Erasing Movies

Daily writing prompt
If you could erase one movie from your memory and watch it again for the first time, which one would it be?

I found this blog prompt amusing because except for a few movies that I’ve seen multiple times, such as “Let it Ride” and “The Princess Bride,” I’ve pretty much erased every movie I’ve ever seen from memory, so seeing any of them again would be seeing them for the first time. I didn’t purposely erase them, you understand. Life did. Time did. In fact, the only titles I remember are the two listed above.

When Jeff and I first moved to an area where the only television programming we could get was through cable, we decided to splurge and sign up for a premium movie package. Back then, when such channels were new, we had forty to fifty new movies to watch every month. As time went on, and more channels were created and more deals made, the new offerings became less and less until there were only a handful of new movies to watch each month. So we watched a lot of movies over and over again.

Before then, I’d seldom gone to the movies because I preferred to read since I could set my own pace, and I never even owned a television until Jeff and I got together, so movie watching was new to me. I think we watched just about every movie ever made until . . . hmm. I don’t remember until when.

I could watch movies if I wanted — I have hundreds of movies that Jeff had collected and although I never use it, I do have a television. Unfortunately, movie-watching doesn’t have the same effect when you watch them alone as they do when you watch them with someone who has the same level of appreciation. Besides, I seem to have erased the idea of movie watching from memory as well as the movies themselves. Despite the television’s blank eye staring at me, I never even consider watching a movie.

Perhaps someday I will watch some of those collected movies again, but until then, the movie erasure continues, so that when I do watch them, they will be new.

Not that it matters if I do remember. I like knowing ahead of time what is happening — I’m past the stage in my life where nail-biting tension has any allure. I like seeing the action, like knowing as it is happening what the characters will be facing before they do since it adds an extra level of participation. Oddly, I don’t like either in my life — not tension, and certainly not knowing the future, which if known, would probably bring with it a whole lot of tension.

So I guess, to answer the question: there isn’t any specific movie I would like to see again for the first time. As of right now, there isn’t any movie I want to see at all.

***

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

Minimalist Living

Daily writing prompt
What are the biggest benefits of minimalist living?

I had no idea “minimalist living” was a thing. A simple Google search showed me hundreds of articles about how to become a minimalist, including a lifestyle guide to minimalist living, a complete beginner’s guide to minimalism, ways to start living a minimalist lifestyle, how to ease into a minimalist lifestyle, how to convert your family to a minimalist lifestyle. And on. And on. And on.

Weird. Who knew you had to learn to live a minimalist lifestyle? It’s probably the simplest thing imaginable. You just live . . . minimally.

The truth is, I’ve been living a minimalist lifestyle my whole life, but I don’t call it that. I call it not buying things I didn’t need. I call it living debt-free, not buying anything I can’t afford right now. (My thought has always been that if I can’t afford it today, why would I suddenly be able to afford it when the bill came due? More than that, though, I’ve always had a fear of being in debt. Perhaps I read too many books about owing money to gangsters in my youth.)

I call my minimalist lifestyle “using, reusing, using up.” I call it not wasting anything, especially not food. (How do people live with themselves when they throw away perfectly good food because they don’t like leftovers? I don’t eat leftovers either. At least not by that word. I call any uneaten food a pre-cooked meal or tomorrow’s fuss-free lunch.)

I know one thing minimalism isn’t — following someone else’s guide to minimalism.

I have way more stuff than the minimalism gurus suggest, but a lot of that was hand-me-downs, such as my furniture. Instead of doing nothing in a relative’s storage unit, I get the use of those lovely items. (According to him, it’s my furniture now. I guess he was minimalizing his life by maximizing mine!) A lot of other stuff I own is left from the retail business Jeff and I used to run, though gradually, I’m finding people to dump the stuff on. (Oops. I mean finding people to donate it to.) All my extraneous stuff is neatly packed away on shelves in my garage, so it’s not in the way. Since I don’t like things on the walls in my house, my finished paint-by-number pictures and other “artwork” decorate my garage. And if I get something new, such as a gift, I get rid of something old. It doesn’t reduce what I own, but it keeps me from becoming a hoarder.

To me, minimalism isn’t so much about what I own but what I do. I try to do only one thing at a time. Not only that, I am truly a minimalist when it comes to letting — or rather not letting — the world intrude on my life.  I don’t listen to music while I do chores or whatever. Actually, though I am loath to admit it, I don’t listen to music at all because, to my tin ear, it’s all just noise. Besides, I hate having snatches of songs stuck in my head. I prefer silence. I don’t watch television, either, and when I’m on the computer, I have the volume turned off.

So what are the benefits of my minimalist style of living? Well, no debt, for one. (The typical U.S. household is carrying about $105,000 in debt. Yikes. How do people do that? Doesn’t it make them crazy to owe that much?) My income is also minimalist, but it’s not a problem because my minimalist lifestyle is one I can afford. At least for now. Since I’ve kept the same vehicle for the past fifty-four years, I don’t have to deal with a car payment, and since my driving is minimal, I don’t spend much on gas. (In fact, for me, gas is always the same price — I put in twenty-dollars’ worth each time I get gas, and that’s that.)

Other benefits — less stress since I don’t have to worry about paying off a debt. Peace of mind because I try to keep my mind as uncluttered as the rest of my life. A feeling of lightness since having too many possessions weighs me down. An ability to enjoy the small pleasures of life, such as flowers in my garden, since I haven’t straightjacketed myself into a hectic routine.

I can’t imagine living an opulent life (or whatever the opposite of a minimalist life would be). This minimalism is so ingrained in me that, to me, it’s just life.

***

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

Puzzled About Puzzles

Now that I’m not going to the library and am only reading or rereading the books in my house, I’ve mostly exchanged my reading time for pencil puzzle-solving time. I have a foot high stack of puzzles that I bought years ago when I moved here, but then I got caught up in visiting the library because it felt like such a treat.

Well, library visits aren’t a treat anymore, and the puzzles are.

When you are working a puzzle, such as a crossword puzzle, and you come to the end of what you can do on your own, do you consider it cheating to look at the solution for hints so you can finish the puzzle? Or do you see checking the answer as part of the fun of doing puzzles? Or do you abandon the puzzle unfinished to keep from cheating? If you do consider it cheating to check the solution for an answer you have no way of figuring out, do you also consider it cheating to ask someone, to use a crossword puzzle dictionary, or to look online for the answer to the clue? Do you find yourself shying away from difficult puzzles because you can’t do them without periodically checking the answer?

Years ago, I might have considered it cheating to look at the answers, but I don’t now and haven’t for a long time. It’s all part of the game for me, a way to keep the puzzle going if I hit a wall, a way to up the challenge. If I only do puzzles that are easy enough to “win” all the time, what’s the point? And anyway, if I complete the puzzle, I don’t consider it a win as much as a chance to start a different puzzle.

I’m just curious what people think. Doing the puzzles again reminded me of a discussion I had with someone years ago. I didn’t know her, she was just responding to a blog post where I pretty much asked the same questions as I am doing here, but it shocked me when she berated me on my behavior. She was appalled that I would cheat, because even if you “cheat” when it’s just a game you’re playing against yourself, then it’s still cheating

So, I know one person’s answer!

And I know mine. To me, cheating connotes an intention to deceive, and since I’m not deceiving anyone, not even myself, doing the puzzles, however they are solved, is all just a way of passing the time. Maybe it’s even a way of exercising my mind. And perhaps I’m even learning something along the way. Besides, tossing out a puzzle just because I couldn’t finish it without a quick look to see where to go next, is a waste of money. Admittedly, I bought past-date puzzle books in bulk, so each puzzle probably cost less than a penny, but even at a penny, an unfinished puzzle is a waste.

Speaking of puzzles, I created the following puzzles in 2009 for a promotion when A Spark of Heavenly Fire was published. Instead of numbers, these Sudoku puzzles use the letters from the title of the book: A, S, P, R, K, O, F, I, E.

Have fun solving! And if you get stuck, click here to find the solution: Spark of Heavenly Fire Sudoku solution.

***

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

Queen of the May

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

 

What Is Now the Reality

I don’t understand the whole “naming generations” thing. It seems to me it would make more sense to go by decades — for one thing, no one would have to remember the names; for another, people at the beginning of a decade often have more in common with those at the end than they do with their own named generation.

For example, the boomer generation is considered to be 1946 to 1964. There is a vast difference in the lives between those born at the beginning of that so-called generation than those born at the end. At its most obvious — the oldest boomers are just turning 80. Most are in their 60s and 70s. The youngest still have two to three years to go before they retire. Do people who trash the “boomers” even realize that?

I’ve been seeing a lot of envy from younger generations because they’re told that boomers hold more than 50% of the wealth, and they want a piece of it. Some will get it when the boomers die off. Although a lot of the boomer wealth came from real estate investment, a portion was inherited, and unless the state takes a greater portion of that inheritance than they did in previous years, the next generations will end up with it.

Something people don’t understand is that for many of the boomers, their real estate investment wealth is their home. One couple I know bought their house decades ago, it’s now paid off, and is worth considerably more than when they bought it. But they are still working since they haven’t hit retirement age yet, and like everyone else, they are struggling to figure out how to support their old age since that house is their main investment. So, they can live there after retirement and work part time to pay the bills, or they can sell the house, realize the profit, and hope they can somehow find something cheaper to buy that leaves them enough to fund their living expenses. That doesn’t sound like boomer wealth to me.

As for that wealth — according to Pew research, 10% of boomers hold 71% of the generational wealth. Although on average, boomers hold more wealth than the previous generation at the same age, a good percent of those folks are no better off than their parents.

So what brought this on? I saw an article — the article wasn’t even a rant, just a supposed explanation of why boomers had it so much better than subsequent generations — that said that in the mid-1960s, boomers could still buy a house with a single income. And yes, in the mid-1960s, people could buy a house with a single income, but those house buyers weren’t boomers. They were the previous generation. In 1965, the oldest boomer was still a teenager, the youngest, a toddler. Unless there were a lot of really precocious babies back then, they weren’t buying houses.

What people don’t seem to realize is that by the time boomers were old enough and had enough money to buy a house, the housing market had changed and suddenly it took two incomes to afford what the previous generation could do on a single income. (I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that feminism grew considerably around that time. Did the need for two incomes fuel the movement, or did the movement somehow fuel the need for two incomes?)

Another thing that people don’t realize is how few basic things were necessary back then. Cable was just coming into prominence in the mid1970s; before that, television was free. There were no cell phones for each family member but a single phone, with perhaps an extension, plugged into the wall. Designer clothes were the privilege of the rich. Middle class women might yearn, but never assumed those clothes were for them. As for the whole “cute” shoe fetish and brand-name bags? Again, saved for the rich. It wasn’t until the 1980s and 90s that logos and brands became global status symbols. People today seem to think that fast food and take out were always available, and yes, there were a few fast-food outlets, but they were a special treat rather than a staple. Takeout was pretty much restricted to Chinese food, and most supermarkets didn’t even have delis.

As the pace of life speeded up, with the need for two incomes to support a family, the idea of cooking at home every night was overtaken by the prepared food market, which added considerably to the family food budget.

People complain that boomers are too ignorant about technology, and admittedly, now and again, you do come across a person in their late 70s who fumble with phones and computers, but most of the boomers, though not born with a phone in their chubby little hands, had to learn about computers to keep their jobs. Most boomers have been into technology for the past thirty years. It’s the previous generation that has a hard time with phones and computers, mostly because they didn’t need to learn until their grown children talked them into it.

As for those who complain about too many boomers in the House and Senate? Nope, again, those ancient folks aren’t boomers. They’re part of the never-silent “silent generation.”

And lest you think these ideas are limited to a single demographic, back then, before the government decided to get in on the act, people were doing just fine by themselves, naturally integrating into better neighborhoods.

Did the boomers have it better? I don’t know. I do know that the air was cleaner, the streets quieter (fewer two-car families and people worked closer to home so commutes were shorter), kids could play outside and had a lot more independence than kids do nowadays. Although health insurance was affordable, one could get by without insurance since doctors’ fees didn’t include exorbitant malpractice insurance rates. Because of the 1976 gas shortage, cars were smaller, more efficient — the boom in SUVs came in the 1990s.

Although boomers were able to buy their houses earlier than later generations, I have to wonder how much of that had to do with the money saved by having fewer necessities to buy, but whatever the reason, I do know that most homeowners were able to buy a house at a much younger age than I was.

Not that any of this matters. People will think what they want, though it’s never a good thing to compare yourself with other generations. It’s all about making the best of the world you live in, whatever generation it might be — and whatever name it might have — because the past (and lamenting the past) can never change what is now the reality.

***

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

True Names

I started reading Patrick Rothfuss’s Kingkiller Chronicle and only got a few pages into the book when I had to stop and research the belief that there is magic in names.  In The Name of the Wind, the first book of the two-book trilogy, someone falls, and since he knows the name of the wind, he calls the wind and the wind comes and gently lowers him to the ground. That struck a resounding chord in me. I’ve always known about the magic of names, but not necessarily in that context. I’d started the book years ago, might even have finished it, so the echo about the magic of knowing the name of something could have been from that very book, but the recognition seemed deeper than that, and I wanted to check it out.

I never did figure out what specifically triggered that echo. There are simply too many references to the magic of names and the power of true names to mention here. It seems to be a word-wide cultural belief, not just in folklore, fairy tales, and myth, but in practice. In some cultures, parents hid their children’s real name behind a secondary name to be commonly used because your true name holds power and anyone who knows that name has at least a modicum of power over you. Even today, without names being directly related to magic, names have a vast importance — think how long most parents-to-be deliberate on what to name their child. And how they have a second name to use when chastising their child, and sometimes even a third name to show a special affection.

This idea of a “true name” seems to be intrinsic, or at least it is in me. I remember as a youngster wanting to know the names of birds, and it shocked (and horrified) me when I realized the names we’ve given to the birds are just labels. They’re not their true names. I gave up any interest in learning bird names after that, because there didn’t seem to be much point to it. Now if I could learn birds’ true names, the names they give themselves, that would be something different!

I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what my author name should be because I needed as much power as possible bestowed on me and my books. I finally settled on the simplest version of my given name. After Jeff died, and I set out on my journey to find a new life, I met a lot of people. I hesitated to tell anyone my true name — I didn’t want strangers knowing much about me or having even that bit of power over me because I was already feeling vulnerable, so I gave them my author name. Besides, back then I still had hopes of becoming a known author (known to more than just a few people, that is), and I hoped that telling people my author name would help solidify my “brand.”

The problem with not using my true name is that when strangers became friends, it was too late to give them my true name. An even greater problem is that I don’t even know what my true name is anymore. I look for it occasionally but have no idea how to find it. Maybe when the birds tell me their names, they will be able to tell me mine, too.

It could happen.

***

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

The Bob

Daily writing prompt
How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?

I was going to make this a lighthearted post because I’ve adapted well to the changes brought on by the “Bob.”

In case you don’t know, I call it the “Bob” after an excerpt in my novel, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, where protagonist Greg, and his boss, Olaf, are discussing research papers. Olaf says:

“Convoluted writing and obscure terms are a way of intimidating the uninitiated, keeping the profession closed to non-scientists, and adding to the scientific mystique. Just think, if diseases had names like Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice, doctors wouldn’t make anywhere near the amount of money they do now.”

Greg laughed. “That’s an idea. They do it for hurricanes, why not everything else?” He mimed seizing the phone and dialing. “Mr. Olaf? I can’t come in today. I’ve got the Bob.” He hung up his imaginary receiver and looked inquiringly at his boss.

Olaf nodded. “Works for me.”

All during the worst of the shutdown, I hated giving the malady — both the physical ailment and the widespread cultural and financial ill — the hated name. I didn’t want to grant the horror more power than it already had and, too, I didn’t want to surrender to the fearmongering. At least, not for myself. I don’t get the flu, and besides, I’d made a vow never allow myself to get caught up in another scarifying scheme such as happened with the Swine Flu fiasco of 1976. Outwardly, I made a point of following their dictates. I stayed home. (Yay!! Such a good excuse to take a break from socializing.) I made sure to stay 6 feet away from anyone I did happen to see. (Again, yay!! I’ve never liked people standing on my heels while waiting in line.) I wore the mask. (Another yay! I liked the anonymity.) And I always made sure I had an easy answer when asked if I’d gotten the vaccine. (It wasn’t a lie, but not the strict truth, either.) And even though we’ve been paying for the stimulus checks with inflation for the past few years (each of us has probably spent more in inflationary dollars than we ever received for “free”), they were a nice bonus for me at the time.

So, for me, it wasn’t a hardship. The worst thing, I think, was keeping from getting caught up in the fear. And the best thing was having an excuse to be alone, and that still holds true to this day.

So why did I change my mind about a lighthearted post? Because other people weren’t so lucky. I know several women who lost their husbands and subsequently their way of life. (Too often widows end up in financial straits, as if losing that one special person isn’t trauma enough.) I know others who have lost beloved family members. And I know still others who have become lost in a cycle of never-cured illnesses.

If this had been a naturally occurring illness, there might be some sense of fatalism to help with acceptance, but I doubt there’s anyone out there who still believes it “just happened.” We (the people) might never know the truth. Might never know who to blame. Might always be shadowed by the spector of “if they did it once, they can do it again.”

One thing I do know: we — individually and as a people — will always be changed forever by the “Bob.”

***

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

A Day of Pointless Foolery

I’ve never been a fan of practical jokes. Not the crude ones like whoopie cushions. Not the mean ones like switching sugar and salt. Not the cruel ones like sending someone a fake love letter purporting to be from a person they’ve admired from afar. Not the disastrous ones like telling someone you were dying. And especially not the elaborate ones where the poor pranked person hadn’t a clue.

There was once a television show where the hosts played practical jokes on people. In one episode, a well-known actor had been wined and dined extensively by industry bigwigs as a prelude to his getting some important acting job. He played it cool, not getting excited, just accepting the scenario as possible since there was nothing out of the ordinary about the situation. At the end, when they told him it was all a joke, for a moment there was a blank look on his face, not embarrassment — just blank. As if the whole thing had been totally pointless, which such pranks are.

When I was growing up, we didn’t have a television because my father didn’t want us to be like everyone else, nor would he let us listen to the popular radio stations. Since I was naïve and out of the mainstream, kids often picked on me. One day, I got to school and found chalk hearts all over the playground with PB + EP inside. I couldn’t figure out what EP stood for since there was no one in the school with those initials, and no one would tell me what they meant. They laughed, thinking the whole thing hilarious. I don’t know how many days they strung out the joke until someone finally told me EP stood for Elvis Presley. I just stared at them, totally at a loss since I’d never heard of him. (Yep, I was that culturally isolated.) I still don’t understand the point of that incident; it just seems so utterly bizarre.

Today is April Fools’ Day, though in my world, it’s not something I ever bother to “celebrate” except in the way I celebrate anything — by learning about it.

Our April Fools’ Day probably came from a combination of two different historical events. The Romans held a Hilaria Festival on March 25, celebrating with masks, jokes, games, parades, the first day of the year where daylight was longer than the dark. Also, until 1582, people used a Julian Calendar, where the first day of the year was April 1. When they switched to the Gregorian Calendar, some people didn’t know that the first day of the year had been changed to January 1 and so continued to celebrate on April 1. They were considered fools, fair game for the pranks more enlightened folk played on them. Yeah, fun.

The only time I have ever been a “good sport” about a practical joke is when someone said something outrageous, then immediately admitted they were just joking. Anything longer is just . . . well, it’s just cruel. For the rest, being a good sport seems to mean that anyone can do anything to you and you’re supposed to take it with a smile, and that’s something I can’t do since it gives tacit approval to unkindness. Luckily, I’m old enough not to care what sort of sport people think I am and so can stop pretending that meanness is fun.

So, whatever the general meaning of this day, to me it only means staying inside by myself until the pointless foolery is done.

 

***

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

Stringing Stories Together

I happened to read an old review of the Wheel of Time book saga, where the reviewer dismissed the massive work by saying all Jordan did was string together stories like The Lord of the Rings and Dune.

That made me laugh because that was sort of the point — an iteration of previous tales, stringing them together to create his world. No, Jordan didn’t copy those books. He simply paid homage to writers he loved, though there could be more similarity than maybe he intended because he used a lot of same sources as did those authors. What he did do, during the ten years he spent researching his world before writing one single word of the first book, was . . . well, research. He researched world myths, legends like King Arthur, folklore, history, costume, culture, war. Then he broke all that up into little pieces and rebuilt his world from those fragments of our past and an imagined future. There are few if any direct parallels to our word but instead there are multiple parallels for each character and culture.

For example, a lot of people think Jordan’s warrior culture, the Aiel, is based on the Fremen from Frank Herbert’s Dune since both are desert-dwelling warrior cultures, and perhaps Jordan did give a nod to Dune, but Jordan’s warrior culture is an amalgam of Zulu, Bedouin, Apache and Japanese cultures, and maybe some others. Their looks (pale skin, light hair, and light eyes) and their system of clan and sept is a parallel of old Scottish and Irish clans and septs. The Aiel are further connected to the Irish through the Tuatha’an, a Wheel of Time culture named after The Tuatha Dé Danann. And something I just discovered — their system of ownership, where women own the houses and everything in them, comes from the Cherokees. (In case you’re wondering, this puzzle aspect of the books is one of the reasons I keep rereading. It’s fun for me to dig out all the references.)

Jordan said over and over again that he wanted his world to be both our past and our future. As he pointed out, “You can look two ways along a wheel.” Also in his world, what goes around, comes around so that the characters in the books are the source of many of our myths and legends and we are the source of many of theirs. He said he wanted to explore what the nature and sources of our myths might be.

His explanation for why the myths and even the histories that the characters experience in The Wheel of Time are so different from ours is that what is remembered and how it’s remembered changes throughout the ages, like the game of Whisper, or Telephone, or Gossip, where someone passes a secret to the next person, who passes on what they heard to the next person, and in the end, what results is generally unlike what was originally said. His point was that things change over time, that stories change, that names change.

He points this out at the beginning of the first chapter of every book: “The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again.”

When asked where he got the idea of a wheel, he said, “The name comes out of Hindu mythology, where there is a belief that time is a wheel. Many older cultures believe that time is cyclic, that it repeats. In fact, I believe the best thing the ancient Greeks gave us was (the idea) that time was linear and change was possible.”

That’s for sure! There is a fatalism to the books stemming from the wheel, where everything will be repeated when the wheel comes around again, though perhaps with minor differences. Which also gives them their belief that you can change your life in small ways, but not large ones. Not an easy philosophy to live under.

But I’m getting away from my original point: to say that Jordan strung a bunch of stories together is true. Sort of. But it completely negates the brilliance of the world he created — our distant past and perhaps our distant future.

***

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