Pat Bertram

War!

July 30, 2020 — Pat Bertram

Dear Neutral Gender, Anthropomorphized, Parental-Unit Nature:

I put up with a lot from the sadistic creatures you seem to love so much (you’ve made so many of them!): stings, bites, nips, scratches, rashes, hives, unwilling blood donation, as well as various and sundry other unpleasant reactions resulting from the activities of your offspring. I have never fought back; I’ve never even killed a fly. When your beloved minions enter my abode, I gently catch them and take them outside. When I’m outside, I take the laissez-faire attitude that the outside is their home, and I am the intruder.

Oh, sure — I do use mosquito repellant (a natural one, not something poisonous like Deet), and I have knocked down wasp nests to keep those kamikazes from dive-bombing me as I enter and leave my home (my home, not theirs), but otherwise, I’ve let your creatures do what they will.

But yesterday, as I was standing innocuously, talking to a neighbor over the fence, a red fire ant attacked me. Oh, my. What a horror! The pain was like a hot knife sliding into my flesh. Even worse, it bit me not once, not twice, but five times. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

I’ve been stung by hornets that didn’t feel as bad. I’ve been bitten by dogs that didn’t hurt so much. I’ve been splashed with boiling oil, resulting in second and third degree burns that didn’t burn as hotly. I’ve had bee stings that didn’t swell as much. I’m battling dozens of mosquito bites at the moment, and the totality of those bites, as horrifically aggravating as they are, can’t compare to the brutality of those ant bites all up and down my leg. Even after I iced the bite sites, even after I applied insect-bite soothing creams, even after taking a pain pill and an antihistamine, the agony stayed. And stayed. And stayed. The pain is not as harsh this morning, but still, I’ve had enough.

I’m through. I’m through with being your plaything. Through with being a victim of your casual cruelties.

No more!

I’m giving due notice. Remove your troops immediately or I will declare war. Admittedly, all of the ants on this property combined probably weigh more than I do, and their arsenal is effective and very painful, but mine is more deadly. Well, it will be as soon as I figure out what my weapon is.

So take heed! This human you’ve treated worse than a worm has turned.

Sincerely,

Fed-up in Colorado

***

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 life. Tags: ant bites, declaring war on mother nature, Deet, getting rid of ants, humor, letter to mother nature, mosquito bites. 5 Comments »

New Friends

July 29, 2020 — Pat Bertram

I accidentally made a new friend today. The woman is a friend of a friend, and she’s taking on a full time (as in 24 hours a day, seven days a week) caregiving job, so she’s looking for someone to fill in a few hours a week to give her a break. Anyone who has been in such a position knows that no matter how much you love a person, those breaks are very much needed. The problem, from what I understand, is that there are too few hours to really tempt someone who needs work, and too many hours for those who need just a bit of money because the extra income might jeopardize their main income. Somehow, my name got bandied about. At first, I said no because . . . well, because I’m out of the habit of saying yes, which has been The Bob’s main effect on me.

As I got to thinking about the request, I realized it would be good to have a bit of income to help fund some of my house renewal projects. (I just contracted for a few tons of rocks, both ornamental and practical — some will go around the house and garage to protect the foundations, some will be used to create pathways about my micro estate to make walking safer in my old age, and some will be used for a driveway.)

Even more than that, I don’t see myself going back to the senior center to just hang around once the restrictions are loosened (although I really enjoy being around most of the people I met there, I don’t especially enjoy playing games, which was our main activity), and except for the Art Guild, I don’t see myself continuing with the rest of my volunteer activities. In addition, one of these days, the contractors will be finished with all the projects that we’ve slated, and then what? Total isolation forever? I don’t see that, either.

So I told the caregiver I was willing to take the job. She stopped by today to interview me, and we really hit it off. When she found out this is my forever home, she was delighted because that meant I would always be a friend. She also approved of all that I’m doing to help with accessibility in my old age. And she said she’d be willing to be my caregiver if it ever got to that point. (She’s the second person who has offered her services. I’m not really sure what that says about me. Maybe that I really am as old as I am rather than as old as I think I am?)

One thing that’s really fun about meeting someone from a small town, especially one who has lived here all her life, is that she knows everyone I know. I think she was a bit surprised because apparently, the people I’ve become closet too are among the best the town has to offer. Special people, for sure! And somehow they gravitated toward me. Pulled in by my tractor beam of charm, no doubt. I’m only being halfway facetious with that last comment because it truly is astonishing how many really good friends I’ve made in the short time I’ve been here.

And now I’ve made another.

The final decision about the job isn’t hers, though her recommendation will be given great weight. I still have to meet the woman I will be caring for (visiting with?). And I will need to talk to the daughter. (Though that might not be necessary, because all she has to do is google me or check out this blog, and she’ll know more about me than I even know.)

But I don’t see that they will have a problem with me. I mean, what’s not to like, right? Admittedly, I might sound cold, looking at the job from a practical angle rather than a personal one, but I haven’t met the woman yet, and even if I had, I wouldn’t want to invade her privacy by talking about her. Though I will say, she sounds like an interesting woman, has lived here all her life, and knows (figuratively speaking) where all the bodies are buried. We also have mutual friends, and since I won’t know any of her stories, I’ll be a new audience, so there should be plenty to talk about. And oh! She lives just a couple of blocks away. How perfect is that?

We’ll see what happens this weekend when I meet her. If nothing else, I’ll make another new friend.

***

Posted in home, house, life. Tags: caregiver, forever home, full time caregiver, life in a small town, part-time caregiver, saying no, saying yes. 1 Comment »

Accomplishments

July 28, 2020 — Pat Bertram

I was out pulling weeds, battling grasshoppers, and feeding mosquitoes (albeit unwillingly), when a when a white pickup pulled up to the house. The driver got out and started questioning me about my garage. He looked familiar, so I wasn’t unduly concerned, then it dawned on me — this was the building inspector.

He’d been checking on the garage occasionally, even after all the structural elements were in, which is where I thought his authority stopped, but apparently not. So I showed him the garage. To be honest, even if he was a stranger, I might have shown him the garage anyway — I do like that little building! In fact, I was talking to a friend the other day and when she asked about the garage, I said, “I love my garage.” She laughed and responded, “I bet twenty-five years ago you’d never have been able to imagine yourself saying that.” I had to admit she was right. Even as little as two years ago — or even one — I couldn’t have imagined saying those words let alone meaning them.

Well, that’s not true. I mean, it is true about my fondness for the garage, but I doubt I’d have let a stranger in to see it. Too many felonious fellows around here.

I was amused by the way the inspector studied my fake window. I’m not sure what he thought — that the builders had changed the plans after his last inspection? I told him it was just a decoration, a bit of artwork. He didn’t seem impressed, but he did say that a fake window was one sure way of keeping out thieves. (So see, I’m not the only one who is aware of the way things — tools especially — go missing around here.) He questioned about the electricity since he hadn’t inspected it before the walls went up, but the state had inspected it, and state supersedes county. I didn’t have a printout of the inspection report, but I offered to send him one, but he said he didn’t need to see it.

He also studied the framework of my gazebo. There was a fairly new concrete pad in front of the old garage, and after the garage was torn down, there the pad sat, screaming out for a roof. So I’m obliging. The lumberyard had overestimated the amount of materials for the lumber pack we’d ordered to build the garage so basically, the gazebo is free. Well, except for the labor.

The inspector questioned me about my plans for the gazebo, so I asked if we needed a permit since my understanding was that we didn’t. “Not really,” he said. Whatever that means. Maybe that if he decided we needed a permit we did? He seemed satisfied when I told him the railings were all the walls there would be, and that it just needs a roof. (Apparently, it’s the enclosing of a space that makes it a building rather than simply something that is built.)

He might be back to inspect the gazebo when it’s done, but I don’t see a problem. I’m sure the contractor will make the roof windproof, using the hurricane connectors as he did with the garage. Because, yes, winds up to 90 miles an hour have been clocked around here, and yes, people do lose their roofs. (Rooves? As in hoof/hooves?)

Oh, I almost forgot — he said he was signing off on the garage and would be sending me the signed report.

There are still a few things that need to be finished, such as the gutters fixed, gravel poured in front of the garage to bridge the gap between the alley and the apron, and hangers need to be hung on inside walls for my tools, but apparently, for all practical and official purposes, the garage is done.

P.S. As I was writing this, one of the workers stopped by to move the counters I rambled on about yesterday. They really are too heavy for one person, even a strong person, otherwise he would have already moved them, but my knees are healed enough that I was able to help get them inside the garage. Yay! One more thing accomplished.

***

Posted in house, life. Tags: building inspector, garage, gazebo, hurricane connectors, love my garage, old fashioned counters, windproof roof. 3 Comments »

Rambling

July 27, 2020 — Pat Bertram

It’s raining again, as it has been on and off for the past few days. Usually the rain comes in the evening when it’s barely noticeable, but it started raining this morning just as I set out for a walk, and now it’s pouring. The cloud cover is so heavy that it seems more like twilight rather than barely afternoon.

Can you tell I have nothing to say? I mean, really, what can one say about rain? The moisture is desperately needed in this dangerously desiccated and drought-ridden area, of course, and it’s a nice change of pace from the dry heat we’d been suffering through. And it’s great to see my yard greening up. But other than that, rain is . . . rain.

Shortly after the dark clouds moved in, the local tornado siren went off. A quick look at the clock reminded me this was the weekly test — every Monday at noon, we’re blasted with three minutes of an unspeakable sound. Which led me to question: considering the weather, if a tornado had been in the area, how would we have known? Perhaps they would have let the siren finish its cycle and then started a second cycle as a warning?

Not that it would matter to me — I probably wouldn’t go down the basement. Stairs. Bum knee. Not a pleasant combination at the best of times, though come to think of it, I did manage to creep down those steps the other day to replace the furnace filter. When the contractors come, they would be glad to do such a chore for me, but there are always way more important things for them to do. Such as fixing the stoop outside the back door, putting in a sidewalk from the house to the garage, dragging the old counters into the garage instead of letting them rust and rot in the backyard. (It takes two people — strong people — to move them, and only one has been coming here at a time when anyone does come.)

The counters were in the enclosed porch when I got here, and they put them in the garage so they could redo the porch foundation. Then, when the garage was torn down, they were stored under the carport. And when the carport was finally hauled away, there the counters sat. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but I worry about them out there in all this rain. If nothing else, when the rain stops and the counters dry out, I’ll cover them. Oh, wait. That will guarantee no more rain! Such a dilemma.

It will all work out in the end, I’m sure.

Besides, I did tell the workers the garage was the most important thing, and it is fabulous not having to worry about my car out in inclement weather. (Is that proper English? Out in? It seems contradictory when I look at it.)

It is funny . . . rainy weather. Rain brings humidity, so even though it’s cool, it’s uncomfortable because of the humidity. I know . . . all you people who live in humid climates are looking askance at me (or giving me askance thoughts if there is such a thing) because you often have to suffer uncomfortable humidity levels, but when one is used to single digit humidity, 80% is ridiculously high.

Apparently, since I can’t go out and ramble physically, I’m rambling verbally. At least I’m rambling, right?

***

Posted in house, life. Tags: building a garage, dangerously drought-ridden, out in, rain, rain and humidity, stairs and bum knee, tornado warning. 4 Comments »

Dreaming a Garden into Existence

July 26, 2020 — Pat Bertram

I used to wish for nice trails close by that I could ramble along for my daily walk, but now I’m grateful just to be able to walk up and down the street in front of my house. It’s approximately a quarter of a mile from my house to where the street ends, which means I am never more than a quarter of a mile from finishing, so feel as if I can push myself a bit. (Today I did two miles!) I still remember days when I’d go out in the desert walking, and sometimes I didn’t gauge my strength well enough, and I’d end up practically crawling back. It’s nice not having to worry about that, especially with a knee that’s still healing. Another benefit is that there’s no real danger along that stretch of road. There is little traffic and what dogs there are mostly stay inside.

In a way, it reminds me of where Jeff and I lived. We were bounded by farmland and highways, so the only place to walk was the country lane in front of our house. It was a third of a mile long and scenic enough, but back then, I was walking three miles a day, so that made for a lot of loops! I used to keep a pile of stones along the side of the road and would take one from one pile and drop it in the other to keep track of my laps. That’s also where I learned to look for the little things on the side of the path to keep me interested, such as a small flower or pretty stone or the way the light hit the water in the irrigation ditch. The main drawbacks were the horrible drivers. There were only a few houses along that dirt road, but the residents all drove as if they were on a race track. Eek. So much dust!

But that was then.

Now I walk on a city street, and what traffic there is has to move slowly and carefully because of the deep dips at the crossroads. If I look around as I walk, I’m sure I could find interesting things to see, but mostly I let my mind drift. And today it drifted toward the plants I’d like in my yard. The things that do best are those that plant themselves, and as long as they aren’t tall weeds or other undesirable vegetation, I let them do what they want. Still, I did order a few flowering shrubs to plant this fall.

When we went to Colorado Springs the other day, I kept seeing clumps of lush green with pink daisy-like flowers along the side of the highway, and the closest thing I could find on Colorado wildflower websites were echinacea purpurea magnus. So I ordered a plant. I suppose I could have gone back to that road and dug up some plants, but I’m sure they’d miss their friends. At least this way, I can see if the plant will grow here and either order more for next year or take my chance with seeds.

I’m given up on bulbs — they like me even less than seeds do. Even though I enjoyed seeing the bulbs that did come up, they flowered for such a short time, and then they were gone, so it seemed almost futile. Maybe, though, if I’m lucky, a few will be hardy enough to come up again next year.

The biggest surprise is that because of the rains we’ve been having, grass is growing. It almost looks like a lawn! Apparently this grass — Bermuda, I think — is a good ground cover for me. It doesn’t die if isn’t watered — it simply disappears underground, and any moisture brings it back to life. I am noticing several other types of grass in the yard, so I’m letting them all go to seed just to see what happens. There are some big areas that are bare dirt, such as where the carport and the garage used to be, but the grass is creeping into those areas, too.

Who knows, maybe by walking and thinking of my yard, I’ll dream an awesome garden into existence instead of merely an isolated flower or two.

***

Posted in life. Tags: bad knee, dreaming of an awesome garden, echinacea, gardening, grateful for walking, horrible drivers, walking up and down in front of the house, wildflowers of Colorado. 2 Comments »

Faceless Folk

July 25, 2020 — Pat Bertram

I was offered a special treat yesterday — a visit to the big city! No, not Denver, but close: Colorado Springs.

Some friends were going to do some shopping at Costco and the Asian Market, and they invited me to go with them. The only drawback was that they were also going to the commissary at the base, and because of The Bob, the military has some sort of Defcon number in place, which means no one but authorized personnel were allowed on base. (It’s just as well — on the way back home, we saw a freight train heading our way loaded with all sorts of army vehicles and machinery and shipping containers transporting who knows what. And that in itself was enough to get my imagination going about military actions — I certainly didn’t need the extra stimulation of being on an army base to turn that imagination into actual fears.)

While my friends did their shopping at the commissary, I stayed at the Asian Market, which gave me plenty of time to watch all the faceless folk. It really is spooky seeing all sorts of people hidden behind masks and sunglasses. (Almost as spooky as seeing the army materiel on the move.) I mean, anything could be hidden in all that facelessness, and it wouldn’t have to be anything nefarious. Smiles and other signs of goodwill and connection were also hidden. No one seemed to be spending any time on the courtesies normally afforded when passing by others who were shopping. (People don’t seem to think the 6-foot rule applies to grocery store aisles. And apparently, if you take a step back and bump into someone, it doesn’t count, either.)

I did end up getting a few things at Costco, using my friend’s card (dried cherries, pistachios, cherry tomatoes and figs, if you’re curious), but mostly, things at places like that are not for women who live alone, or at least not this for this woman. I’m not fond of stocking up, for one thing, and for another, I generally can’t get through large stocks of food before it becomes outdated.

Still, it was fun seeing things I hadn’t seen for a while (or never, as in the case of a lot of the merchandise in the Asian market). And it was truly delightful being able to visit with my friends for the day.

It’s sort of interesting, but in each of the two days before we went, I got the ten of swords card for my card of the day. If you know anything about the tarot, you know, to the extent that any card is a death card, it’s the ten of swords that presages tragedy rather than the death card itself. The death card generally means a change of some sort, perhaps the death of the old you, but the ten of swords is more ominous and speaks of death, sudden misfortune on a grand scale, betrayal, and anything else not good. But since we can read anything we want to into a card, I tend to think it means that no matter how much we try, we cannot control everything, which can either lead to a defeat of the spirit or a letting go and accepting our present circumstances, no matter what they are. But, even in acceptance, we can take precautions. And, like the death card, the ten of swords ultimately can mean change and renewal. (Because nothing stays the same, any disaster almost by definition will eventually bring about a renewal.)

Considering The Bob and this ominous card, I must admit I was a bit worried about going on the trip — after all, at home by myself, I am safe, but out among the faceless folk? Not so much. Still, I took precautions — stayed away from everyone except my friends, and wore a mask out in public.

A side note — on the way back, after we saw the military train, we passed a mural of a group of people waiting for an old-fashioned train. I had to laugh at the painted fellow wearing a black bandanna as a mask because so many people I’d seen earlier had worn that very thing. Such masks sure mean something different today than they did a hundred years ago! Oddly, when I saw that mural, I had a brain hiccup, and for just a second I thought we were driving through Delta, three hundred miles to west on that very same highway, because Delta is the self-proclaimed “city of murals,” and I’d driven through that town perhaps a thousand times over the years.

Now I’m back to isolation, and grateful for it. At least when I’m by myself, I don’t have to wear a mask, and oh, do I hate wearing those things. They give me sinus headaches because they block off even more oxygen that just the stuffed sinuses do, and it’s hard to take deep enough breaths. And just as bad, they make me so very hot, which is not fun when it’s almost 100 degrees and humid besides.

Am I complaining too much? I don’t mean to. I really did have a lovely time. And it really was wonderful being not isolated for a day, even if it meant being around too many faceless folk.

***

Posted in culture, life. Tags: asian market, Colorado Springs, Costco, defcon, mandate in Colorado, military transport, people wearing masks, what people are hiding behind their masks. 8 Comments »

Interview: Talking about Grief and Being an Author

July 24, 2020 — Pat Bertram

What inspired you to write Grief: The Inside Story — A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One?

When Jeff, my life mate/soul mate died, I was completely unprepared for the depth and breadth of my grief. I had never felt such pain, pain that escalated by the minute. I never even knew such pain existed. How could I? I’d grieved the deaths of my mother and my younger brother, but what I felt after Jeff died in no way resembled those earlier bouts of grief.

I started writing about grief not only to make sense of my own feelings but also as a rebellion against a society that reveres happiness at all costs. There is something dreadfully wrong with a society that expects the bereft to hide their grief after a couple of months simply because it makes people uncomfortable to see outward shows of mourning. Seeing grief makes people realize how ephemeral their lives really are, and they can’t handle it (which leaves the bereft, who already feel isolated, totally alone with their sorrow.) It also cracks the façade of our relentlessly glass-half-full society.

People who are grieving often find comfort in the truth about grief and how long it takes because it matches what they feel and it makes them feel not so alone. And so, after years of dealing with my own grief and that of my widowed blog readers, I wrote the book “Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One” to help explain the grief process both to grievers and those who want to understand what their grieving friends are going through.

The earliest incidents you recall from your life where you first felt you had a writer in you?

I loved books from the moment I learned to read, and I often wrote stories and poems, so I always thought I would be a writer. When I quit a job in my early twenties to start my first book. . . [Click here: to read the entire interview]

Posted in life, writing. Tags: grief, Grief the Inside Story, interview. 2 Comments »

Epic Enough

July 23, 2020 — Pat Bertram

I just came back from a mile and a half walk, and I’m as wiped out — or worse — than when I was regularly hiking five miles with a twenty-pound pack. I’m thrilled to be able to walk even that much — knees take forever to heal, and I thought it might be several more months before I walk that far — but it’s not exactly an epic hike.

Actually, that once-upon-a-time dream of through-hiking one of the long epic trails died with my backpacking trip and the realization that I would never be able to carry all that I needed, especially the necessary water in the desert areas. Even if I could ever get back into hiking shape, the house precludes such a journey. Well, the garage does — I spent all my travel money on the garage. And to be honest, although I do still like the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere, I like even better the idea of being in the middle of somewhere — that somewhere being my house, of course.

Now, if I could teleport, that would be a different matter. I recently read a book about a fellow who could teleport, and he could go anywhere as long as it was a place he knew. At first I thought it would be a silly talent because why teleport to somewhere you’ve already been? But then it dawned on me — what a great way to do a long hike! Hike as long as you can, carrying a light day pack with a day’s worth of water and food, as well as extra socks and other emergency supplies, then when you’re finished for the day, you spend a few minutes memorizing the place you ended up, and then go home for the night. After a good meal and a peaceful night at home, you teleport to where you left off and continue hiking.

If you decide you want a night in the wilderness, all you’d have to do is hop home, pick up whatever you need for the night, and then hop back to where you were.

In many ways, this would negate one purpose of doing a through hike on a long trail since you wouldn’t get the life-changing experience of being on your own in the wilderness with no hope of getting out except on your own two feet, but it would answer the even greater purpose of seeing what’s around the next corner.

Not being able to hike, not being able to teleport, before I went for my walk, I poked around the corners of my yard and found this little beauty.

That’s epic enough for me!

***

Posted in house, life. Tags: backpacking trip, bum knee, hiking and teleporting, long trails, middle of nowhere, middle of somewhere, teleporting, through hike. 6 Comments »

The Current State of This Blog

July 22, 2020 — Pat Bertram

Apparently, Facebook isn’t the only entity that thinks my blog is spam. A couple of days ago, a friend called make sure I’m okay because she hasn’t been getting my blog via email, and she worried that something had happened to me. I told her I was fine and that I was still blogging every day (even though I don’t always have something to say) and suggested she check her spam folder.

Sure enough, the last four blogs had been classified by her email provider as spam.

I think I know what the problem is — the brief bio at the bottom of every post. Even though it is just a small fraction of the post itself, apparently the spam-eating bots have been picking up on the duplication. (One message from FB mentioned that repetition was considered spam, which corroborates this surmise.)

I never used to put anything at the bottom of my posts because it seemed redundant — after all, all the information about me and my books are on sidebars and pages — but some sites illegally repost blogs without attribution, and I used to find various of my articles on those sites. (I’m sure such sites are still around, though I’ve stopped looking.) Since there’s often nothing that can be done about the theft, one suggestion I came across to counteract the attack was to make sure every blog had a bio and links so that if anyone came across the blog on other sites, it would refer back to me.

I’m glad I got in the habit — phone apps for the various blog platforms generally don’t allow for sidebars, so no one who reads my blog via their phone would see who I am and what other things I write without the bio. It’s not a problem for regular readers since they know who I am, but many new people find me via search engines (most often for questions about grief) and I want them to know about my grief book.

I could, of course, do a new bio every day if the bio really is the problem, but then I probably wouldn’t post something every day, either, because it would be too much extra work. I could also do several different bios and rotate so that the repetition comes once a week rather than every day, but my stubborn nature won’t let me be accommodating (though I did remove the link to my website, in case the links were the culprit).

And anyway, the bio itself might not be the problem. If it is, I’m grateful — it was the impetus to get me off Facebook, at least for now, and I must admit, I’m much happier living in my own little world without the contention and opinionation and strife that comes with the FB territory.

So, since I’m maintaining the current state of this blog, if you generally get my posts via email and you happen to notice that I have disappeared, please check your spam folder. I’m probably there.

***

Posted in blogging, internet, life. Tags: bio at end of blog, blog going to spam folder, blog repetition, blogging every day, Facebook won't let me post links to my blog, postaday, repetition considered to be spam. 7 Comments »

From the “Then” to the “Now”

July 21, 2020 — Pat Bertram

Sometimes I worry that when talking about my house I come across as smug or supercilious or boastful rather than grateful and very lucky. So many people have a hard time keeping a roof over their head, especially now when eviction restrictions have been lifted. Even in the best of times, too many people are homeless and luckless, so it’s perhaps crass to write about my wonderful new life in my lovely little house. And yet, it is my life. My blog. My words. And especially — and always — it’s my gratitude to those who helped make it happen.

For so long, I lived on the edge — not homeless because I always had a room to rent or a place to stay, but not secure, either. One friend even made me promise that if I ever became homeless, I would go stay with her, which was truly a generous offer.

Somehow, though, I slipped through a crack, and instead of the worst happening, the best did. It seems odd, but to find a house, I had to move to a place that seemed on the edge of nowhere, and yet, now that I’m here, I’m right in the middle of . . . somewhere.

Even better, it’s exactly where I want to be.

I was talking to a new friend the other day (though after a year, I suppose I don’t need to add the “new” anymore). She mentioned that housing prices were going up around here, which means the crack in the universe that allowed me to find a home — a forever home, not just a room in someone’s house — really was just a crack. I could barely afford this house; anything more would have been prohibitive.

But here I am.

It’s ironic (and mystical) that Jeff’s death ten years ago blew my life apart, and my homeless brother’s death two years ago somehow glued it back together. If nothing else, my brother’s death put into motion all the gears that needed to move to open the crack that allowed me to slip through and into a home of my own. Then there is my father’s contribution. When he died, he left behind the small legacy that allowed me to follow through where the other two pushed me.

(I like the symmetry of the three, but in my case, there is a fourth person who was instrumental to getting me here — the brother who helped with all the logistics and practicalities.)

This scenario seems so mythic and mythological but then perhaps all lives can be seen in mythic and mythological terms if we tell ourselves the right stories.

And that is the story I am telling myself.

I tend to forget that there is another aspect to the story of how I got here — all the long years of pain and loneliness and angst that accompanied me on my journey from the “then” to the “now.” Without all the changes grief brought, I wouldn’t be this homefull person, not at all smug, but rather accepting of my good fortune and almost giddily grateful for the experience.

***