comb, a toothbrush, and a map, trusting to those she met to supply what she needed, though she never asked for anything.

I admired her zeal and wished I could do the same, but I didn’t have that sort of trust. Still don’t. Nor do I have the physical ability for such an endeavor. I am on a different mission now, if such a solemn word can describe what I am living for — a peaceful life, taking care of myself, maybe even that deeper connection to myself and the world I once envisioned. Still, that old dream of a life-changing walk haunts me, which is one reason I was so fascinated by the monks and their walk for peace.

As with so many of my posts, the first few paragraphs usually serve only as background to a point I’d like to make, which is the uncanny connections between the Peace Pilgrim and the leader of the Walk for Peace.

She died in 1981. He supposedly was born in 1981. She started her walking mission when she was 44. He is said to be 44. They both experienced a spiritual awakening that took them from their mundane lives to one of spirituality, service, and inner peace. During both of their walks, they depended on others for food and shelter, accepting what is offered, asking for nothing. I’m not suggesting anything here, just making the observation that the second walk seems to be a continuation of the first. “Seems to be” being the operative words, since there really is no connection except for a few interesting coincidences.

Is there something bizarre about my sitting home, in my comfortable life, admiring (and I admit, envying at least a tad) those who willingly suffer the indignities of the road in the name of peace? If so, I am okay with that. I’m just glad someone is doing what I never could. And glad I got to participate in the Walk for Peace, if only vicariously.

***

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

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Dreaming up a Home

February 11, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Write about your dream home.
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I’m sitting here with a smile on my face, thinking about my dream home. For me, my dream home isn’t a fantasy, it’s a reality. It’s the very house I am now sitting in. What makes it a dream home is that I dreamed it up.

Years ago, I went through a huge change in my life. My life mate/soul mate of thirty-four years, Jeff, died, leaving me stranded here in this world without a home (he was my home) and with a single responsibility left to me — to go and help care for my aged father. I also was left with a sense that somewhere after the dark present, there would be a brighter future for me. During those long years of grief, I held to that thought. After my father died, I was adrift again, becoming a serial nomad — renting rooms and taking long trips.

I never thought of owning a house. It seemed too far from reality to even dream of it — just the thought of the upkeep seemed burdensome to say nothing of all the financial obligations a house engendered.

I spent years trying to figure out what to do, then when a relative suggested buying a house, it hit a chord. I had a bit of savings, but nowhere near enough to buy a house, or so I thought. Except, there was one corner of the world where house costs were still unbelievably low. I visited the area, and it was okay — way out on the plains, far from any major city, but I didn’t care. I just needed a place to live out my years.

A realtor took me around, and though I didn’t find a house I liked or could afford or that was still on the market a day or two after it was listed, I made friends with the real estate agent. Then I went home, thought about all I’d seen, and I dreamed.

I dreamed of a house with a new galley kitchen, a bathroom that would still be accessible no matter what old age brought, a living room with lots of screened windows,

an office with a day bed for reading and working/playing on the computer. Oh, I dreamed and dreamed, dreaming every single detail of what I would like into existence.

Then one day I got an email from Zillow though I’d never signed into that real estate site and certainly never signed up for emails. The email showed a simple house and said I might like it. I checked out the photos of the inside and gasped in disbelief. There it was — exactly what I’d dreamed up.

It wasn’t so much the looks of the house that got to me but the inside since I live in rooms and don’t spend a lot of time looking at the outside of where I live. I immediately called the realtor. She went to look at it, told me what she found, arranged for an inspector, and when I asked her to arrange the sale, she panicked and had me sign an affidavit that it was my choice to buy the house unseen. But I knew it would work out okay. After all, it was my house.

Three things were not in the dream — 1) the town itself because at that point I didn’t really care where I lived, I just wanted not to have to worry; 2) friends because I moved for the house and my future; the friends I’ve made have been a true blessing; 3) a landscaped yard because I didn’t want to have to take care of a lawn or a garden, and yet, over the years, I’ve created a beautiful outdoor space for myself.

So here I am, sixteen years after Jeff’s death, seven years after the Zillow email, living in that brighter future I’d believed would come. Living in the very house I dreamed up.

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

Posted in dealing with old age, gardening, grief, home, life. Tags: , , , , . 15 Comments »
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