culture | Bertram's Blog

A Memorial to Dakota

April 17, 2015 — Pat Bertram

On April 25th I will be walking with a team for March of Dimes. On April 17, 2007, the daughter of a good friend gave birth to a stillborn baby she named Dakota. As a memorial to Dakota, and as a way of making his absence count, his mother has become an indomitable fundraiser for the March of Dimes. She is also venturing into her own non-profit organization, to support and offer resources to those who suffered pregnancy losses.

I’m doing this three-mile walk as a way of giving thanks that I was born, and born healthy. And for the tacos my friend bribed me with. (Though I would have done it even without the bribe.)

If you wish to support the cause, let me know and I’ll email my paypal address to you for your contribution. If you happen to be in Riverside, California on April 25 and wish to join us, you can find out more about the walk here: Team Dakota.

If nothing else, pause to give thanks for all life has given you and spare a thought to what you can do to make a difference. Little Dakota never had a chance to draw even a single breath, and oh, what a difference he has made to so many people’s lives.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in culture, life. Tags: making a difference, March of Dimes, stillborn baby, Team Dakota. 3 Comments »

Dipping My Toe Into Wanderlust

April 13, 2015 — Pat Bertram

Some of you have requested that I not leave you behind when I go adventuring. Of course I’m not leaving you behind when I take off on my travels! I seem to have adopted the philosophy that an unblogged life is not worth living, so I will be keeping up with this web log as data plans, phone signals, and wifi spots permit. Besides, blogging is how I make sense of what I experience — so much of my life seems to take place beneath the surface, and writing is how I connect with my own subterranean world.

My first foray into a life of travel will probably have to be more planned than I intended. I will be heading north to visit a friend, and on the way I will camp out on at least one couch that I know of, so I’ll need to coordinate dates with both friends if nothing else. But it’s not just that. The truth is, I really know very little about the world. In some respects, being in a closely-connected and highly intellectual relationship was like living in a cloister or an ivory tower, and now I need to learn how to do things, and how to do things on my own.

Choices are endless in this electronic world. Motels. Couchsurfing sites. Car camping. Tents. Hammocks. Free campsite sites. Primitive campsites. Expensive campsites geared for RVs. I spend hours every day researching equipment, places to stay, sights to see and sites to experience. As someone who walks a lot, I know that around every bend, up ahead a few feet, and off to the side is an ever-changing feast of life. Multiply those few square miles by the vastness of the earth, and there is no way anyone can experience it all.

I know I don’t have to be some place pretty to succumb to awe, but I do have to be some place. I have to sleep somewhere. I have to be warm and dry and safe (or as safe as possible. I might be listening to the call of adventure, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be reckless). Hence all the research.

I learn best by trial and error. I’ll probably need to buy my camping gear at one of those places that let’s you try things out and exchange what doesn’t suit. It’s the only way I will know what I need. But still, I’ll have to have an idea of what to buy, and that takes research.

I’m getting an inkling that this first trip will be a case of dipping my toe into wanderlust — not the start of adventure, but the start of preparing for adventure. I can sense I am headed somewhere — maybe on that epic walk I can’t get out of my head — and all this is but prologue. So much to learn. So much to become — better, stronger, wiser.

At the beginning, I’ll probably be coming back here to this desert town quite frequently to recoup. Get my vehicle checked over by the mechanic. Take dance classes to rejuvenate my spirit. Replenish my supplies. And then, the world again.

And through it all, I’ll be taking you with me.

Should be a wondrous adventure!

***

Posted in being me, culture, life. Tags: awe, endless choices, learning by trial and error, life of travel, travel, wanderlust. 10 Comments »

Where Am I Going?

April 10, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I’m sitting here staring out the window, no will to do anything. I had a brief spurt of activity a couple of hours ago — packing my assortment of wide-brimmed hats and a few other last-minute, hard-to-pack items in preparation for moving most of my stuff into a storage unit tomorrow. But all of a sudden the idea I was working so hard for . . . well, for basically nothing . . . brought me to a halt.

A.A. Milne’s poem “Spring Morning” keeps churning around in my head:

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

Oddly, the words I hear are spoken in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice — or perhaps not so oddly. I think the only time I ever heard the poem was when he read it to the children in the movie Kindergarten Cop.

What does it matter where people go? Or more specifically, what does it matter where I go? Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

I still have approximately ten days in this house, though every day it becomes emptier and emptier. The furniture people have spoken for is gradually being picked up, and my last week here I’ll be sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

And then? I still don’t know. I’ve been looking for places to stay, calling folks who put ads in the paper, mentioning my predicament to everyone I talk to. Others are doing the same on my behalf. I promised to stay until June, and it’s a promise I intend to keep, not just because I like to keep my promises, but because I need those two months of dance classes. The studio has added balletrobics to the roster, and the intense workout will be good for me. I need to get in shape for . . . well, for wherever life takes me.

I’ve been researching various shelters for on the go, such as vans, tents, hammocks, and I’ve become quite intrigued with the idea of such a primitive/advanced sleep system as the hammock. (These are not those rope hammocks with the crossbars that eject you from your place whenever you move, but are made of parachute nylon, which makes them more transportable and comfortable, and come with mosquito net enclosures and tarps to protect from the rain.)

I have to laugh at my pretensions sometimes. Me on an epic walk? Me on a solo camping trip? Me living loose and carefree out in the world? So absurd! Maybe even foolish.

And yet . . . and yet . . .

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
“It’s awful fun to be born at all.”
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
“We do have beautiful things to do.”

***

Posted in culture, life. Tags: A.A. Milne Spring Morning, moving, where am I going?. 8 Comments »

Pilgrims and Pilgrimages

April 5, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I just got a notice on Facebook that I’ve been approved for a group called “American Pilgrims on the Camino,” though I’d never requested to join, never even knew there was such a group. I do know that El Camino de Santiago is the name of the pilgrimage route(s) to the shrine of the apostle St. James the Great in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of the saint are buried. Many people make the pilgrimage for religious or spiritual reasons, but others have a more secular agenda, such as an adventure or challenge.

The first I’d heard of The Camino came from a women I walk with who mentioned that she wanted to do it. It seemed quite romantic, this pilgrimage, even for a non-believer, but the truth is, any hike I do is by way of a pilgrimage. Walking for me is not a sport, not an endurance test. It’s a way of connecting to the outer world as well as a way of exploring my inner world.

Christine Valters Paintner wrote: “I am captivated by the image of pilgrimage as a metaphor for our human journeying. Not just the physical journeys we make to outward places, but to the interior places of the heart, the new landscapes we are called to explore. Can we allow our own trajectories to be oriented in a new direction? Often the call arrives to our own lives unbidden. Something happens which we did not expect and we need to shift our perspective to open our eyes to this new possibility.”

I feel the call, but I don’t know what is calling me or what I’m being called to do. It certainly has come unbidden, this pull toward adventure, but I am opening my eyes to new possibilities. It seems as if the whole world is out there for the taking if I only have the courage to grab it.

I doubt the Camino is in my future. Although travelers rhapsodize about crossing a lower ridge of the Pyrenees, walking on farm roads through areas of rolling vineyards and crossing several mountain passes, and tramping through the forested river valleys of Galicia, the truth is that much of the Camino is paved, and is better suited to bicycling. In some ways, such a pilgrimage would agree me because stores and inns line much of the road enabling me to carry a light pack, but it seems silly to travel all the way to Spain for a pilgrimage when I can do something even more spiritually rewarding here in the USA.

Still, for now, I’ll keep my membership in The Camino group. I could end up doing almost anything, including making such a trip. Or I could end up just making small pilgrimages. After all, there are dance classes to consider, and dance is a pilgrimage in itself.

***

Posted in culture, history/myth, life. Tags: adventure, adventure is calling, American Pilgrims on the Camino, Christine Valters Paintner, dance is a pilgrimage, El Camino de Santiago, pilgrimage. 8 Comments »

April Fools

April 1, 2015 — Pat Bertram

When someone sends me an email, I figure it belongs to me, so I have no compunction about sharing it. Here is a letter I received today. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. It is from my clever and witty (and weird) publisher.

Dear Author, as you know a great percentage of the royalties we receive and forward on to our authors comes from Amazon. We have been notified that Amazon, following upon the success of Bitcoin, has decided effective June 1, 2015, to move to an alternative form of currency. It is doing this strictly on a trial basis with a small portion of its business concerns. Unfortunately for us, since they started in book/publishing, Amazon is going to use this new currency initially as payment and receipts for book sales. Those of us whose titles are carried by Amazon must submit to the use of this new currency if we are going to continuing using their services.

The exchange rate will be 7 to 8, meaning that you will receive 1 new standard of Amazon currency for every 1 American dollar. The new currency, because it centers around literature, books and publishing, will be called Amacoin Litibook, or just “litty” for short. Therefore, if you earned $80.00 American dollars, your royalty will actually be ©70.00 “litty,” or if you earned $100.00, you’d receive ©87.50 litty. Because this new exchange rate may be somewhat difficult to figure, we’ve decided to create a chart that will make the actual payment you receive easier to figure as it will clearly show the “lit scale.” Henceforth, those who do well in royalty earnings will be said to be “all lit up,” while lesser sales will be referred to as “half lit” or “un lit.”

Please let us know if you have any questions about this new change in your royalty payment procedures. And happy April Fools’ Day. –Your Publisher

And happy April Fools’ Day from me, too!

***

Posted in culture, writing. Tags: alternate currency, April Fools' Day, bitcoin. 3 Comments »

Decked Out in Disco Duds

March 31, 2015 — Pat Bertram

My jazz class performed in a local talent show last Saturday. We danced to “I Love the Nightlife” by Alicia Bridges. We sparkled, not just our smiles and spirits and steps, but our costumes too. The black outfits were decorated with prismatic smiley faces. Can’t get much more 70s than that!

In case you don’t recognize me, I’m fourth from the right, so thrilled I got to boogie!

***

Posted in culture, life. Tags: Alicia Bridges, boogie, disco, I Love the Nightlife. 11 Comments »

The Secret to a Long Marriage

March 29, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I just saw another of those ubiquitous and supposedly heartwarming posts about a couple who were married for a zillion years (I’m exaggerating — it was only sixty or seventy). They were asked how they stayed together for so long, and they gave the same answer everyone in that position does — respect, love, never going to bed angry, etc., etc., etc.

The true answer and the answer no one ever gives is that one of them didn’t die. That’s how you end up being together for all those years — neither of you die.

Some of us didn’t have a choice about how long we were together. Death came, and that was that. Death didn’t care that we were respectful, that we didn’t go to bed angry, that we cared for each other (in both meanings of the phrase — we loved each other and we took care of each other).

We were never given a choice whether we’d go into our twilight years hand in hand. We were never given a choice about how long we’d stay together. Death chose.

It’s not as if he was careless with his health, either. He never smoked, wasn’t dependent on caffeine or any drug no matter how benign, seldom drank and when he did it was little more than a beer or a bit of wine. He knew more about health than anyone I ever knew, including all the doctors I’ve ever met. He was also disciplined, putting all that knowledge to work — exercising, eating right, keeping his mind active. And he was kind to everyone. (It’s one of the things I fell in love with — his universal kindness. You know those women who fall in love with a jerk who is nasty to everyone but her, and she always says, “but he’s good to me.”? Well, I am not that woman.)

We thought because we took care of ourselves and each other, we’d be ones who would get to have a long and happy old age. But death thought otherwise.

When he was but 63 years old, he died.

So everyone else can ooh and aah over the sweet photos of a loving geriatric couple, but I know the truth. They were able to stay together because death left them alone.

And me? All I have to warm my old age is a photo and memories of a man who died way too young.

I sound bitter, but I’m not, not really. Life — and death — does to us what it wants. I just wish those old folks who remain together for all those years would tell the truth: “The secret to a long marriage? That’s easy — don’t die.”

***

Posted in culture, grief, relationships. Tags: bitter about death, death, dying young, living a long life, secret to a long marriage. 11 Comments »

Fabric Houses

March 26, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I’ve been researching tents, trying to find one that is livable for more than a night or two. If I ever went on an epic walk, I’d probably have to get something extremely lightweight, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to carry it, but if I went car camping, I’d have many more options.

The simplest tents are little more than a tarp. The most complicated have multiple rooms and even more complicated set-ups, especially if one person has to do it alone. The cheapest tents cost about $40. The most expensive top $4,000. The biggest tents seem to be circus tents, which are not something I have any interest in owning. (That’s just a guess about circus tents being the biggest. For all I know, the military has constructed temporary hangars that would make a circus tent look small.) The most terrifying are the bivy bags — they look like something a vampire would sleep in. I can’t imagine waking up in the middle of the night, still half-asleep from remembered nightmares of being buried alive to find the tent inches from my face. Oh, my. Sounds like heart failure waiting to happen.

Tents as both portable and p tent ermanent housing have been around for probably 40,000 years. The list of materials used for making tents throughout the ages reads like a mini history of peoplekind — mammoth hides, deerskin, silk, canvas, nylon, cuben fiber. Colors varied, too, from basic dead animal skin to rainbow hues, to camouflage and other “natural” tones.

When I imagine tent living, I don’t think of modern miracles of lightweight shelters that keep out both bugs and rain (though of course, I would need both such amenities). What I think of are glorious and sumptuous structures right out of Scheherazade or the Arabian Nights or even a fabric representation of Jeannie’s genie bottle — lots of jewel-toned pillows, rugs, silk swaths.

Sounds kind of fun, actually. I doubt I would make such a colorful tent — way too much trouble especially since there are thousands of styles on the market. Besides, I’m more of a practical person, at least on the outside. I can see getting a durable and sensible tent but inside, where it counts, furnish it with simple, colorful, lightweight portable luxuries.

I’m probably being silly since I don’t know what is feasible when it comes to fabric-home living, but I like the idea of decadent luxury coupled with sturdy practicality. Who says I have to get a solo tent? Who says I have to use a boring old sleeping bag? Who says a fabric house can’t feel like a home?

Who says I can live in a tent, even for only a night or two? I certainly don’t know, but as with all the rest of my whimsies, it’s fun thinking about.

***

Posted in culture, life. Tags: bivy bags, car camping, fabric houses, Scheherazade, tent living, tents. 12 Comments »

Going Along for the Ride

March 25, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I’m going to be without a car for about three weeks starting on Monday, and when I mentioned this to a woman I dance with, she said, “Maybe you’ll have to ask your friends for help.” She said it sweetly and kindly, but the impression my friend gave me was that I was just too damn independent. Others have come right out and said the words, not meaning them as a compliment, and I suppose it’s the truth. I don’t like to put people out or put them on the spot or make them feel burdened by my requests. Still, people do like to help. So . . .

Maybe it’s time for me to be less stubbornly independent.

Or not. What do I know? Not as much as I once did, that’s for sure.

But my friend is right. If I am without transportation at such a critical time — when I am about to be ejected from the only home I’ve known for the past five years — then I will have to ask for help, even though it’s my decision to be without a vehicle. (I’m going to have my ancient VW bug de-rusted, de-dented and re-painted in celebration of my new start in life. Makes me smile to think of restoring the bug while I am restoring me.)

It’s interesting all the changes — outer and inner — that are coming at the same time as the fifth anniversary of Jeff’s death. (The actual anniversary is this Friday.) I feel like I’m crossing some great divide, though I’m not sure what the divide is dividing. Maybe the last of my old life and the beginning of my new. Coming to my father’s house to take care of him was a transitional stage for me. A place where I could grieve, where I could move away from my old shared life without having to start anew.

And now it’s time to start anew. (We never really do start a new life, of course. Every stage is an extension of our one life, but sometimes it feels like a new start, particularly when so little of the old remains.)

Another friend said about my current situation, “Grief and joy mixed up with movement. That’s a recipe for . . . I don’t know what.” She suggested asking the I Ching. Sounds so exotic! Now I just need to think of the proper question to ask. (Not a yes or no question.)

The oddest thing about this upcoming odyssey is how many friends I have. (It bewilders me at times that so many people seem to like me.) Some friends have said I simply cannot leave the area, that I have to stay here so they can have the benefit of my company. Others say I have to go on an epic journey so they can experience it vicariously.

Me? For now, I’m just going along for the ride. And starting next week, I will literally be going along for the ride. No driver’s seat for me for a while. Should be interesting.

***

Posted in culture, grief, life. Tags: asking for help, fifth anniversary of grief, great divide of grief, grief joy movement, starting over, too independent. 7 Comments »

I Hear Adventure Calling

March 23, 2015 — Pat Bertram

I went to a backpacking store today. That’s not what the store is called, of course, but I don’t want to give them any publicity since I was underwhelmed by the experience. These people have always been touted as fantastic help, but not so in my case.

I’ve been having problems with slippage on the trails when I go hiking, and I wanted real hiking shoes. I tried on several pairs, but in all cases, the arch support on the right foot ended up beneath my heel. In cheap shoes, I have no objection to ripping out the support, but not if I’m going to pay a small fortune for something that will wear out in a few months anyway. When the salesclerk shrugged off my problem, and didn’t bother to offer any alternatives, I wandered over to look at backpacks.

I have a hard time with backpacks. My core balance is below my waist, so anything high on my back causes an imbalance. I’m also short waisted, which adds to the difficulties of fitting and carrying packs. I found one that fit today — in a gorgeous purple color! It had so many wonderful and mysterious pouches and packs, straps and buckles and zippers, that it seemed as if it would be fun to carry, but the salesclerk told me I couldn’t use it on an extended backpacking trip, that it was for day use only. I put the pack back on the rack. What the heck would I need to carry on a short day hike that would need all that space? Two or three bottles of water, an extra pair of socks, a bit of food, a camera. That’s all I take with me. I certainly don’t need to spend almost $200 to carry so little. I can continue using the kiddie pack that I bought years ago for less than twenty dollars.

The guy kept asking me what my plans were. He said that I needed to buy a pack that fit with my trip requirements. He didn’t seem to understand that for me, the reverse was true. Once I find a pack that fits, then I will see what the pack can hold, what I can carry, and then decide what my trip requirements will be. Obviously, if I can’t carry enough food and water to last several several days, I will have to make plans accordingly. Makes perfectly good sense to me, but he seemed to think I was being obtuse and contrary and suggested I take a backpacking class.

Someone recently accused me of being contrary when I said I wanted to do things my way, and perhaps I am contrary, but just because everyone does things a particular way does not make them right. Everyone can be wrong. Not that I think I’m always right, it’s just that I believe I have the right to explore alternate ways of doing things based on my needs, not what someone else thinks I need.

That store I visited today was filled with products I don’t need and wouldn’t buy even if my life depended on it. Freeze-dried food that costs more than a restaurant meal. Elaborate tents. Expensive clothes. So not my style! (If I had to define my style, I’d call myself mystical in a down to earth sort of way, as contradictory and contrary as that might sound.)

I do admit I go overboard with a do-it-myself attitude, but what difference does it make? Well, it does make a difference to those who think I disagree for the sake of being contrary, and perhaps it makes a difference to me in that sometimes it takes me a long time to learn on my own what I could pick up in a few minutes from a teacher.

And yet, Taoism 101 says: we are always our own best teacher. Give yourself credit and patience to be such a teacher to your own life.

Little by little, I will teach myself what I need to know for my great adventure. I don’t want to be foolish and do things that would be more dangerous than spiritual, more grueling than fun. If it turns out that a hike would be too much for me, I’ll walk. If a walk would be too much, I’ll drive. If a drive would be too much . . . I’ll think of something.

I hear adventure calling, and someday I will answer that call. I might even get that lovely purple backpack and let its advantages and drawbacks help decide where I will go.

***