Frozen Moment

May 6, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What’s a moment you wish you could freeze and live in forever?
View all responses

What’s a moment you wish you could freeze and live in forever? What a question! There’s nothing I like enough to see or feel or taste or experience forever. Sounds like a hell to me.

It makes me wonder, though — if we were locked into a single moment, would we even notice? I mean, when you think about it, we live in our minds, in our memories. The only thing that distinguishes one moment from another is the memory of what has gone before and the forward memory of what will come after (because except in rare cases of accidents and instantaneous body breakdowns, we can almost be assured that the moment after this one will be almost identical to this one). Without a memory of the past and without a forward “memory” of what is to come, the isolated moment we’d live in might as well be frozen forever because we wouldn’t know the difference.

It is interesting to think how the moment preceding this one and the moment following are almost identical except perhaps for an indiscernible change, and yet those indiscernible changes add up to be significant changes over time.

If I were to expand the question from a moment to longer period of time that I absolutely had to freeze and live in forever, I imagine a couple of mornings ago before winter returned would be as good as any. It was perfect weather: not too warm, not too cool, no wind. The flowers were blooming cheerily, the greenery jewel bright. I was feeling good — no aches or pains — and able to bend to pick weeds without any trouble. The neighborhood was quiet, no loud noises — just the crunch of gravel beneath my feet and the sound of an indrawn breath or two when I did too much weed-pulling. I was living totally in the moment — or rather, in that series of moments — with no thoughts of anything but me in my garden. Me as part of the garden.

Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Always to be pain-free, always in perfect weather, never hungry or thirsty.

But even perfection palls. I could have been outside longer than I was, but I got thirsty, tired, even (dare I say it?) bored.

Of course, in that frozen forever time, none of those hampering sensations would have happened, but still, stasis is never a desirable objective. We are dynamic beings, always on the move, even if we are frozen in place. The earth hurtles around the sun at 67,000 mph. The sun hurtles around the galaxy at 140 miles per second. The entire universe is also moving and expanding, so from one second to the next we are in a completely different place with a possibility of different factors.

And so things change, will I, nill I.

Still, I do have to admit, that was a lovely morning, frozen in memory if not in time.

***

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, gardening, life. Tags: , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Garden Stroll

May 4, 2026 — Pat Bertram

With so much the contention in the world right now, we all need a little peace in our lives, so come stroll with me and I’ll show you my garden. That garden, in itself, brings peace — at least to me — so I’m especially lucky that things are growing well this year.

Walk down the path, almost to the garage, you will find this lovely pastoral scene hiding behind the greenery.

I have no idea why the garden is so lovely this year. Winter was warmer but also drier, so those two conditions should have cancelled each other out, but instead, what I have is a lush springtime yard.

The larkspur, seen along the fence in the two top photos, are growing well, though that’s not a surprise. Larkspur does exceptionally well in this climate, and always I am glad to see the frilly foliage. More than even a robin, larkspur herald spring. It’s interesting that although I started out with only purple larkspur, each year, more colors bloom.

In the forefront of the pastoral photo (second from the top) is a yellow columbine. Oddly, there are also white columbines on that same plant. But that’s no problem. Any columbine is welcome!

Truly, the columbines are prolific and gorgeous this year. The orange wallflowers in the background of the following photo are hanging around longer than they normally do, which is a thrill for me because that sunrise color sure brightens the day!

I could post more photos, but I don’t want to overwhelm anyone (or tire you out with such a strenuous walk), so I’ll continue this garden stroll tomorrow.

***

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

 

Posted in being me, gardening, home, life. Tags: , , , , , . 10 Comments »

Queen of the May

May 1, 2026 — Pat Bertram

The month of May was named after Maia, the Roman goddess of spring, nature, and growth, and was the “maiden” associated with the three stages of a woman’s life: maid, mother, matriarch/mystic. In Latin, Maia meant “greater.” Greeks also had a goddess Maia, the mother of Hermes, and is associated with motherhood. In Greek, Maia meant “mother.”

May celebrations (the Roman Maia kind) have been held for two thousand years. Well, they used to be. We don’t celebrate such things nowadays. Although dancing around a tree as part of fertility rites existed way back then, it wasn’t until the fourteenth century that Maypole dancing was first mentioned. For centuries, a pole was erected on May first, decorated with flowers and ribbon streamers, and then dancers would hold the ribbons, weave around one another, and create intricate patterns with the ribbons.

Another big part of such festivities was crowning the “Queen of the May.” The “queen,” usually a young girl dressed in white, would be crowned with flowers and then she would reign over the festivities.

A long-forgotten tradition was the passing out of May baskets — forgotten by the world, that is, and barely remembered by me. When I was young, every May first, my mother would make cupcakes for my class, add pipe cleaner handles that matched the cupcake papers and icing, and then decorate the handles with tiny flowers. Oh, they were so cute! I loved passing them out. (My brother remembers her making them for his class, and he was utterly embarrassed to bring them to school.)

Occasionally I think of making those cupcake baskets for my friends and neighbors, but it’s hard to find the right pipe cleaners, and tiny fabric flowers disappeared from the stores decades ago. I thought of decorating the cupcake itself with icing flowers, but that’s just too much work. Maybe someday, though.

Or I could go back to the traditional May basket routine of filling baskets and leaving them at people’s houses, which I used to do, but I stopped when the husband of one of my friends threw the basket out in the street because he thought it was a bomb. This was decades ago, long before people in safe neighborhoods had to worry about such things, but his actions broke my momentum, and I never did such things again.

Today, I ‘m celebrating May Day with my own pretty basket. The basket was a tennis trophy my father received in his youth when he played at Forest Hills. The ribbons were scrounged from gift wrappings, and the flowers borrowed from one of my hats.

Hey! I just remembered — I have flower wreaths! I use them as hatbands, but they were supposed to be worn separately. Maybe I’ll crown myself Queen of the May. Why not? Someone needs to celebrate this special, mostly forgotten festival. For my first duty as queen, I bestow upon you myriad wishes for a lovely day!

[Incidentally, the Mayday, Mayday distress call has nothing to do with May or Maia or Maidens or Mothers. The word was created in 1923 and comes from the French m’aider meaning “help me.”]

***

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

 

Posted in being me, culture, history/myth, life. Tags: , , , , , . 7 Comments »

The Camping Life

April 29, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Have you ever been camping?
View all responses

The summer before my epic cross-country trip, I lived in a friend’s camper in Northern California where I could tramp along the coast and hike the redwood forests. Although most people call this camping, to me I was simply living in a tiny house and enjoying the environment that was so different from anything I’d experienced before. (And enjoying the friendship, of course.)

The other end of the camping spectrum is “cowboy camping” — out in the wilderness with no roof over your head except the Milky Way and so many stars you wouldn’t believe. Although the romanticism of that appealed to me, the physical sensation of being out alone and vulnerable in that vastness seemed too intimidating, so I never did it.

I did camp in a tent, though, which seemed, Goldilocks-like, to be perfect, falling as it does somewhere between a tiny house on wheels and an infinite roof overhead.

I loved tent camping. Like most of my adventures, people kept telling me I couldn’t do it — I was too old, it was too dangerous, too many things could go wrong — but that didn’t deter me.

The first night I camped out was the first night of my cross-country trip. I’d practiced setting up the tent, so that wasn’t a problem, though it was a bit awkward since the tent was a six-footer. (I got a big one because I wanted to be able to stand up. And it was on sale.) I had a folding lounge chair big enough to sleep in since I wasn’t sure I could sleep on the ground, and all sorts of other comforts, including the main one — a restroom within walking distance.

I woke in the middle of the night to use that rest room. By the time I got back I was wide awake, so I lay on the top of the picnic table and drank in the stars. Eventually, I went back into the tent and finished the night in my cozy pallet on the ground.

I learned a lot about how to be comfortable in that tiny space. I spent most of my time outside, of course, so it was only at night and in the heat of the day that I sought shelter. A few nights were frigid, and I couldn’t get warm, so I opened my backpacking tent inside the larger tent, and soon became warm enough to sleep comfortably.

During that trip, I camped in deserts, mountains, forests, near swamps and lakes and on a beach. Each campsite was special. Each experience was exquisite. Each person I met was an instant friend. One slightly older woman had gone to the same high school I did, which made us even instanter friends. She was a retired teacher whose retirement funds didn’t stretch enough for a conventional life, so she spent most of her time on the road, living in her tent. Although campers were only allowed a two-week stay, she’d been there almost a month. There were few campers during that February, and so they let her stay.

I considered doing what she was doing, and if I hadn’t lucked out on buying a house, I might have lived the camping life, though to be honest, as much as I loved camping, I’m so much more comfortable living in a stationary house with a roof and heat and running water and my own bathroom.

I didn’t camp every night during that trip. Most often I was with friends, who treated me royally. Occasionally I spent nights in motels, especially if the weather was bad or I was tired or there weren’t any nearby national parks. (I did stay in a couple of state parks, but so many were almost as expensive as a motel that it didn’t seem worth it.)

I still have that oversize lounger. Maybe this summer I’ll drag it out and sleep under the stars. Or not. Although it’s a nice thought, second thoughts remind me that mosquitos, skunks, and other denizens of the night aren’t so nice.

It’s funny — sitting here writing this, I know I had all those adventures, but they seem as if they happened to someone else, as if I’d just read myself into some fictional character’s life — a character who is spontaneous and adventuresome and courageous, all things I’m not.

Except, apparently, I am those things. Or at least I was.

***

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

Posted in Adventure, being me, life. Tags: , , , , , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Decision Fatigue Redux

April 27, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Here’s irony for you. Yesterday I wrote about decision fatigue and counted myself lucky that I have so few decisions to make. Today, I’m sitting here at the computer, staring at a pretend piece of blank paper, sorting through a multitude of options, trying to decide what I want to write about. And it is making me so very fatigued!

So much is going on out there in the real world that I could talk about, maybe even should talk about — not so much what is happening, but my reactions to the reactions of what is happening. Are people really so unhinged nowadays they bemoan that an assassination attempt failed, while others demand that next time they find better shooters, and still others scream “staged”? And are so many as blasé as they seem, that such behavior (both the attempt and the aftermath) is so expected, that it’s simply ho-hum?

None of this behavior is anything I want to deal with. It certainly makes me determined to take better care of myself. Many of the people teetering on the edge (and some that have flat-out fallen on the side of derangement) are in the age group and even the profession, that will be the caretakers of my generation. Crikey, I so do not want to have to deal them now — I can’t imagine being dependent on such people in my feeble old age. Luckily, unbalanced and heartless folk seem to be a minority (at least, I hope they are). Even luckier (if it can be called luck) my limited finances won’t support such care, which again comes down to my taking better care of myself.

After all my waffling about what to write about, I made my decision. There’s nothing I can do about anything that’s going on and nothing I write is going to make any difference, so I’m going to shut down my computer, turn off the outside world, tune into my own world, do the best I can for myself, and make this a peaceful day.

Wishing the same for you.

***

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

Decision Fatigue

April 26, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I just read an article claiming that people living alone suffer greatly from “decision fatigue.” Apparently, there are 35,000 decisions each person makes every day, and though that number seems to be accepted, no one knows how that number came to be established.

A lot of those “decisions” sound like habit to me. To hit the snooze alarm or get out of bed immediately. To take a morning shower or to brush one’s teeth. To drink one or more cups of coffee. To drive to work or take the bus. All things people do by rote.

Some decisions, such as what to wear, are also by rote, because whether they know it or not, people tend to wear uniforms, such as business attire when going to work or jeans and a top when staying home.

Most of my decisions lie in the category of habit, which is why I blog every day — I don’t need to make a decision about whether to post something. I just do it. I sometimes need to make a decision about what to write, but I generally just go with whatever flows. (Unfortunately for you, it adds another decision to your list — read or not read.) Nor do I have a lot of decisions to make when it comes to food. My meals are simple and getting simpler all the time because of food concerns and a growing aversion to cooking complicated (and not so complicated) dishes.

I am on a watering and yard maintenance schedule, which also removes the need to make decisions. When I see something in passing that needs done, I do it immediately, which saves on having to make a decision later. Of those hypothetical 35,000 decisions that people make every day, I consciously make a dozen. Maybe less. Even the decisions I do make, such as whether to play a game or read are instinctual. When I get bored reading, I play. When I get bored playing, I read.

I tend to think this is the same with a lot of retired people. Working life, of course, would heap decisions on people, decisions they would probably not want to make but have to, but the article wasn’t about the difference in decision fatigue between working people vs. retirees. It was about how people living alone are more at risk for decision fatigue.

The article postulated that those who live alone have to make all the decisions in the household. One example the writer gave was coming home from work. If you live alone, you have to decide what to eat, as well as make all the decisions that come with meal preparation. If you live with someone, that person might have a meal ready or could help decide what to fix and when to fix. That’s when the claims in that article fell apart for me. I couldn’t help but think of all the single parents who come home from work, have to cook dinner, have to take care of the kids, have to do all sorts of things and make all sorts of decisions that people living alone don’t do. Sometimes, if it’s a two-parent household, one person does have a meal prepared, but that isn’t always the case. And sometimes one, or even both, have many more decisions to make than single people because more people in the household means more people to make decisions about. Making those decisions also takes way more time and energy because of all the needed discussion.

Luckily for me, I live a simple life. Most of my major decisions, such as where to live, have been made. And since I live alone, if I don’t want to make a decision, I don’t. There is that old saying, “not to decide is to decide,” but for sure, not deciding takes a lot less energy, especially for someone like me who generally doesn’t care whatever way a decision might go. Of course, not caring about the result of a decision leads to other issues, such as inability to do anything that requires a decision to be made because it’s almost impossible to decide between two equal situations.

Still, that’s something to worry about another day. Or not.

***

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: , , , , , . 3 Comments »

What Makes Me Nervous

April 24, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What makes you nervous?
View all responses

Appliances make me nervous. Not operating them. Not even so much the thought of their breaking down. But what comes after when they do malfunction.

I try not to worry, and mostly it’s easy. I just turn my thoughts in another direction. But when a particular appliance makes an unfamiliar noise or what sounds like it could be a vibration, then I go on alert.

My washing machine needs new rods or new bearings because unless the load is small and perfectly balanced, sometime during one of the final spins, it shakes and rattles so hard that it makes me very nervous. I’ll get a new machine soon because there’s no one around here that I know of who fixes washing machines (the one repair service in the next town over has never returned my calls). That’s what really worries me — having to deal with a machine that suddenly stops working with my wet apparel locked inside. Even worse is the thought of having to deal with all that buying a new washing machine entails, and all the decisions that have to be made until everything is settled down once again.

In rereading what I wrote above, I noticed that I used the words “worry” and “nervous” interchangeably, so I checked online to see what the difference is. Apparently, worry is long term, is mostly in the mind, and often centers on specific future scenarios. Nervousness is short term, primarily physical, and often centers on an immediate or unfamiliar situation.

So I suppose what it comes down to in my appliance scenario is that I am worried about being nervous about dealing with breakdown issues.

What does unequivocally make me nervous are appointments. I don’t care how important or trivial those appointments might be, I always find myself getting nervous. I suppose the nervousness comes not just from worrying about a perhaps negative outcome of the appointment, such as a dental visit or a DMV appointment to get my license renewed, but it’s also because of someone else being in control of the situation. I am lucky to be pretty much in control of my life. Admittedly, I have a self-restricted life — I don’t go out much, don’t party or “have fun” (whatever that is). I do simply things, try to be mindful of dangers that come with letting my thoughts wander, and generally take as good a care as possible of myself and my house and property. I am pretty much in control, barring accidents and appliances breaking down, so it makes sense that I’m nervous when I have to deal with an appointment where suddenly, I am not in control. Someone else temporarily gets to have a say in my life. So far, those “say”s have worked out, but that’s not always the case.

Oddly, the one appointment that did have a negative impact wasn’t even my appointment, but a friend’s. I’d accompanied her to the eye doctor, and while waiting for her, a woman sat next to me and began to chat with me. That wasn’t too much of a problem until she started coughing. Then she admitted she’d just come from her medical doctor and had been diagnosed with bronchitis, but that she wasn’t infectious anymore.

I moved away from her, of course, but it was too late. I’m still dealing with the lingering result of her uninfectious bronchitis.

It might seem as if my life is fraught with worry and nervousness, but the truth is, I am almost always focused on the moment, which brings, if not serenity, at least calm and a modicum of contentment.

Wishing the same for you!

***

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

Posted in being me, dealing with old age, home, life. Tags: , , , , , . 4 Comments »

Creating Favorite Holidays

April 23, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?
View all responses

My favorite holidays are the ones I created or created with the help of a friend. When I was young, I lived in Denver, not far from City Park where an ancient elm resided. A plaque beneath the tree said “Shakespeare Elm: The scion from which this tree was grown was taken from the tree at Shakespeare’s grave at Stratford-on-Avon.” The plaque also noted that the tree was planted on April 23, 1916, which is exactly 300 years after Shakespeare’s birthday — April 23, 1616. (And exactly 110 years before today —April 23, 2026, hence this post.)

How could such a momentous occasion not be celebrated? Many years ago — decades ago! — a friend and I baked elm tree cookies, made a “pin the leaf on the tree” game, stirred up gallons of green punch, even baked a tree shaped cake with candles. We sent hundreds of invitations to friends, family, Denver notables, the media, but on April 23, only family and friends showed up. And two cops.

The cops stood apart from all of us, though they did nibble on cookies and take tentative sips of punch. At one point, one of the cops turned to the other and said in amazement, “They really are having a birthday party for this tree.” Apparently, they had been dispatched to the site in case we were staging a drug rendezvous or some such. As it turns out, it was lucky that no one showed up. Since it ended up being simply a family picnic, we weren’t fined for putting on a public event without a license. Whew!

In honor of that tree and that friendship, I celebrate April 23 every year, if only with a nod to the past and a text to my friend.

I used to celebrate the birthday of “Pat Bertram,” the day I signed up for the internet and started a new life with a new name (Pat Bertram is my pseudonym, though it is a form of my offline name). Somewhere along the way I stopped celebrating, perhaps because that online persona gradually morphed into my offline persona. Still, next year will be the 20th birthday of that Pat, and it should be — will be — celebrated.

I never forget to celebrate the first day of winter. I call it the End of the Creeping Darkness because the nights stop growing shorter and light gradually begins returning to the world. Truly something to celebrate!

Perhaps my favorite holiday was one that could come only once in a lifetime — the day my father turned 35,000 days old. Of course, I had a party for him; how could I not!

And this isn’t the end, of course. There are always holidays to celebrate or create.

Until then, happy birthday, Shakespeare’s Elm!

Since I don’t have a picture of that Elm party, I’m attaching a photo of my father’s party.

***

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

Posted in being me, internet, life. Tags: , , , , , . 13 Comments »

Cross Country Risks

April 20, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday I wrote about my cross-country trip. As important as that journey was to me, I’ll ever do anything like that again, not just because my car and I are ten years older, but because risks I took back then could now land me in jail. Well, one particular risk could.

When Jeff and I traveled together and stopped at a truck stop to fill the car and unfill us, we found the difference in the use of male and female restrooms to be staggering. In a lot of cases, both had a single stall, which didn’t take in the reality that women needed longer in the little room. Or perhaps there were more women needing them. Whatever the reason, there were always long lines of women waiting their turn and generally no men. So one day, Jeff suggested I use the men’s room while he stood guard. I was in and out quickly, and despite my nervousness at having done something wrong, it all worked out. The women I passed on my way out, looked at me, looked at each other, looked at the men’s restroom, and suddenly there were two lines of women waiting for both restrooms.

When I traveled alone after he was gone, I continued to sail past long lines of women if there were no men waiting, and head directly to the men’s room. I figured that even if someone noticed, they would prefer my misuse of the restrooms to a puddle on the floor for them to clean up.

There was only one time that I met a man as I was coming out of the room, so I looked back at the designation on the door, shrugged sheepishly, and said, “Sorry.” (Occasionally, it truly was a mistake. When people got too cute about the male and female signs, sometimes it was hard to figure out which was which.)

What once could have gotten me a nasty look now could get me arrested.

When the debate about who can use what restroom started, I thought about those single side-by-side rooms and wondered why men would want to use the women’s restroom. Obviously, they never traveled much because who would want to wait in a long line of jittering women desperate to go when there was a perfectly usable room right next door. (Besides, the solution in those cases was easy — change the signs so that anyone could use either.) Admittedly, there were often several stalls in some restrooms, but there weren’t long lines at those stops, so it wasn’t an issue for me, though I can see where it would be an issue for others. New laws in some states now demand you use the restroom that matches your biological gender, and of all the risks I imagined while traveling, I’d never once considered having to stand before a judge and admit guilty to an overfull bladder.

Hmmm. Do I really want to post this? It’s not something I’ve ever talked about with anyone, and in fact, it’s a bit embarrassing, but what the heck. It’s not the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever posted, or the worst thing I’ve ever admitted, but at least the picture of my garden is pretty.

***

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

Posted in Adventure, being me, dealing with old age, life. Tags: , , , . 8 Comments »

In Ten Years

April 13, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
View all responses

Where do I see myself in ten years? Alive. I hope.

My mother died at the age I will be in ten years, as did her mother, which makes me wonder if that’s an age written in my genes. My father’s family was long-lived, so that might be a mitigating factor, but I take after my mother more than I do him, so we’ll see. Of course, life might have other plans for me, so that ten years might not be a given. Still, I have what I always have . . . today.

Oddly, we don’t seem to be able to project the view of ourselves into an aged, weakened state, so the way I truly see myself in ten years is mostly the way I am today: knees that don’t always cooperate as well as they did when I was younger, foods that don’t always agree with me, but for the most part, my body works well. My mind, too, works well (at least as well as anyone can judge their own mental workings).

I see myself still living alone, still working in my garden, still grateful for my house, and still grateful for my life.

I can only hope that I really will be as I see that self. I’m to the age where the body doesn’t recuperate as well as it once did, and so minor ills will tend to add up to an eventual fragility, but I can’t “see” that. I suppose it’s a good thing we can’t even imagine what we will feel like and what we will be like when we are very old — it would make life feel . . . frantic, maybe, as we try to fit in everything we want to do before that decline. Or perhaps it would make life feel defeating as we try to overcome thoughts of our end.

So, unless there’s a blog prompt asking me where I see myself in ten years, the overriding factor is that I can’t see myself that far in the future. I don’t even bother to try.

I’m just glad I can see myself here today.

***

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

Posted in being me, dealing with old age, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , . 15 Comments »
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