The Glad Game

January 10, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?
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Books have always been a part of my life, so it’s no wonder a few of the items I remember from my childhood were my books, all hand-me downs from my much older cousin. It’s possible they were even handed down to her, because they were old by the time I got them. Most I remember reading, but have no clear memory of author or title except for the Judy Bolton mysteries and a boxed set of five vintage Pollyanna books.

Whenever I got sick, I used to read those books. I must have been sick a lot since I read those books dozens of times. I gave away most of the books when I grew up, but I kept the Pollyanna books for years. A friend had once asked for them, and when I needed to downsize, I gave them to her. I have no idea what has happened to them since, but a single early edition of the Pollyanna books is worth about $2,000, which means the set would be worth a small fortune.

I can’t actually say I was incredibly attached to those Pollyanna books because obviously, I did give them away at some point. But no matter where they are now, and whatever they are worth today, all I know is that when I was a child, sick in bed, they were priceless.

Oddly, I was never enamored of her glad game — I could never see the point of being glad one didn’t need crutches when one wanted a doll (but oh, the irony that she ended up needing crutches after all!) — but I will play the game this once. I was very glad of those books!

Is there something you once were glad to have owned?

***

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

Posted in books, life. Tags: , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Mission Statement

January 9, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is your mission?
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For a couple of decades, my mission was to write the best books I could, to get published, and ultimately to make a living as an author. I succeeded in the first two, and despite my focus and determination, I never figured out how to accomplish the third task.

Eventually my focus shifted, and I felt as if my mission was to tell the truth about grief: that there weren’t any clearly defined stages to climbing out of the pain but instead was a chaotic spiral of never ending and ever recurring emotions, physical side effects, and mental fog; that grief lasted longer than anyone could imagine; and that eventually you would become the person who could handle the soul-searing loss.

I kept at my truth-telling long after people told me I should “drop the mantle of grief” because so many grievers were helped by my raw writings, though to be honest, in real life, I did learn to cloak my sorrow, mostly to keep other people from feeling bad about my situation.

As the years passed, and I became the person I needed to be to survive the death of the person who made my life worth living, I felt less need to continue the mission. Those writings are all there for new grievers to find, but I no longer have anything to say on the subject.

Now my focus is taking care of myself so I can remain strong and independent and living in my own house until my road ends. This is not a mission so much as an intention. There’s no feeling as if this focus is a calling, no sense that it’s a quest, just a vague attempt to do the best I can for myself each day.

Maybe someday I’ll find another mission, but for now, I’m just as glad to drift, dealing with what comes as it comes, without an all-consuming purpose.

***

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

Posted in being me, grief, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , , , . 10 Comments »

More Things In Heaven and Earth

January 8, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
View all responses

What a person thinks about the concept of a long life is rather meaningless since one lives the years one is given, and thinking beyond that is rather pointless. But so are most hypothetical musings. I have no thoughts whatsoever on the long lives of other people (or other creatures — the prompt did not specify long life for humans). There have been accounts of alchemists who have cracked the code of life and managed to evade death, though I have never found the truth of that rumor. It’s possible, I suppose. As Hamlet said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

As for a long life for myself, um . . . no. Most people nowadays who live many years beyond what the actuarial tables say they could live, end up frail, sometimes helpless, feeling useless, and occasionally beset by dementia and other bewildering complications. I so do not want that for myself. Until, of course, I get to that point, then I’m sure, like everyone else in that situation, I will do everything I can to keep on living another day.

What is a long life, anyway — outliving your usefulness? Living to one hundred or beyond? Living biblical years of nine hundred or a thousand? It seems that long life to one creature is but a blink to another. To Methuselah, the bristlecone pine in the Inyo National Forest that is almost 5,000 years old, our puny ages would be as nothing.

But speaking of me (which is what this blog always comes down to), if I could have remained young, strong, healthy, vibrant, active, full of youthful energy, and joints that would never give out, living to be as old as Methuselah (either the biblical person or the tree person) would be great. I’d walk the world — literally walk. Just start out on foot, and keep going, looking at everything I pass, musing on everything I see, talking to people I meet, learning what languages I can, watching the years go by as I tramp forever.

It seems that a major problem of a great age, even when one maintains one’s vigor, is boredom. Walking the world, would be a great way to stave off boredom and keep oneself young in spirit to match that ever young body.

Despite Hamlet’s words to Horatio, I tend to think such a dream truly is impossible since I am way past the youthful body stage of my life. I am grateful for the years I’ve had, look forward to more years, and hope that however long my life turns out to be, that I will find a way to enjoy each day.

Wishing the same for you, 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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When Tried and True Isn’t Tried and True

January 7, 2026 — Pat Bertram

One of the many irritating things about having lived so many years (and admittedly, not the worst thing by any means) is that tried-and-true products are no longer tried and true. People argue that we don’t remember things exactly as they were, which could be possible in some cases, but I don’t believe it.

For example, Hershey’s cocoa powder is not the cocoa of my childhood. I do remember that long-ago powder — dark and rich and a tad bitter. Back then, the powder could not be directly mixed with liquid, it had to be mixed with sugar and a little water, heated on the stove until a paste formed, and milk gradually added. A long drawn-out process, hence (perhaps) the proliferation of hot cocoa mixes.

Now, the cocoa powder easily mixes with water, no heat necessary. The few times I make hot chocolate, I merely add the powder to honey, add enough water to make a paste, add milk, mix, then stick it in the microwave, and it’s done. Simpler, actually than using a packet, and healthier.

That dissolvability is not really an issue. I seldom make hot chocolate, and anyway, for that purpose, the new cocoa is better than the old cocoa.

Also, although the flavor is much blander than the original cocoa, it’s easy enough to double the chocolate a recipe calls for to get the necessary richness.

There is one recipe where the modern cocoa makes a huge difference, so much so that I no longer make the meal. It’s a meat dish, where the meat is dredged in flour, browned, then water and a teaspoon of cocoa powder is added, and as my mother said when she gave me the recipe, “cooked forever.” That gravy cooked up so dark that when I was young, I called it “black meat.” And in my family, the name stuck. The last time I made the recipe, the gravy turned out to be a sickly greyish-brown with none of the rich flavor of the earlier dish. My siblings found the same issue. Which to me proves that the change in the product has nothing to do with a faulty memory, and everything to do with a tried-and-true product being not so tried and true.

I don’t know what the change in the cocoa is. Supposedly the company processes it the same way, but perhaps they press out more of the cocoa butter than they used to. Or perhaps the beans they use are different.

Years ago I read that cacao trees were becoming extinct. Since they are best grown on cleared rainforest land in the shadow of the forest, and since the clearing of the forests was supposed to be curtailed, the habitat the trees needed would supposedly disappear. So who knows why chocolate is still prevalent. Perhaps there is a chocolate bean scarcity and what we call chocolate is mostly something that can best be described as “not chocolate.” Or they found a way to grow the trees without clearing rain forests. Or . . . whatever.

While the difference in what is available today and what used to be available is sometimes an irritant, I’ve made accommodations, and anyway, it’s a small annoyance in comparison to the major irritants of age, such as joint issues and aches that don’t seem to want to go away.

Still, if you ever find yourself on a time machine, will you do me a favor and on your way back pick up a couple boxes of the old Hershey’s Cocoa Powder for me? I would surely appreciate that!

***

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, life. Tags: , , , , , , , . 3 Comments »

Aged Thoughts

January 6, 2026 — Pat Bertram

So far this year, I’ve kept up with my resolutions and intentions, as well as inadvertent plans. “Inadvertent plans” meaning those things I’ve been doing without ever actually planning to do them, such as daily blogging.

Of course, this is only the fifth day of the new year, but still — to be keeping up with all I want to do is pretty impressive. At least, it is to me.

What’s funny is how much time everything takes. I knew things took a lot of time, which is why I got lackadaisical about doing them. Blogging, by the time I write, rewrite, edit, add images, figure out tags and actually post the thing takes a couple of hours. Exercise — both the stretching (which includes therapy for my knees) and walking — takes another hour. And cooking, eating, and cleaning up after myself as well as other household chores and personal maintenance takes another hour or two or even three.

Lately it seems as if once I’ve done what I’ve planned, there isn’t a whole lot of time left of the day. Admittedly, I am trying to do more, and the day ends early. Despite the end of the creeping darkness and the gradual returning of the light, sunset comes quickly: today the sun will set at 4:47 pm.

Even taking all that into consideration, the day seems to disappear, which makes me wonder if I am moving slower. Is it possible that one can move slowly without knowing it? It doesn’t seem as if I take a longer time to do the things I’ve often done, and yet, the hours evaporate.

A lot of things change around a person without their being aware of it, such as age. Even in late middle age and early old age, we still feel the same as we always did, and despite occasional twinges and a few wrinkles (well, perhaps more than a few!) we tend to think we still look the same. People used to tell me how young I looked, and yet, I was often given a senior discount without requesting it, which told me that I might look good for my age, but when it comes to comparison with young workers, I must look ancient.

Even if our minds slow, we don’t really notice because we are always at home in our own minds. So perhaps it’s the same with movement. We seem to move with the same level of effort, but the effects of that effort, obviously, change with the years, but when does that change come, and will we know it?

None of this really matters, of course. I do what I can when I can, move at a comfortable pace, and as long as there are enough hours to accomplish what I want to accomplish each day, it’s no one’s business (maybe not even my own) about how much of the day is left to read and relax.

Still, I do wonder how much slower I am moving, and how it will affect me during the coming years. Luckily, I don’t often give in to such aged thoughts, which helps me forget the number of years heaped on my head.

***

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: , , , , , , , , , , , . 2 Comments »

Gardens on my Mind

January 5, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday, I watered my lawn. Perhaps it didn’t need the moisture, but when the temperature gets up to 74 degrees this time of year, it’s better to be sure the grass has the water it needs. I read and blogged about eighteenth century gardens. And I made a few sketchy notes in my new RHS Gardener’s Five-Year Record book, though there’s not a lot to record this time of year. Mostly, I just mentioned the weather and that the larkspur seedlings are making themselves at home.

This seems an odd time of year to be thinking of gardening, and yet for most people this is when the fun is — looking through catalogs and planning what to buy to fill in one’s garden. Not me, though. I usually wait until the local hardware store stocks up on plants and get whatever is available. Or I wait until fall and buy chrysanthemums and whatever else likes to be planted so late in the year.

Still, I have gardens on my mind. In the back of my Gardener’s Record Book, is a section to list any gardens I wish to visit. That’s a section that will remain blank. Any gardens I wanted to see, I already have, as well as a few gardens I’d never heard of until I was actually there.

For example, when I went to stay with a friend during my 2016 Cross-country trip, she took me to see Fort Worth Botanical Gardens. The highlight of that visit was the exotic butterfly garden in their conservatory.

She also took me to see the Chandor Gardens, a series of formal gardens created by Douglas Chandor, a renowned English portrait painter. Living artistry was certainly his calling!

The Calloway Gardens in Georgia was a garden I found on my own. I was lucky to get there just when the Azaleas were in bloom, and oh, my! So lovely.

Calloway Gardens calls the Overlook Azalea Trail the most beautiful place on earth, though that claim is rivaled by the Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden in Portland. Another gorgeous place that a friend in Portland took me to.

Though not technically a garden, the Antelope Valley Poppy Preserve in California is up there with the best in beauty.

And though not a garden at all, the Painted Desert in Arizona certainly acts as if it is.

Despite all that loveliness, I have to say that there is nothing like one’s own garden. Even though mine doesn’t have the panoramic beauty of those gardens I visited, mine finds its beauty in the work I’ve done, the thought I’ve put into it, and the fact that it is here and not in some far-flung state.

***

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

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Gardens, Now and Then

January 4, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I recently finished reading a book that was so unmemorable, just about the only thing I remember is how bad it was. I certainly don’t remember the title or the author. I do remember, however, all the talk of eighteenth-century gardens.

I didn’t know that there were various styles of gardens. I just figured people did what I am doing — create their own garden using the space, the climate, the soil, and their own sense of practicality to best utilize the area.

I started with a gravel border around my house to protect the foundation, which unfortunately didn’t keep one corner from collapsing. Luckily, that’s fixed, now. Whew!

Then I figured out where I would want to walk in the yard, and had pathways put in. When I moved here, there were only weeds and rocks and uneven ground to trip the unwary, so those pathways were important, especially as I knew I wouldn’t be getting any younger. (Though, who knows. Stranger things have happened, I’m sure.)

When the old garage was torn down, the concrete slab in front of that derelict building was left in place, so I used that as a foundation for a gazebo. And where the garage was, I had a raised garden built.

The rest of the yard, I filled in with bushes, grass, a couple of trees, and lots of flowers. That part of the garden is always a work in progress since plants die, seed themselves, and new flowers beg to be planted.

So, there is some balance in my yard: a few distinct areas, a couple of places to sit, grassy areas, places to grow vegetables. Best of all, it gives me something different to look at with every turn of the path.

Apparently, this isn’t the way everyone gardens, or even the way people used to garden. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were definitely planned out. They weren’t actually hanging gardens (if they even existed), but were “overhanging” gardens, supposedly built as ascending terraces, planted with trees, bushes, and flowers, to create a luxurious green hill.

In the eighteenth century (what all this was leading up to), gardens were geometric, with the various pieces of the geometry shape enclosed by hedges to create outside rooms. A pleasure garden for picnicking. A kitchen garden. flower gardens. Topiary gardens. Gazebos and other outbuildings. Water décor such as fountains and ponds. And tree-lined paths to connect the sections.

Such gardens, as well as gardens before and after, needed architects to get everything correct. Even though in my haphazard way, I have a few elements of an eighteenth-century garden, such as distinct garden areas, paths, and a gazebo. Unlike eighteenth century gardens, I have grassy areas, as well as wild areas. But then, I didn’t set out to create such an historical garden. Didn’t even know they existed, to be honest.

Admittedly, my yard is a lot smaller than the usual eighteenth century garden, and I spent a fraction of the cost, but that was never the point. The point, for me, was . . . Hmmm. I’m not sure what the point was of creating my garden. What I wanted when I moved here was a work-free yard, one that took care of itself. And yet, what I have is . . . well, a mini park that takes a lot of work!

***

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

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My Interesting Morning

January 3, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I had an exciting morning — a census taker came to my house, which had been selected as part of a randomly selected sample for the American Community Survey. It was my address that was chosen, not me, but still, they wanted my personal information. I don’t know why I hesitated to give my name, and in the end, I didn’t — the census guy said he could put down “lady of the house,” which I agreed to, but I felt silly. They had my address, obviously, and my phone number, so my name would be readily available if they really wanted it. Still, it was one of the few rebellions one such as I (a quiet person not given to demonstrations) is allowed.

I questioned if my participation was necessary, and he pointed to the paragraph that said I was required by law to respond to the survey. I was given a few options: talk to him, do it online, or do it by email. I gave in with good grace, and went ahead and answered his questions. And he answered mine as to the purpose of the survey.

Supposedly, it’s about trying to get people in rural areas a more equitable property insurance, that our insurance out here in the boondocks shouldn’t be dependent on the fires in other states and people in large cities. Which I agree with. People in rural areas, especially people who live in states where the power is centered in a couple of large cities with completely different values, have little representation. Almost everything that happens here is decided in the front range cities. Our vote counts for little in the state, and even in the federal government. Our senators come from the cities, and even the one representative we have doesn’t represent us, only herself. (When it seemed as if she would lose her bid for a second term in Colorado’s Third Congressional District, she moved to the Fourth District, to avoid a difficult rematch. So it’s readily apparent where her loyalties lie.)

After the survey, the census taker and I continued to talk about the problems of living in an area of little to no representation, and we eventually segued to talk of our non-representative’s bill to reschedule the repayment of the Arkansas Valley Conduit Project. He knows more about this region than I do, since he has lived in this area for most of his life, and his family before him. He mentioned the same thing I did — that in the decades since the project was first approved, the rural cities themselves put forth the money to build filtration plants, so the supposed 50,000 people the project is supposed to serve is probably half that. And, as he pointed out, with cost overruns and project delays, few people alive today will be around to benefit. And, considering that these distant rural areas are losing populations, there will be even fewer.

What we both wondered, is where the money is going. Since nothing that Colorado has done since I moved here has benefited this area in any way, the questions have to be asked — why here, why now?

It’s possible that our non-representative is trying to make herself relevant, but who knows. It’s this sort of insanity that creates conspiracy theories. But then, as a prolific reader of mysteries, I know to ask: cui bono. All I know, is it’s not I who will ever benefit.

I’m also sure that filling out the survey won’t benefit me — insurance companies, like states, don’t care about the far-flung rural residents who can’t benefit them, so chances are, nothing will change.

Still, it was an exciting morning. Maybe it wouldn’t have been for you, of course, but for me, who spends most of my time alone and in my own head, it was interesting to talk to someone who knew more of the truth than I do.

***

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

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Out With the Old, In With the . . .

January 2, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Out with the old, in with the . . . same old, same old.

There isn’t any appreciable difference between December 31 and January 1 except for a new calendar. Of course, we pretend there’s a difference because . . . well, because we think there should be a difference. The only time there was a difference, at least in my life, was when it came to school years, and even then, the difference wasn’t appreciable since the first days of the new school year often duplicated the last of the old one as we reviewed the previous year’s work.

But now, as an adult, nope, there’s not any difference between the old and the apocryphal new. In fact, as far as I remember, I never did anything for the new year until after Jeff died. Then, I wanted to do as much as I could to make my new single life different from my old shared life, so once or twice, I even stayed up to midnight and toasted the new year with a glass of bubbly — sparkling cider, if I remember correctly. I wanted a change of focus, a turning away from the way I wished things were to the way things are and maybe even to the way things were meant to be. And that seemed to help me continue on without the person who’d been the focus of my life for so many decades.

What helped during those grieving years now seems ho hum. I do, sometimes, play around with New Year’s resolutions in an effort to make the new year seem new again, or at least to make myself seem new again, but resolutions don’t really help. It seems to me that making a resolution sets one up for failure. Because if you plan to do something for a year, chances are, you won’t continue when the year ends, and if the resolution is going to end, then why wait until the end of the year? Why not in June, or February, or even today?

Still, I did make one resolution I’d like to keep — to stay away from news and opinions of any kind. (Except for my own opinions, of course.)

There’s another resolution I’m planning to keep for a month — to stay away from sugar and wheat. Neither one of those things is good for me, and both create problems, but both are hard to stay away from permanently — no pizza ever again? I don’t eat it very often, maybe a couple of times a year, but still, even the thought of it can be a treat. And no chocolate? Heaven forbid! But I’m trying to do a body reset, if there is such a thing, and so I’m being careful what I eat.

A third resolution I plan to keep when I can — to walk every day. But that’s not much of a resolution when I allow myself an out from the beginning. I’m to the age where I notice every joint, every muscle, every ligament and tendon, and there’s no telling when I get up in the morning which of those things will be out of whack. When you think about it, that so many people live for many years, especially when they are young, without being reminded of a single body part is the true miracle. To think that all those parts once worked painlessly together is truly astonishing! Adding to the “out” of walking every day is the weather. I have no interest in going out in dangerous weather. (Dangerous to old bones, that is.) But, I’ll do what I can for however many years I can.

A fourth resolution isn’t so much a new year’s resolution, but rather a hope since I can’t do anything until spring. I would like to get my head more into gardening and lawn work than I did last year. Last year I went through the motions but didn’t really care. This year, I’d like to care, especially since a neighbor gave me a gardening record book, and I’d like to thank her by actually using it. Though admittedly, it will be mostly blank until March or even April.

And there’s a fifth resolution. Well, not actually a resolution, something that just happened. So far, I’ve blogged every day this year. Whoop-de-do! Two whole days! Sometimes I think I’d like to get back into blogging — I liked that it gave my days form and focus. Other times I wonder what the heck I’d been doing putting so much of myself out there for all the world to see. Did I really just spew out my grief, talk about my father and dysfunctional brother, show my new house and yard, let everyone peek into my private life? It was one thing to talk about author-y things back when I was writing, but the rest? Eek. Not smart! So far, the balance scale is . . . balanced. If I do, I do. If I don’t, I don’t. And either way is fine.

***

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

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Water Wars

January 1, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Anyone who knows western movies and books, knows that in the west, gold might be king, but water is the ultimate power. Who owns the water, owns the world, which is what the land barons in the westerns knew, and why they tried to steal as much as they could.

Today, especially in overblown states such as Colorado, that still holds true. Because of the water war lessons from those westerns, one knows never to sell one’s water rights.

Um, no. Not true. I was shocked when I returned to Colorado after spending time in California taking care of my aged father, to find that so many ranchers in Southeastern Colorado had sold their water rights to front range cities so those large cities could continue to grow. It made sense to them — their children didn’t want their way of life, and so they took the money and . . .  well, I don’t know what they did with it. All I know is that there is a heck of a lot of land around here with no water rights. (Until recently, even the rain that fell on your property in Colorado didn’t belong to you — it belonged to the state and whoever held the rights to that water.)

And the front range cities continue to fight for water to enable them to grow.

Which brings me to today’s topic: The Arkansas Valley Conduit Project. I’m sure most of you had never heard of the project until the bill to finish the project was vetoed. You’d think with all the hoopla over the veto, that the project itself was cancelled, but it wasn’t. If Colorado can dig up the money, they can continue to dig the conduit, which is supposed to deliver filtered water to Southeastern Colorado. Despite what everyone seems to believe, the project itself wasn’t vetoed, merely the method of repayment of the loans.

The project was authorized by the Federal Government in 1962, but since the participants couldn’t make the construction cost repayment schedule, nothing was ever done, and so the project languished. In 2009, the repayment terms were reduced: instead of 100% of the cost to be repaid to the Federal Government, only 35% would need to be repaid, and participants had 50 years to repay the money.

In 2020, the project received an additional $28 million federal funds to finish designing and to begin building the project. The controversy today is that a new bill (H.R. 131, the Finish the Arkansas Valley Conduit Act) was introduced and passed by both the House and the Senate, which allowed for an additional 50 years to pay the loan, as well as a 50% reduction in the interest, and it’s that bill for the repayment schedule that was vetoed.

Nothing in that veto blocked the project. If the money can be found, the project can be finished. The only problem is, the total cost of the project is estimated as $1.4 billion dollars. (So far, $249 million has been spent.)

The conduit is to be 130 miles and to serve 50,000 people. So, do the math. $1.4 billion comes down to $11 million a mile, and a whopping $28,000 per each recipient of the water. Huh? Does that make sense? I know people need clean water, but in the past 70 plus years, many of the towns the water was supposed to serve have developed their own filtration systems, so it’s possible that the number of recipients would be even less. (But I don’t know since no one is talking about that since it doesn’t fit the narrative. The other thing no one is talking about is the final cost to the consumer. Water in Colorado is already expensive. Because of the cost of the conduit being picked up by the final users, it’s possible no one will be able to afford the water, if in fact, there is any water.)

Meantime, in the 73 years since the pipeline was conceived, the population of Colorado has grown from 1,753,947 to 5,773,714, mostly in the cities. (In certain areas in Southeastern Colorado, the population has declined significantly.) Because of the continued growth, the water wars have heated up, with front range cities demanding more and more water. Practically every inch of water in Colorado is already allocated, so there’s no guarantee that if the conduit is ever built, there will be any water to run through the pipes to the outermost reaches of Colorado. (And that’s not even taking into consideration low snowpack years.)

I also can’t help but remember other Colorado boondoggles. The Denver International Airport and all the cheating that went on back then (people who were behind the project bought up the land from unsuspecting owners for a pittance and sold it to the developers for a fortune) as well as all the problems building it, such as cost overruns and a ridiculously expensive baggage system that never was able to be fixed. Then there was the whole Silverado Savings and Loan fiasco. And now there’s the push to make Colorado 100% electric, when in fact the system is so overworked and so old, that in a recent windstorm, power had to be shut off to 100,000 people due to fire risk. Some people were out of power for days. It seems to me that this conduit follows in those same unsavory footstep.

This is not a very cheerful first-day-of the-new-year post, but I needed to get all this out of my head so that I can prepare myself for following through with my resolution of staying away from news and politics and all other issues that irritate me. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I keep the resolution — it certainly would do wonders for my peace of mind, especially since I can’t do anything about anything.

Wishing you a happy, healthy, and peaceful new year, and the strength to follow through on any resolutions you might have.

***

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

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