Pat Bertram

Adventures at the DMV

December 19, 2019 — Pat Bertram

This is the first time in nine years that I had to renew my driver’s license in person. The previous time I was able to do it online, but in Colorado, you can only renew online every renewal period, so I had to find a DMV office (next county over) and head out.

I don’t know why I was nervous other than simply having to deal with officialdom. When it comes to bureaucracy, nothing is ever simple. I was also worried about the eye test. I think I see fine, but what if they didn’t think so? I don’t like making appointments in the winter. I prefer being able to drive when it is my choice; i.e.: when the sun is shining and the streets are completely dry, and I didn’t want to have to worry about making appointments to get new eyeglasses this winter.

The first part of the eye test went well. They stopped me even before I finished reading the appropriate line of letters, so I presume I did okay. The next part, testing peripheral vision, was a problem — not the seeing part, the trying-to-figure-out-which-is-my-right-and-left part. So I raised my hand to indicate which side the light was on. Saved me from inadvertently blurting out the wrong direction.

Then, during what should have been the easiest segment of the process — the fingerprinting — things got strange, so strange, almost everyone in the office had to get involved. First, the machine didn’t read my print. Hands too dry, apparently, because after they wet my finger, the machine worked. But the print didn’t match the print they have on file. After a somewhat lengthy consultation, they decided the angle of the print was different this time. Or it could be just the excuse they used to enable them to override the system. The last time they took my print was a mere month after Jeff died, and I am not at all the same person I was back than. Fingerprints don’t change, or so they say. But grief changes our bodies in so many ways, so why not the fingertips, too?

They had asked me if I wanted to list an emergency contact, and I said no, but after she’d finished the “paperwork” and I’d signed the electronic pad, I decided I should add a contact. After all, if I end up dead in a ditch, someone somewhere should be told. So now another person in the office had to get involved because all the people I’d already corralled said it wasn’t possible to reopen my file — but obviously it was possible, because this new person did.

Then the coup de grâce — my photo. No glasses, no coat, no hat, no teeth. (No teeth showing, that is.) The photo is not necessarily supposed to look like us so that any person can check our ID; it’s supposed to look like a machine replica of us for easy identification by face recognition software. And the photo is in black and white. The pretty twenty-something photographer commiserated with the awful photo, then added, “But no one should have to look at it.” To be honest, I don’t know what she meant. That I was too old to have to show my ID to buy liquor or cigarettes? (Neither of which I buy anyway.) That if I drive correctly I won’t be stopped? That I looked like such a homebody I wouldn’t need to show my ID to TSA folk?

Doesn’t matter what she meant. I’m stuck with that photo for the next five years.

But, on a more positive note, I don’t have to go back to renew my license for another five years! Yay!

When I got home, being primed for dealing with officials, I went to the local Courthouse to renew my license plates. So now I’m good to go for another year.

Watch out, world. Here I come! Figuratively speaking, that is. I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Posted in Adventure, life. Tags: dealing with bureaucracy, DMV, face recognition software, fingerprints do not match, photo ID, renew drivers license, renew license plate, TSA. 3 Comments »

An Inside Look at a Small Town

December 18, 2019 — Pat Bertram

Last night I attended a strategy session of the city council. I had no idea that’s what I was doing — the way it was originally explained to me, it seemed a one-time meeting to offer suggestions to improve conditions for senior citizens. Instead, it’s a seven-session focus group to address the needs of the community as a whole.

We discussed various matters, such as what we’d like the town to be, how it is now, how it is perceived by others, what change is under the control of the council and what is not.

Some things that need to be done, such as fixing the sidewalks and the storm drainage problem, are important, but won’t do much for how the town is perceived, though it sure would make it easier to walk! (Those of us who get around on foot generally walk in the streets.)

Most of what needs to be done, as far as I can see, is not under the control of the town. The loose dog situation is the county sheriff’s problem. Other situations are an individual’s problem. So many of the properties are abandoned, not just houses, but strips of what once were small businesses, though these places are probably not actually abandoned but still owned by someone who is simply not doing anything with them. Also, fewer than half the houses here are owner occupied, which makes for a tenuous situation at best, and there is no way to legislate away that ratio.

The council also wants to find a way to keep young adults here, and again, I don’t think it’s possible. The nearby towns that have brought in jobs are those that in the end destroy quality of life — one town brought in a feed lot, which, at certain times of the year, makes the air unbreathable. Same with the towns that brought in marijuana farms. Again, at certain times of the year, the air would be unbreathable. A neighbor a couple houses away has several marijuana plants, and in the summer, the smell of skunk is very strong. I can’t imagine an entire farm of that!

Other agriculture solutions are not feasible since so many rural folks sold their water rights. (That sure stunned me. Didn’t they ever watch westerns, where water rights are worth more than gold? But then, with agriculture collapsing in this area, I suppose they needed the cash in hand.)

Good paying jobs, such as those in the computer industry won’t be coming here, so ambitious young people would want to go out in the world and create a better life for themselves. The best the town can hope for is to make it a place where they want to come home to after they’ve seen and experienced more of life.

I did find it interesting that the youth and the older folk are looking at the situation from two different directions — so many of them are planning to leave, so many of us are here to stay.

A friend once said she thought the town should be advertising itself to seniors — because of the prevalence of small houses and their relatively low price as well as a moderate climate, the place is ideally suited for older people. (I mentioned this idea, but the council doesn’t want to focus on a single demographic.) I tend to think that over the years, this trend toward an older population is going to happen anyway because of the need for cheaper and smaller housing for retirees, though the lack of local doctors and urgent care could be a problem. There are doctors and a hospital about twenty-five miles away, but people who need specialists have to make the long trip to the cities along the front range — such as Pueblo, Colorado Springs, Denver.

No one seemed to care about my idea of an adult jungle gym since they didn’t think it had anything to do with changing how the town is perceived, though I think it does — it shows a progressive bent.

Even though this group isn’t what I thought it was, and even though I don’t really have anything to contribute (I can see the problems but not solutions), I might continue with these sessions. (As long as I can get a ride, that is — I’ve been told that it’s not safe to walk at night here, not even the few blocks to the town hall.) It gives me a different perspective of the town, and the councilwoman for whom I acted as a senior advisor last night wants me to come back. I know this woman from a painting class we took, and I like her, so I might continue for that alone.

Besides, the mayor asked me. Well, obliquely. He said, “Most of you are here because I asked you to come and be advisors, and those I haven’t already asked, I’m asking you now.”

So, there you have it, an inside look at the workings of a small town.

***

Posted in culture, life. Tags: abandoned houses, adult jungle gym, city council, doing what's under your control, focus group, problems of a small town, senior advisor, strategy meeting. 2 Comments »

Time to Play

December 17, 2019 — Pat Bertram

I’d planned to spend a leisurely day today, turning my mattress, doing laundry, cleaning up the mess leftover from my Christmas wrapping venture, meeting with the mayor. I’d only stripped the bed when I got an emergency call from a friend. They didn’t have enough people to play a challenging game of train dominoes, and could I please come.

Ah, it’s nice to be needed. So, of course I said yes, though I feel a bit guilty about the chores that aren’t getting done. But there are other days for such things.

As for meeting with the mayor, that’s still on. The senior advisor to the mayor asked for volunteers to help plan community repair and beautification projects for this city in conjunction with AARP’s Liveable Communities Program. I’d merely suggested (requested, actually) that they get an adult jungle gym. And somehow, that got me volunteered.

I’ve seen a lot of photos for adult jungle gyms, which are nothing more than outdoor gyms with such things as stationary bikes, chin-up bars, and weight machines, which does not seem at all fun. The one I am interested in is the one I played on in Ponchatoula, Louisiana. Now that was fun! A rope bridge for balance, swivel boards, stairs, wheels to turn for strength, and all sorts of fun things. Even kids were intrigued by this playground. (To be honest, there were more kids than adults.)

I haven’t been able to find that piece of equipment online, but perhaps there are other resources. If this is being done in conjunction with AARP, I’m sure they would have some idea where to get one.

Meantime, I have to go play dominoes.

I just noticed a theme here: playing! I didn’t have much of childhood — too much responsibility — and I never really knew how to play. (Reading was all I ever wanted to do.) So now it’s time for me to play.

***

Posted in life. Tags: AARP Liveable Communities, adult jungle gym, being needed, learning to play, train dominoes. 7 Comments »

Appreciation

December 16, 2019 — Pat Bertram

A local woman’s snowman collection is being featured at the historical museum. There are hundreds of the creatures, all kinds and sizes (though none made of real snow).

I don’t have anywhere near as many snowmen as she did, but I do have a very small collection of my own. Though I have no particular interest in snowfolk, things do tend to accumulate.

This is an ornament I did in a porcelain painting class. The subject matter was chosen by the teacher, probably because a snowman is a fairly easy subject for beginners:

This is a wooden wall decoration made for me by one of my new friends:

This is a gift card a friend sent to me couple of years ago, that I thought was clever.

And then there are these two five-inch-tall snowfolk who apparently think they are on an island adventure.

I wouldn’t even have those last two except for Jeff. Although they took me forever to make (each hand-sewn body consists of eight pieces, plus another eight for hands and feet), I wasn’t impressed, and intended to get rid of them, but Jeff wouldn’t let me. He liked most of what I made, and if I did throw something away, he always rescued it. These two snowfolk adorned his desk for many years, and at the end of his life, when he told me what he wanted me to do with his “effects,” he requested that I keep them. (In fact, most of the things he asked me to keep were things I had made.)

I realize I am not bound by any promises to the dead, but it’s such a little thing Jeff asked for, and though I still don’t particularly like these little guys, they remind me of him. He was such an appreciator, not just of my things, but of anything of artistic merit.

Jeff was the sort of person movie directors hope would watch their movies, would understand their vision and appreciate all the nuances that went into creating that vision. He’d study the backgrounds and settings, special lighting effects, the subtleties that most people (including me) would miss. It wasn’t just movies — he appreciated music, books, even comic strips. When we got Calvin and Hobbes books, I’d scan through them, reading the words, enjoying the jokes, and was done in a jiffy, but he studied every line of every panel, sometimes taking as long to read/appreciate one strip as it took me to read the whole book.

Most of the things I kept of his are packed away, but I dug out the two island hoppers for this latest installment of my Christmas show and tell.

Now I’m sitting here, staring at the computer screen, tears in my eyes, wishing for . . . I don’t know. Maybe one more of his appreciative smiles. But whatever it is I want, it’s something I can’t have.

What I do have are things. And kept promises.

And a greater appreciation for my small collection of snowmen.

***

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: appreciating movies, appreciating the little things, Calvin and Hobbes, christmas ornaments, porcelain painting, promises to the dead, snowman, snowmen collection. 1 Comment »

All That Glitters

December 15, 2019 — Pat Bertram

I haven’t done a lot for Christmas in recent years. When I was caring for my father, I made sure to make the day festive for him — decorating his small tree (which I inherited), making a requested meal (usually ham and potato salad), and getting token gifts. After he was gone, I did very little for Christmas, though I did exchange a couple of presents.

Since I’ve always saved wrappings and ribbons, I never had to purchase either. This year, however, I decided to go all out for Christmas — after all, it is the first Christmas/holiday season in my own home in my very own house. I’d used all the ribbons I had for hat decorations, and I had gotten rid of any paper when I condensed the stuff in my storage unit at the beginning of last year, so I needed to buy wrapping things.

The wrapping paper was cheap and pretty, and though I prefer blank undersides (to make gift cards and such), I had to admit the cutting lines made things easier. But oh, what a shock to find, at the end of the roll of wrapping paper not a cardboard tube (which I had plans for!) but simply rolled up brown paper. I did manage to roll that heavy brown paper tight enough to make an okay tube for what I needed (to store leftover window screening). But jeez. What’s the fun of buying rolls of wrapping paper if you don’t get a long tube with it?

And the ribbons. Oh, my. The upside: so glittery. The downside: so glittery.

When I finished wrapping my packages last night, I noticed that glitter was everywhere. I was covered with glitter. The floor was covered with glitter. The countertops and table were covered with glitter.

I dry mopped, thinking that the trap-and-lock cloths would easily pick up all the glitter. Nope. Some, sure, but not even most. Then I tried vacuuming. Again, nope. Those little suckers stuck to the floor and wouldn’t budge. Then I wet mopped — twice — which got up most of the remaining glitter, but now, when the lights are on, I can see glitter between the floorboards. My floor is the original antique flooring that has never been refinished, and some of the boards have shrunk a bit in this dry climate, leaving space for glitter to settle. I have a hunch I’ll be cleaning up glitter until next Christmas.

I was already tired from a full day of festivities at a Christmas event put on by both the museum folks and the art guild. (Here’s some of us art guild members all decked out in holiday gear.)

All that cleaning took me way past my bedtime (and I am not an early-to-bed-early-to-rise person) and wiped me out.

I try to end every blog post with some sort of hook or moral or lesson gleaned from the experience I’d written about — because otherwise, what’s the point — but the only thing I can think of to end this post is a note to myself: No matter how enticingly glittery the glittery things are, next year, be sure to buy plain old non-glittery ribbon and paper.

***

Posted in culture, house, life. Tags: cardboard tube, cleaning up glitter, first Christmas in new home, first christmas in new house, glitter, moral or lesson in a blog, wrapping presents. 10 Comments »

Oh, the Responsibility!

December 14, 2019 — Pat Bertram

About two months ago, a friend gave me a small succulent (3” including the pot). Even though I liked both the plant and the pot it was in, I hesitated about accepting it because . . . well . . . responsibility. I’ve had enough responsibility in my life and now I don’t want to be in charge of another living thing. In the end, though, I accepted the gift — I figured that come spring, I could plant the succulent in my yard.

But no. A little research showed that this particular gem would not be able to survive the winters here.

So, now I have the responsibility for watering the plant and making sure it gets enough sun. Oh, my! Such an onerous task! I’ve already had to water once. And I will have to water again in a couple of weeks.

Despite my tongue-in-cheek tone, I do worry about the poor thing. My record for keeping plants alive is . . . hmm. Let me think. Oh, yes — zilch.

I’m not much of a gardener, never have been. My second to last attempt to plant anything was eight years ago when someone gifted me with a Bonsai kit (planter, soil, seeds), and that result was typical — seedlings that poked their head above the soil, looked around, saw who they would be dependent on for their very lives, and promptly gave up their ghosts. I planted lights in the planter after that, and we’re all happy. Nothing to kill, just a bit of beauty when the nights grow long.

The results of my last attempt, planting bulbs in my new yard, are still to be determined. Meantime, my little succulent seems to be doing well.

But oh! The responsibility!

***

Posted in being me, life. Tags: bonsai garden kit, don't want responsibility, planting bulbs, planting lights, plants, taking care of plants, taking care of succelents, too much responsibility. 5 Comments »

Oops

December 13, 2019 — Pat Bertram

Oops. I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to be writing a 1920s murder mystery for a dinner in February, and it needs to be done by the middle of January.

When I agreed to do write the mystery, I had plenty of time, but I frittered that time away on . . . well, on living. So now I’m trying to catch up.

I sort of have an idea of who will be the victim, who the killer is. I know where all this takes place: one night at a speakeasy. I know an Italian dinner will be served. I know there will be a representation of at least some of the iconic elements of that 100-year-old decade besides the speakeasy: jazz, gangsters, flappers. Other than that, I haven’t a clue how to go about concocting such a mystery. Obviously, the first part of the dinner is about laying the background for the characters and why someone wanted to do the dastardly deed. Then, even more obviously, there needs to be a dead body. And finally, at the end, there needs to be a way for everyone to figure out who did it.

I’m not sure how to lay the clues. Or what the clues should be. I could write this as a mystery story, and then extrapolate the guessing game from that, but considering how long it takes me to write fiction, it might not be done until next year, especially since they want it to be funny, and funny takes longer.

Still, that’s not a bad idea, writing the mystery as a story. Once I have the whole story, I could possibly work backward. More importantly, it would give me bits of dialogue to hand out to guests, because it’s hard to tell people what they need to be saying if I don’t know.

All done in less than a month? With Christmas coming? Yikes!

Maybe I can start tomorrow. But no, I am helping with a fundraiser at the museum. Maybe Monday? But Monday I am going to the big city (or what passes for a big city in these parts) with a friend who has a doctor appointment. Maybe Tuesday? But Tuesday, I am going to a meeting to help brainstorm ideas for AARPs Livable Communities program.

It’s beginning to look as if the mystery will have to write itself.

***

Posted in culture, fiction, writing. Tags: 1920s murder mystery, 1920s theme, flappers and gangsters, how to do a murder mystery game, iconic elements of the 1920s, murder dinner, prohibition, speakeasy. 4 Comments »

Ornaments!

December 12, 2019 — Pat Bertram

Next week I am supposed to bring a Christmas ornament to a party and tell the story of the ornament and why it’s special to me. It’s not really my thing, maybe because my grade school never had show and tell, so I hadn’t planned on doing it. Now I can’t. Too many to choose from!

Today I got a gift from my sister (who definitely sends the best presents ever) with instructions to open it right away. Inside the box were five small prettily wrapped gifts — Christmas ornaments for my first tree and my first Christmas in my first house.

Each ornament illustrated a facet of my life.

A nod to my new house, of course.

Books, definitely.

My car, naturally.

A dragon because we all need a dragon to guard and protect.

And . . . Pat in the Hat. (Front and back)

I’m not sure I ever mentioned how I became Pat in the Hat. I’ve always been a big walker, but it wasn’t until my middle years that I wised up and started to wear a hat to protect me from the sun. Back then, the hats I wore weren’t anything special — ball caps or straw hats, anything cheap and accessible.

Later, when I lived with my father, my sister would send the two of us ornately wrapped gifts with gorgeous bows. My father tore off the wrappings, and tossed them away, but I rescued the bows. They were simply too nice to throw away. I didn’t really have any use for those ribbons, but one day, when I came in from a walk, I tossed my hat on table where I’d put the most recent offering, and something clicked. I wrapped the ribbon around the hat, and was thrilled with the festivity of it all.

Not too long afterward, I noticed that the ribbon was gone, and it devastated me that I couldn’t find it. This was shortly after Jeff had died, when any loss, no matter how insignificant, set me on a downward spiral of grief. Although I retraced my steps several times, I never found that bow. Luckily, I had another one packed away. This time, I made sure to tack my makeshift hatband to the hat to keep from losing another ribbon. I still have a stash of ribbons from my sister, as well as a few things I bought to decorate whatever hat I happened to have.

Now, delightfully, not only is she providing decorations for my hat, but also my tree — my dad’s tree, actually, and come to think of it, my sister bought it for him.

For a person who isn’t that fond of show and tell, I sure do a lot of here! Maybe that’s why I don’t need to do it in person.

***

Posted in culture, life. Tags: books ornament, dragon ornament, first christmas in new house, new home ornament, Pat in the Hat, reusing gift bows, show and tell, vw ornament. 8 Comments »

Dreaming of Our Dead

December 11, 2019 — Pat Bertram

A friend told me the other day that she reads my blog, and she agrees with all I say about grief, but that I never mention one thing: dreaming of our dead.

The truth is, I hate dreaming. I don’t like the feeling of weird and inexplicable things happening, I don’t like the feeling of being out of control, and mostly I don’t like being controlled by any nightmarishness. Researchers say that to aid in dream recall, one should take Vitamin B6 before bed. When I read that, I immediately stopped taking any B vitamins before bed, and that certainly aided in my ability not to recall dreams.

That being said, I have the impression I do dream of Jeff, though mostly as a reflection of my everyday thoughts. He is seldom far out of mind, so it makes sense that he would appear in my dreams as a nebulous character.

There were times, though, that I had specific dreams about him, and those were terribly upsetting. One dream, for example, seemed to be about the end of his life when he was so often disoriented. He was trying to cook something, and he continued pouring whatever it was into the pan after the pan was filled, getting the food all over the stove, him, the floor, even me. I tried to catch his attention so he’d stop, and when I couldn’t, I slapped him to bring him back to reality.

I woke feeling ashamed. I’d never raised a hand to him, never even raised my voice, and yet, in the dream, I did both, and I couldn’t bear it.

Dreams about the dead seem inordinately real. Sometimes they feel like a visitation. Once I dreamt that he came into my room, stood at the foot of the bed and touched my blanket-covered feet, then climbed onto the bed, on top of the covers, and cuddled up to me. He was in his underwear, and in the dream, I knew he’d come from where he’d been sleeping, though I had the impression he’d been with someone, as if he had another life. He said, “I miss you.”

When I woke, I felt as if he’d come to see me one last time, though I have no idea what is true when it comes to life, death, and especially dreams.

Even when we know it’s a dream, what happens in the dream affects our waking life. Once I dreamt we were going somewhere on foot, and I realized that it would be cold before we got back, so I went inside to get a coat. In my closet were two of his coats — a jacket and a trench coat, which I have in fact kept. As I was pulling the jacket off the hangar, I remembered that I had gotten rid of most of his things after he died, and I panicked, wondering how to tell him that his stuff was gone. I left the room, and met one of the moderators of the grief group I had attended. He asked how I was, so I explained the situation, then I added, “It’s a good thing this is a dream, otherwise he would be really angry.”

When I woke, I was still glad I didn’t have to tell him his things were gone even though I had done what he wanted me to do with his stuff. The reason I still have his coats is that he wanted me to keep them since coats are always a good thing to have.

The most powerful dream came at about six months. After a restless night, I finally fell asleep in the early morning hours, and I dreamt.

I dreamed that Jeff was dead, but I woke to find him alive and getting well. It was wonderful seeing him doing so much better. I could feel the tension of grief seep from my body, and a quiet joy seeped over me.

I started to wake. In the seconds before full consciousness hit, I continued to feel the joy of knowing he still lived. And then . . .

Wham!

The truth hit me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Then, like an aftershock, came the raw pain, the heartbreak of losing him . . . again.

I’d been feeling a bit smug that I was getting a grip on my grief so early in the process, and the dream caught me unaware. In the depths of my being, I believed that he hadn’t died.

It took me weeks to regain the equilibrium that the dream cost me.

When it comes to grief, it seems as the dreams are a facet of our reality. What we feel in the dream continues into our waking state. There is no separation. Even if in a dream we act a way we would never act, we still have to deal with the effects of those acts once we wake. If the deceased in the dream acts in a way they would never act, we are left to deal with that, too.

Although I would love to visit with Jeff once more, if only in a dream, I’m just as glad it never happens. Except for an occasional brief episode of grief, I am in an okay place, both physically and mentally, and any sort of visitation would upset that equilibrium.

Maybe that’s why he never visits me in my dreams. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s why I never dream of him.

***

Posted in grief, life, relationships. Tags: dreaming and grief, dreaming of the dead, dreams as reality, grief and nightmares, life death and dreams, loved ones visiting us in dreams, vitamin b6 and dream recall. 17 Comments »

A Toast to Mother

December 10, 2019 — Pat Bertram

Today is the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s death. I have thought about her more since I moved here to my new home than in all the years I lived at her house.

Admittedly, by the time I got to her house to take care of my father, it wasn’t really her house any more. During the last nine months of her life, she’d cleared out all of her things, and returned all the presents we’d given her over the years. (As one sister said, “If I had known we’d get this stuff back, I’d have given her better gifts.”)

There were a few things left that reminded me of her, like the cupboard full of unmatched stemware. I kept those goblets, and so now I too, have a cupboard of unmatched stemware. I also kept a few interesting utensils, ones that I didn’t already have, and a tiny cutting board, just perfect for cutting an apple. Also a few bits of furniture.

Ah ha! Now I know why I think of her so much. After my father died, I’d packed away the gifts she’d returned to me along with the few pieces I kept when I closed out their house. Now those things are part of my daily life, and every one of them reminds me of her.

When I got my first apartment, I asked her for the recipes that I especially liked — things like pierogis, tuna roll with cheese sauce, and hamburger rolls (known to others as Runzas or bierocks). I found it interesting that I was the only one of my siblings who had those recipes, so several years ago, I made each of my siblings a “Taste of Childhood” recipe book, which included those recipes as well as a Friday staple of our youth: creamed tuna and peas on toast. (Sounds disgusting but was actually quite tasty.)

I didn’t copy all of her cookie recipes. Neither cherry winks nor date nut pinwheels were favorites of mine when I was young, but luckily, my sister kept them, thinking that mother’s treat recipes shouldn’t be thrown away so now I am collecting some of the recipes I didn’t back then. Also, I imagine that at the time I got that first bunch of recipes, I wasn’t considering the distant future when she’d be gone.

Well now, she is.

She wasn’t much of a drinker, though she did love Bailey’s Irish Cream, so in honor of her this day, I offer a toast — in a Bailey’s glass that once belonged to her!

Here’s to you, Mom. I hope your new life is what you’ve prayed for.