Balance

I got caught in a time warp where I watched videos of the Buddhists walking for peace. I call it a time warp because I thought I was online for just a few minutes, but when I finally looked away, hours had passed, and I had tears in my eyes. The scenes were that mesmerizing and that touching — not just the serene marchers in their distinctive clothing treading on matching flower petals, but the hundreds of thousands of people silently watching them pass by or joining their walk for a while. Oh, there were those who didn’t appreciate what they were seeing and wanted to divert the walkers from their “satanic” path, but from the vast majority, there emanated a feeling of awe, perhaps reverence. A sense of history being made. Even from those who went to see the walkers simply out of curiosity, there was still a great deal of respect for the monks.

It was such a huge disconnect for me because what I’d been seeing online was something completely different. Chaos, screaming, hatred. Crowds that were anything but respectful. In that hostile environment, peace seemed a thousand miles away. Um no. Not seemed. It was literally a thousand miles away since the Buddhists were walking a thousand miles to the south of the chaos.

As I was thinking about these two events, all of a sudden, I didn’t see them as disconnected but as two parts of a balanced whole. This amused me — not the events, of course, but my idea of a balanced whole. Apparently, I’ve spent too much time in the dual cosmology of the Wheel of Time world, where opposing forces work against each other and with each other to create a balance in the world. Light and dark, male and female, good and evil, yin and yang. (It’s no wonder that when these books were made into a television series, the creators of the show changed Jordan’s world to erase the duality, which, considering today’s flexible morality, they ostensibly thought a weakness of the story rather than its very foundation.)

It also showed me something else. In the books, it seems as if “walking in the light” is the default setting; one must expressly go against the light to choose the darkness. Going by the numbers of people I’ve been seeing in the southern videos, it seems as if the default setting in this country is peace, or at least a desire for peace. Lawfulness. A need to get along without major confrontation. Maybe even a need to share something spectacular with one another. (Come to think of it, I’ve always thought peacefulness was our default setting. For example, while some people fudge on traffic laws, most people do follow close enough to the law that traffic flows smoothly without chaos, and the vast majority of drivers arrive at their destination safely. And though it’s long forgotten, the citizens of this country had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the world confrontations the leaders of the first half of the twentieth century got us into.)

Lately, I’ve had to fight a sense of sadness that borders on doom, as if we’re balancing on the brink of . . . something. It’s possible this is a result of my Seasonal Affective Disorder or even my sinus issues (allergies always make me depressed, but not as depressed as allergy medications), but seeing those beautiful monks? Well, to be honest, that made me sad, too, but in a different way, as if the peace they engendered is what life should always be but isn’t.

Still, for today, it was nice to participate in their walk — and its meaning — if only vicariously.

Holding the World Together

Daily writing prompt
The most important invention in your lifetime is…

The most important invention in my lifetime? That would be easy if it weren’t a toss-up between duct tape and twist ties. Still, together they make up the most important invention because between the two of them, you can fix just about anything.

A broken tool handle? Duct tape! A hose that’s sprung a leak? Duct tape! A quick fly trap? Duct tape! Blisters when hiking? Duct tape! A tear in your slippers? Duct tape! No packing tape? Duct tape!

I am using the name “duct tape” here, which is supposedly the correct term, though one use for duct tape that is not recommended is sealing ducts since the adhesive can come loose with heat. The name by all rights should be “duck tape” since the original cloth-backed tape was made with duck fabric — a heavy-duty cotton cloth. Either way, duct tape or duck tape, that ubiquitous product has many uses. People used it in crafts so often that now it comes in a multitude of colors or patterns. But I stick with the gray. It’s easy to use and so cheap I can keep one roll in the house and one in the garage.

As for twist ties? Again, a multitude of uses.

Need to stake plants? Twist ties! Electric cords a mess? Twist ties! Zipper pull broken off? Twist ties! Not enough tree ornament hangers? Twist ties! Cables and charger cords unorganized? Twist ties! No binder for loose leaf paper? Twist ties! Twist ties tangled? Twist ties!

I’m sure there are plenty of important inventions in my life time, but these are the two holding the world together.

Oops. I did a bit of research and discovered that both were invented earlier than I thought, though the form of those inventions we use today was developed during my lifetime

Duck tape (the original tape using army-green duck fabric) was invented during World War Two as a way of sealing ammunition boxes to prevent moisture. However, in my lifetime, the green duck became the grey duct that we are all so familiar with.

Twist ties — paper-wrapped wire pieces — were invented in the 1920s and patented in the 1930s, but it wasn’t until the 1960s that a specific twist-tie machine was invented to create the better design that we use today.

Still, whatever their history, I stand by my premise that without these two inventions, our world would fall apart.

***

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

Yay! February!

As far as I know, there’s nothing intrinsically important to celebrate about its being February.

Groundhog Day is tomorrow, and it might mean something if we had any groundhogs around here. (Prairie Dog Day just doesn’t have the same ring to it.) But I’m willing to bet that no matter whether a rodent sees its shadow or not, spring will come on the twentieth of March as it often does. Whatever the omens, February does bring us closer to the complaining-about-the-heat season, but that’s still a few months away.

Then there’s Valentine’s Day for those who celebrate whatever that day means to them. (Those of us who are without a romantic partner don’t see much point in it if we ever did, though I am delighted with any Valentine’s gifts I might receive.)

My parents’ birthdays were in February, but they’ve both been gone a long time, so those are now days of reflection rather than celebration.

There are also a couple of federal holidays. Or is it just one holiday now? It’s hard to remember when both Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays are hardwired into my internal calendar. I loved February when I was a young schoolgirl — not only was February a short month but we had those two extra days off. I suppose all that’s worth acknowledging if only for the remembrance of childhood glee.

But truly, in my life now, none of that is any reason to celebrate the arrival of February. So what am I “yay”ing about? Well, because it is no longer January!!! That, for sure, is something to celebrate. January felt interminably long, as if several extra days — or even weeks — had been added to that generally quick-moving month.

It wasn’t really a bad month for me. Oh, there were a few frigid days and a night when it got down to seven below zero, and it did snow a couple of times, but for the most part, I’ve been inside reading (and fighting some sort of sinus thing), so it didn’t really matter how cold it was.

No, the only problem with January was that it dragged on way too long. But now the drag is finally over. So, yes — Yay! February!

***

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

 

A Sort of Apology

I feel as if I should apologize for all these Wheel of Time posts, and yet, here I still am.

In an effort to find an alternative to posting here, I looked for book discussions, thinking it would be fun to talk about the story, characters, and implications of the various events with other students of the work, but the discussions fell into a few distinct categories:

Discussions during the long years while fans waited for a new book to be published, most centering on where they thought the story was going, and which are now defunct because the series of books is finished and the ending, or at least an ending, is known.

Discussions centered on who loved what character, and how foolish were those who didn’t like said character. That sort of non-discussion gets old, especially if you hold a minority opinion and don’t want to be lambasted.

Discussions about the end of the book, and how wonderful the ending was, or if not how wonderful the ending was, how wonderful the substitute writer was for writing it (ignoring the fact that he got paid, and even more importantly, that the project catapulted him into fantasy superstardom).

None of those discussions fit with anything I wanted to discuss, and anyway, most were many years old. Any newer discussions revolved around the now cancelled television series, and how terrible/wonderful the show was. (Terrible because it turned the story into something completely different from the books, wonderful because . . .  well, because it was the Wheel of Time.)

I tried starting my own discussion, but only got the usual fan-type comments such as “I liked character A, I hated character B.”

I considered resurrecting one of my dormant blogs and doing a chapter-by-chapter discussion, but that didn’t appeal to me. I like the puzzle the books present, and I like that in some ways it is (was?) a cultural phenomenon, with many more millions of words written about the books than were actually in the books (the first book was published right around the time the internet, discussion boards, and social sites were just beginning, and the story happened to be geared to the age group that first embraced the online world). To be honest, I didn’t want to spend that much effort on what is really just a way for me to pass mental time. (Physical time, too, but I like having something to occupy my mind, more than the issues of the day or . . . whatever.) Besides, however much I determine that upon this rereading, for sure, I will read every word, I never do. I find myself skimming or even skipping the characters I find annoying and the parts that include too much torture, both mental and physical.

I make sure, however, that I never skim or skip some of the most lyrical of Jordan’s writing. At one point, a character got lost in thoughts of the past, remembering that “They danced beneath the great crystal dome at the court of Shaemal, when all the world envied Coremanda’s splendor and might.” That’s pretty much all we ever find out about the lost nation of Coremanda, but that one sentence is haunting, conjuring in just a few words a long-forgotten time.

And then there’s a song that the same character remembers from long ago, a song that seems to be a theme of the books (NB: the Aes Sedai are the women power wielders):

Give me your trust, said the Aes Sedai.
On my shoulders I support the sky.
Trust me to know and to do what is best,
And I will take care of the rest.
But trust is the color of a dark seed growing.
Trust is the color of a heart’s blood flowing.
Trust is the color of a soul’s last breath.
Trust is the color of death.

Anyway, that lyricism is beside the point . . . actually, no — it’s not beside the point, it is the point of my rereading the books. It’s just not the point of this blog post and my feeling I should apologize for dumping my thoughts on the books here.

So, if you want an apology, you got it, but it’s not truly an apology because a sincere apology connotes a promise of not repeating the offense, and perhaps unfortunately for you, I will continue posting my thoughts until I’ve finished this reread or until I’ve given up blogging again.

***

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

Uninventing

Daily writing prompt
If you could un-invent something, what would it be?

I spent a lot of time thinking about this question because it seems as if there should be things in our lives that need uninventing, but I can’t think of any. There are a lot of things that have far reaching ramifications that I don’t like, such as generative artificial intelligence, but since it’s a direct result of computers and the internet, if it was un-invented, it would simply be reinvented.

There are things I don’t like, of course, but I try to stay away from them. It’s easy enough to do, most of the time. Keep the computer off, put the phone on airplane mode (as I do at night since no one is depending on me, and even if there were, there is nothing I could do about it that late anyway), don’t read books published after 2022 unless I’m familiar with the author.

Even though in some form, artificial intelligence has been around since the 1960s, models for the public like ChatGPT weren’t released until late 2022, and it seems as if the writing world has gobbled up the technology. People like that they can write a book in a day! Yay! Well, yay for them, not for me. I read to connect with the author’s view of the world, to find perhaps more depth to my own world. Connecting with artificial intelligence would not be the same thing at all. I’m sure, with time, generative AI will master even the complexity of human thought and emotions, developing novels that have layers to them, but I’m not interested.

Actually, I’m not interested in most authors who were first published in the past ten or fifteen years. There seems to be an underlying nastiness to so many of them, with unreliable characters lying in their own POV about what they did and about other characters, so the reader doesn’t know and can’t guess how appalling the unreliable character is until the end when you find out they were the bad guy all along. Eek. I don’t know if this is the sort of story new writers prefer or if it’s what editors are looking for, but either way, I don’t like being left with a feeling of squalor, as if there’s a thin film of filth on my soul.

But I am getting away from the point of what I would uninvent — nothing. On the other hand, if I could get rid of some policies, that I would gladly do.

***

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

Wishing You A Day Filled With Light And Lightness Of Being

For the past six months, ever since the summer solstice, darkness has been creeping into our days here in the northern hemisphere and stealing our light. Today, the shortest day of the year, we have reached the end of the creeping darkness. Tomorrow the light begins to gradually to make its way back into our lives.

This year, I haven’t been quite as aware of the creeping darkness as usual since I’ve been trying to stay in bed until the first fingers of dawn lighten my windows. Well, that’s usually what I do, though in the summer, that has me rising at the horrendously early hour of 4:30 or 5:00. Not my choice — apparently, my body has its own mind, though admittedly, that habit of early rising makes staying in bed in winter until dawn a bit difficult. Such an onerous job, but I persevere!

The problem comes at 4:30 in the afternoon when it gets dark around here, but if I don’t pay attention to the clock, and simply turn on the light as I always do when it gets dark, it’s easy to pretend the days aren’t as short as they are. Of course, then, the evenings tend to stretch out, but that’s okay, too. More time to read! Besides, we have had an inordinately warm and sunny fall. (We seldom think of December as a fall month, but it’s way more fall than winter since this year winter didn’t begin until this morning at 8:03 Mountain Standard Time.) The sunshine helps brighten the short days. (I’m trying to ignore the distressing part of such a long autumn — my lingering seasonal fall allergies, but oh, well. There’s always a drawback.)

Still, today is the end of the creeping darkness and a day to celebrate the growing of the light.

Wishing you a day filled with light and lightness of being.

***

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

Subverting Stereotypes in The Wheel of Time

Last night, I spent a considerable amount of what should have been sleeping time looking for bad reviews of the last three books of The Wheel of Time series. After the death of the real author, the series was finished by a stand-in author, who did an execrable job, and I wondered why none of those books rated less than a three-star review on Amazon.

One reason, I discovered, is that a lot of people give him kudos for doing a thankless job, but it wasn’t thankless. He got paid for his work, and those books helped catapult him into the fantasy-writer stratosphere.

Another reason is that he writes in a simplistic style that appeals to today’s readers — short sentences; quick scene changes; lots of action; little real character development; not a lot of depth, emotional or otherwise. All of which is antithetical to Robert Jordan’s writing.

I also tend to think a lot of the acclaim he gets for his Wheel of Time books is because they are in direct contrast to Jordan’s books. There is no doubt that Jordan’s last few books could have used some heavy editing (though oddly, one of the substitute author’s acclaimed books is more or less a replay of the Jordan book that people tend to hate) but much of what people seem to object to in Jordan’s writing are things that shouldn’t be an issue.

For example, when Jordan started writing The Wheel of Time books, there were few female protagonists in that genre. This lack makes sense in a way because the writers of high fantasy tended to be male. Also, the genre seemed to attract more males than females in the beginning (or at least it was assumed to be so). Writing a male protagonist was safe — females will read books written by and for males more often than the reverse.

Jordan tried to turn this assumption on its head, writing both male and female protagonists. He tried to balance the power between males and females, and he tried to subvert stereotypes. It surprised me to discover that so many people think his writing is sexist, though in a world of his own making, with sexual dynamics of his own making in that world , how can he possibly be considered sexist?

One of the problems is that his readers are so young. (I have yet to discover a group of readers my age, online or off, who have any interest in reading the books let alone discussing them in any depth.) These younger generations don’t realize there was a time not that long ago when women were considered gossipy, flighty, unable to handle finances, and needed to be looked after as if they were children. In fact, it wasn’t until 1974 that women could obtain credit cards in their own name without a male co-signer. At the same time, it became illegal for mortgage companies to refuse loans to unmarried women as had been common.

It was only a handful of years after these major real-world changes that Jordan started thinking about his series. In his attempt to subvert stereotypes, he reversed things — women in his series consider men to be gossipy children who don’t have any sense, so the women think nothing of bullying the men to get them to do what the women think is right. Making things more complicated, in Jordan’s world, men are raised to be chivalrous, putting women’s safety first, and protecting them even if they don’t want the protection. This leads to an underlying theme of the story — men don’t understand women, though they try to. Women don’t understand men, though they think they do.

Adding further to this complicated dynamic, the “magic” system had become one-sided. It used to be that both men and women could tap into the power that drove the universe, so they were equals. But during the time of the story, only women were able to use the power, so it threw the balance off.

And yet readers try to fit today’s mores into Jordan’s world.

What really made me stop and think during my research last night is that most of the people in the United States today became adults after those life-changing laws governing women’s financial autonomy came into play. If only 20% of people were born before 1964, then that means 80% never had to deal with (and probably never had to learn about) a fairly recent time when things were so terribly unbalanced in the real world. No wonder so many Wheel of Time readers haven’t a clue what that particular theme of Jordan’s was all about.

In the end, I suppose it doesn’t really matter why the substitute author gets lauded for his awful writing. In my world, those books no longer exist, so unless I can come up with my own ending, the series ends with the real author’s death.

***

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

Steeped in Symbols

I have never paid much attention to iconography since I have no real feel for art or imagery. I think in words, process emotions in words, and come to terms with life and the world by way of words. In fact, until this very moment, I’d never even used the word “iconography.” I do know what it means, of course — the interpretation of the symbols in art, images that tell a story, especially religious symbols. It comes from eikon a Greek word meaning “image,” and graphe a Greek word meaning “writing.” Such “image writing” was the earliest form of writing. From what I’ve managed to glean, a pictograph is a simpler version of a icon, something with a single, specific meaning, whereas an icon is a symbol with a broader, more artistic meaning that generally needs to be interpreted in cultural context. (Oddly — odd to me, anyway — iconography is not the study of iconographs — iconographs are pictures formed of words.)

Not only had I never paid much attention to iconography, I’d never really paid much attention to the symbols and images that we are all familiar with until recently. I play one of those hidden images games, though for some reason I’m embarrassed to admit it. Still, I do spend time on the game, going from location to location to find the objects.

These locations are completely different from one another, and each is instantly recognizable. For example, a Christmas scene is obviously Christmas themed, a Chinese New Year scene is obviously Chinese themed, a haunted house is obviously Halloween themed. There are a vast array of images that evoke Christmas — stockings, trees, reindeer, cookies, wreaths, stars, snowflakes, candy, the colors red and green. (There are just as many images of a religious nature, such as nativity scenes, but those aren’t used in the Christmas scenes in this game.) Many recognizable Chinese images, such as lanterns, storks, conical hats, fans, and dragons. And many images that evoke a spooky feel — bats, gargoyles, brooms, witch’s hats, toads, tarot cards, wands.

The locations in the game don’t all revolve around holiday themes. For example, there is a laboratory, with images such as telescopes, magnets, funnels, bellows, oil lamp, and a medical mask; a train station with luggage, cameras, books, pigeons, and pith helmet; a seaside bungalow with mermaids, pirate hat, barometer, boat, toucan, books, and sandcastle.

None of these locations can be confused with any other, which has led to me to this reflection upon the images of our lives. We are steeped in symbols, way more than I ever imagined. This game reflects many of the cultural symbols of our lives, but there are all sorts of symbols. Religious symbols. Musical symbols. Occult symbols. Political symbols. And each of these symbols calls forth some sort of emotion. The news media in particular uses images to convey messages, and many of those images have become part of our heritage, such as Kennedy’s Texas motorcade, Nixon’s outstretched arms, the little Napalm girl.

I don’t know what any of this means — it’s just something I’ve been thinking about. But it does show me that as sophisticated and advanced as we think we are, our basic form of communication still seems to be the pictograph just as it was so many thousands of years ago.

***

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.

Pain Management

I’m reading a book about a drug dealer who only deals in legal painkillers and only sells to people in pain who can’t get the drugs from doctors and pharmacists. I do know people who have had to resort to buying their legal drugs on the street because doctors won’t prescribe the amounts they need, and even if the doctor did prescribe the drugs, pharmacists wouldn’t supply them. There are a whole lot of people falling into the cracks created by those who are trying to curb the so-called opioid epidemic.

According to the Mayo Clinic, about 10% of those who are prescribed opioids get addicted, and another 30% misuse the drugs. Although they give no explanation for the misuse, I do know that often the dose the doctors prescribe is too low to manage the pain, and either the doctors can’t or won’t up the dosage for fear of addiction, so people either suffer or take more than is prescribed. Even after doctors have established that a person is dying, they still withhold needed painkillers lest their patient become addicted. As if a person dying of cancer really cares if they become addicted — they want whatever life they have left to be as comfortable as possible. (That’s one thing that hospice does right — makes sure that people get the drugs they need for comfort. Unfortunately for me, if I ever end up in that situation, their drug of choice is morphine, which does absolutely nothing for me.)

For those who get addicted, it is a terrible thing, but so is withholding pain medications from those who desperately need them because of that 10%. Still, the vast majority of people who take opioids don’t get addicted.

The only time I took heavy painkillers was after I destroyed my wrist and arm. The doctor was more than willing to prescribe the pills and even prescribed a high enough dosage to manage the pain. The problem was the pharmacists. What ogres they were! The first pills I was prescribed didn’t work, so the doctor gave me a prescription for Percocet. The pharmacy closest to me didn’t carry Percocet, and the next pharmacy was going to throw away the prescription because they figured I was scamming them. Yep, me, with a device like a mini sewing-machine attached to my arm, bloody bandages still visible (because doctors are rethinking the idea of constantly changing bandages; apparently blood is clean but air isn’t). Those people stared at me with cold eyes and watched until I left the store. I finally found a pharmacy that had the drugs and would fill the prescription, but they fought me on it because the records showed I still had some of the first pills left. A couple of weeks later, when I went to get more pills, they refused to sell them to me because their records showed I should still have half of them left — even though the prescription was for six a day, the pharmacist thought I should only be taking three a day. Many tears and a long confrontation later, I left with painkillers. Truly a horror!

I’m lucky in that my pain was relatively short-lived — six months vs. the lifetime of pain some people suffer. I also hated the pharmacists way more than I hated the pain, so I weaned myself off the pills long before the six months were up even though I still had pain because cripes, who wants to be treated like a criminal when all they want is to get their legally prescribed painkillers?

I don’t know what the answer is. I do know people shouldn’t have to suffer when the means to minimize the pain is available especially since 90% of them won’t get addicted. I do know that people shouldn’t have to be reduced to illegal activities to get the medication they need. And yet there is that 10% who do get addicted. There must be some way to catch the addiction early so that no one becomes addicted and no one has to deal with pain, but apparently that is beyond today’s pharmaceutical industry.

***

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.

It’s Groundhog Day!

Is it still Groundhog Day when you live in an area where there are no groundhogs? When there is no creature to determine how much of winter is left?

The superstition is that if the groundhog sees its shadow, there will be at least six more weeks of winter, which is a sure bet since this year there are six and a half weeks between February 2 and March 20, the official first day of spring. If the groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, there will still be six and a half weeks until spring, though supposedly, the temperatures will be a bit milder.

But what if there is no groundhog? Will there be six more weeks of winter? It’s still a sure bet!

Groundhogs, also known as woodchucks, are flatlanders and live in the eastern portion of the United States. Here in Colorado, we have yellow-bellied marmots, also known as rock chucks or whistle pigs, and they prefer higher elevations. Although groundhogs and marmots are not the same thing, they are both rodents of the squirrel family. The scientific name of the groundhog is Marmota monax. The name of the yellow-bellied marmot is Marmota flaviventris. So technically, the name of this day should be Marmot Day.

But either way, no matter what sort of creature you use to foretell the demise of winter and the coming of spring, a wood chuck, a rock chuck, or a chuckleheaded weather person, it still comes down to the same thing — six and a half more weeks of winter.

To be honest, here in Colorado, that’s a good thing. Too often we get early spring weather and then — so much fun! — we get a late-season Indian Winter. (Oops. Can’t say that. Indian Summer is now called Second Summer, so Indian Winter would be called Second Winter.) The problem with that upsurge of winter once spring has started to make itself felt is that new buds are “nipped” by the late freeze, damaging crops, preventing fruit trees from producing, and decimating or delaying spring flowers.

Luckily, despite what all those seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators say, spring will be here in a matter of 46 days.

Happy Marmot Day!

***

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.