culture | Bertram's Blog

A Three-Letter Word for Freedom

June 20, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I don’t drive a lot — less than 150,000 miles in 42 years — but still, a car is important to me. Our society is set up where a vehicle is essential to go the long distances our daily lives seem to require. It’s a way of carrying all the food and equipment we need, a way to keep in touch with far-flung families and friends, a way of extending our reach and renewing the views forming the backdrop of our lives. But even more than that, a car spells freedom.

My car conked out the other night (actually, it was the fuel pump that conked out), and so I’ve been without transportation, having to rely on friends to get me and my father to his various appointments and to round up the medications he needs. I’ve been without a car before when it’s been in the shop, sometimes for several days, and I used to revel in the freedom of not having to care for such a large and needy object. Often I would go weeks without driving since I prefer traveling on foot when possible. But today, I’ve been antsy, waiting for the mechanics to call and tell me the car is fixed.

Even though I might not have driven today since my father needs me here, I feel trapped not having the car around in case I felt the urge to escape my life for just a few minutes. A car is a promise that we can go farther and faster than ever our feet could carry us. It’s a promise that life awaits beyond the confines of our responsibilities. It’s a promise of adventure, fun, freedom.

The irony of this situation is that I’ve been thinking about walking up the coast to Seattle, a trip that might take me a year, and the thought of not having to deal with a car and whatever mechanical and maintenance issues that might arise on a long trip has been refreshing. And here I am fretting over the absence of my car. (I know I’m overusing the word “car,” but it’s too old and bedraggled to merit the appellation of “vehicle.”)

So here I wait.

Is that the phone I hear? No, just my imagination calling me.

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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: a car is a promis of freedom, car and freedom, car and vehicle, fuel pump. 9 Comments »

My Polarized Life — The Profound and the Profane

June 18, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I’m sitting here trying to think of something uplifting to say. It’s not that today is a bad day, it’s just that like all my days, it’s too polarized — from the profound experience of learning to dance to the profane experience of life in my father’s house.

My father is 97 years old and is doing well — he gets up and can walk around by himself, can even take off the oxygen for a few minutes if he needs to go beyond the tether of the tubing. He mostly looks after himself, but the every day aspects of life are beginning to defeat him. He has a hard time concentrating and remembering, though these lacks are due to congestive heart failure and age, not Alzheimer’s. (He recently took and passed an Alzheimer’s test.) Still, there are always personal things that he needs me to take care of, such as shopping and cooking what few cooked foods he eats. There are frequent house matters for me to take care of such as bad television, phone, and computer reception. And there is my dysfunctional homeless brother who is currently camping out in the garage.

For some reason — perhaps because I am here — my brother delights in tormenting me, calling me childish names such as “Porky” and “Lard Ass” as well as more adult-rated names. He is obviously suffering, and I am trying to be kind to him, even when he graffities car and bangs on my windows for hours at a time, but I have no idea what he really wants. Even if I did know, I’m not sure I could do anything for him. His problems are way out of my ability to comprehend. His relationship with his problems is even harder to fathom. He likes his “evil” side. He thinks it’s the best part of him, and perhaps it is. His core personality seems to be humble and self-effacing, helpless, even, like a bewildered little boy stuck inside a grown man’s decaying body. For sure, he has no interest in getting help to balance himself out.

dance I sometimes think of moving on and leaving my father and brother to fend for themselves, but I’m not sure I want to be the sort of person who can walk out on her aged, increasingly confused father and leave him to care for himself. (My brother sure couldn’t do anything to help. He doesn’t seem to be able to recognize that anyone but himself needs help.)

Besides, if I moved on, I’d have to give up dancing. The irony is that by being here in this bizarre household, I have the freedom to indulge my newfound love of dancing. If I left, I’d have to get a job, which would leave me no time or energy for dance classes, and for now, dancing is important to me. It feels like a pilgrimage, a spiritual journey. It has lessons to teach me beyond the discipline of the basic steps and the joy of the choreographed dances I am learning, though I’m not sure what those lessons are. I might never know since much of dance is subliminal, needing the focus of both the body’s mind as well as the mind’s mind and perhaps even the soul.

As Shirley MacLaine said, “Dance is an art that impends on the soul. It is with you every moment, it expresses itself in everything you do.”

Whatever lessons I learn from dance will be with me long after the memories of this household have faded. Dance is that important. And so I continue this polarized existence, paying for the profound privilege of dancing with the profanity in the rest of my life.

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Posted in culture, life, relationships. Tags: dancing, dancing as a pilgrimage, importance of dance, Shirley MacLaine and dancing. 4 Comments »

A Tale of Two Insects

June 16, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I watched an old CSI show the other day where Grissom told a story about a guy who found a spider swimming in his toilet. For a couple of mornings the guy watched the spider struggling to survive the maelstrom of flushing. One morning, the guy decided to rescue the spider. He took it out of the water and set it on the floor. The next day, he found th spider e spider dead. “Why,” Grissom asked, “did the spider die? Because one life impinged on another.”

In my case, it’s ants I find, and my tale is about ants in the microwave. At this time of year, ants are an epidemic, so it’s difficult to keep on top of the infestation. (I’m telling you this so you don’t think the microwave is filthy. It isn’t.) I don’t like killing anything, not even insects, but if you don’t keep on top of the little critters, they go home and tell all their friends about a great party house they found, and the next thing you know, you have ants boogieing all over the place, even on your body when you sleep. Not a pleasant way to be awakened, that creepy-crawly sensation. (Cinnamon sprinkled in corners, by doors, and under windows usually keeps ants away, but a few manage to find other ways into the house.)

The same day I watched CSI, I opened the microwave door after heating some food and found a couple of Pharoah ants scurrying around inside. (Pharoah ants are more commonly known as sugar ants because they are attracted to sweets and greasy foods. Sounds like most of us, doesn’t it?)

Obviously, the ants were inside when I started the oven, so they should have been nuked, but they weren’t.

A bit of research explained why they survived. Microwave ovens don’t heat evenly, so ants can hide in the cool corners. Ants have a relatively small amount of water inside their bodies compared to their outside surface, and apparently it’s the water that heats up in a microwave. This large body surface compared to their volume helps cool them down, so if they make a mistake and end up in a hot spot, their heat dissipates quickly.

So here we have a tale of two insects, one whose life was impinged on by another, and one whose life remained unimpinged.

The moral is . . . I don’t know. Perhaps that we have to live our lives the best way we know how, and if we impinge on other lives, so be it. It could even be that impinging is what life is all about.

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Posted in culture, life. Tags: CSI, Grissom spider story, spider swimming in a toilet, why ants don't get die in a microwave oven. 2 Comments »

Walking and Volkswalking

June 14, 2014 — Pat Bertram

No wonder I do so much alone. I don’t understand the point of many group activities that people seem to enjoy.

Someone suggested I look into volkswalking since I walk a lot, but it doesn’t really appeal to me. It seems to be organized walking in groups, and I get that with the three-nights-a-week conditioning walk with the Sierra Club and an occasional hike with one of the hiking groups in the area. Volkswalking also supposed to be non-competitive walking, but anyone who completes a walk or a certain amount of mileage gets a badge or a stamp in a book (which they pay for themselves) to show what they accomplished. To me, anytime you give people “achievement awards” for completing something, it’s competitive, even if there isn’t one so-called “winner.” Why else do you need a badge? You know you did it — a badge can’t give you that. Only you can.

The premiere purported purpose of the various volkswalking clubs is to promote regular physical fitness for overall good health. So if you’re already walking, half of what they have to offer is negated. I suppose if I were in a new area and wanted to meet people, I’d go on one of the walks, but otherwise, if I were interested in the area, I’d just . . . walk.

That’s always been the benefit of walking — if you have two working feet and legs or reasonable facsimiles, that’s all you need. You just put one foot in front of the other, and you’re walking. What can be simpler?

Still, over 400,000 people take part in American volkswalking activities every year, so the bewilderment over the phenomenon is obviously mine alone.

So, if you’re interested in walking and need more incentive than simply going outside and putting one foot in front of the other for as long as you want (or can), then perhaps volkswalking is for you.

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Posted in culture, life. Tags: group walk, non-competetive walking, volkswalk, volkswalking, walking. 9 Comments »

When Water isn’t Water

June 13, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I got a bottle of flavored water at the store the other day. At least, that’s what I thought I was buying. I’d occasionally pick up a simple sparkling mineral water with lime and cherry oils added, which I found to be a delightfully refreshing drink that offered the same bite as sodas without the junk ingredients, and I’d indulge myself from time to time.

This time, however, I didn’t notice a change in the label until I got it home. Instead of simply calling it “Sparking Mineral Water” they called it “Sparkling Water Beverage.” When I saw the word “beverage” alarms went off in my head. “Beverage” added to water is like “drink” added to juice. It means it’s not what it says it is. (A juice drink generally is short on juice and water long on sugar and artificial flavors.)

The “beverage” turned out to have many different ingredients other than plain old water: carbonated water, citric acid, natural flavor, potassium citrate, aspartame, potassium benzoate, and acesulfame potassium.

If this particular beverage is water, then so is Coca Cola. The ingredients in Coke Zero are carbonated water, caramel color, phosphoric acid, aspartame, potassium benzoate, natural flavors, potassium citrate, potassium benzoate, and acesulfame potassium and caffeine.

The main difference between Coke Zero and “my” Sparkling Water Beverage seems to be the coloring and caffeine. Otherwise, they are basically the same sort of product.

I would never have bought the “water” if I had paid attention to the ingredients since I stay away from aspartame and rarely drink sodas.

I guess this will teach me to read all labels, especially the labels for something as innocuous as water.

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Posted in culture, life. Tags: aspartame, Coke Zero, juice drink, mineral water, read labels, sparkling water beverage. 6 Comments »

Interviews with the Police: Who Gets to Lie

June 12, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I’m still researching what happens after a person or group of persons finds a dead body. A couple of people I know are asking friends and relatives who are in law enforcement what would happen, so I’m hoping I get some good information from them. Meantime, I’ve been researching actual instances of someone finding a body, and the questioning seems to range from nothing more than the cops taking name, age, occupation, and address of each person to five hours of interrogation. That’s a wide spread. It didn’t seem to make any difference if the finder knew the deceased or not — sometimes the stranger was interviewed longer than the relative.

Also, I’ve been researching interviewing techniques, which range from “I’m your best buddy; tell me all” to what amounts to terrorist tactics. (Though such tactics are not at all endorsed by the law, they do exist especially when it comes to interrogating “hardened criminals.”) In the case of my book, I would think the buddy interview with a woman detective would work best since it plays against the stereotypes of both the horrifying interrogation and the woman cop who out-machos the men. (I know just the woman to play the cop, too — a beautiful and very helpful bank employee who was thrilled to let me use her unique name. She was also excited to become a detective, even if just literarily. When I was making changes to an account at the bank, I ended up telling her way more than I intended. I imagine it would be the same if she were a cop.)

It seems as if someone who finds a body can be a bystander, witness, material witness, person of interest, or suspect, so it’s possible that any way I write the interview scene would be okay, but I still need to get the opinion of those who worked such cases. For one thing, it will be more authentic, and for another, the more information I get, the less I have to use my imagination, and that’s the hard part of writing for me. (Well, one of the hard parts. Sitting down and actually writing is the hardest part. I figure if I tell enough people about the book, I’ll shame myself into it so I don’t have to keep offering excuses why the story isn’t being written.)

I did find this article, which should be helpful: 47 Quick Tips for Better Investigation Interviews.

And I found out something very interesting. Russell L Bintliff, in Police Procedural: A Writer’s Guide to the Police and How They Work, says, “A suspect, even when waiving his/her rights and consenting to an interrogation or interview has no obligation under the Fifth amendment to tell the truth if it incriminates him/her. A witness, for example, may be guilty of a crime for lying or giving false information; however, a suspect can legally lie, give deceptive information, or sign false confessions or proclamations of innocence and he/she cannot be charged with a crime for doing these things.”

So I guess, before you lie to the police, find out if you’re a witness or a suspect. And yet, it seems that a witness who lies would soon become a suspect, so then the lies would be okay. (What’s the difference between a witness and a suspect? The Miranda warning? And yet sometimes the cops don’t Mirandize the suspect right away, so that makes the difference all in the cop’s head.)

Making the lie situation even weirder, cops are allowed to lie to obtain evidence. They can lie and tell you you’re free to go when you’re not. They can lie to extract a confession. They can fabricate evidence. The only place they cannot lie is in court. Cops always say that if you’re innocent you have nothing to fear, but it seems to me that if you’re innocent, you have everything to fear because it makes you vulnerable.

When it comes to lying, then, the only person who can be prosecuted for their untruth is a witness. No wonder witnesses lie. They have too much to protect.

I’ll have to see how I can work this information into my book. Could make an interesting twist somewhere along the line.

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Posted in culture, How to, writing. Tags: finding a dead body, investigation interviews, police and lies, police can lie, Russell L Bintliff, suspects and lies. 12 Comments »

Load Bearing and the Human Body

June 9, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I know nothing about the mechanics of load bearing or proper ergonomic balance. I don’t even know what ergonomics is. Never really cared. But such topics have been showing up in my research into the best way of carrying loads long distances using only the human body.

I’m considering taking an epic walk, perhaps up the Pacific coast, and I’ve been trying to think outside the envelope, box, and backpack. An envelope, of course, could not contain all I would need to carry; though I do intend to travel light, that is too light even for me. A box would be too awkward. And a backpack — well, for those of us not used to carrying loads on our backs, a back pack can contribute to back and neck problems, gait issues, muscular pain, foot problems, bad posture, and wasted energy.

In my case, even light loads in a backpack are a problem. I recently lost a few pounds, so I figured my body would be able to handle a five-pound backpack load with no difficulty, but that wasn’t the case. After a mere three miles, I ended up with pain on the tops of my feet and in my lower back. Someone suggested that I get orthotics, but why would I need them when I’d been used to carrying more weight without even a hint of discomfort?

I have a short back, and according to Aarne Packs, “With a backpack, the center of gravity of the load is behind the body. The load acts like a lever on your back, increasing the forces acting on the body well above the force of the weight alone. When this lever acts over a shorter distance on a small torso, the forces are magnified. Therefore the reason women with short torsos may not be able to carry such heavy loads is not because they are weaker but because of these increased forces.”

When you carry extra body weight (as opposed to carrying some kind of pack), the weight is distributed all through the body, so no single muscle group or tissue has to deal with the load, which cuts down energy expenditure as well as muscle fatigue, and there is no change in the center of gravity. Ideally, then, an external load-bearing system would need to take those matters into consideration.

Traditionally, humans have used various means of transporting loads on their bodies: a simple hobo pack with a bandanna tied on the end of a stick, a pole balanced on the shoulders with a basket hanging from each end, a trumpline around the head tied to the load hanging down the back (supposedly this allows a person to carry greater loads longer distances than shoulder straps, but . . . ouch; my neck is squealing in pain just thinking about it), and the ever popular balancing the load on top of the head.

Balancing loads on the head, if done right, is supposed to be the best way since there is zero increase in metabolism. It has to do with one’s gait. According to Biomechanics of Locomotion, when we walk, our bodies go “up and down, and faster and slower, within each step. The energy changes associated with these fluctuations in height and speed are out of phase and therefore tend to cancel each other, minimizing the energy required to keep the movements going, much like in a pendulum. But in walking the energy fluctuations are not completely cancelled (as would occur in a perfect pendulum); at most about 65% of the energy fluctuations are cancelled, leaving at least 35% of the energy fluctuations which must be supported by the muscles each step, requiring metabolic energy input. When the African women carry loads on their heads, they are able to increase the amount of energy that is cancelled, reducing the muscular energy required to maintain the walking gait and compensating for any increase in muscular energy required to support the additional load.”

Carrying loads on one’s head might be fine for those who are used to it or even for those trying to improve their posture, but I cannot see me balancing anything on my head (except perhaps a hat) for hundreds, maybe thousands of miles.

I’ve been considering making two shoulder tote bags, one for each side, thinking that might help balance the weight in a more natural way, or perhaps a combination of a light backpack, belly bag, and maybe side bags. Apparently, these are good ideas. In fact, I don’t even have to make these load-bearing packs. Someone already did. One company I found makes a pack with the load balanced on either side of the body, and another company makes a pack with front pockets to balance the weight of the backpack, though the pack itself is much heavier than I would like.

It’s amazing to me all the things one has to consider when going for a simple (well, perhaps not so simple) walk, especially if one doesn’t want to look like the survivor of a wilderness romp.

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Posted in culture. Tags: alternatives to backpacks, backpacks, backpacks and short torsos, best way of carrying loads, carrying loads on head, gravity and backpacks. 1 Comment »

After Kicking the Bucket List

June 6, 2014 — Pat Bertram

A few days ago I mentioned in a blog that I didn’t have a bucket list because there are too many things in the world that either I’m not aware of that perhaps I would like to do, or if I am aware of the things, I’m not aware that I would like to try them.

Several people pointed out that bucket lists have become a cliché, which they are, but the way I figure it, they are also redundant. A bucket list is a list of things you want to do before you die. As far as I know, every list is a list of things one wants to do before they die. A shopping list is more immediate and a heck of a lot less exciting than a list of activities such as sky diving or mountain climbing, but still, it’s a list of things to do while you are alive.

I have yet to see a list of things to do after one kicks the bucket, though I imagine such a list would read:

1) Make an appointment with God.
2) Tell Him/Her what He/She did wrong when creating the world.
3) Learn how to play the harp.
4) Shop for the latest fashion in wings and halos.

Or, in a more dire situation:

1) Amass a stock of aloe for burns.
2) Find your friends, especially those your parents once warned you about.
3) Look for a hot guy.
4) Have a hell of a good time.

Now those are bucket lists!

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Posted in culture, life. Tags: after kicking the bucket list, bucket list, kicking the bucket, making lists. 3 Comments »

Requiem for Online Dating

June 5, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Six months ago, a married friend urged me to join a dating site, more, I think, to fulfill her own fantasy of going out with a lot of different men than because of any perceived need of mine. She promised to help me weed through the site to find men who might be compatible, but still it took one entire sleepless night for me to make the decision to play her game. I’m not sure what I was afraid of — moving even further beyond my deceased life mate/soul mate perhaps. Or maybe accidentally falling in love again and tying my future to another person.

Although I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, I was lonely. Thinking it would be fun to meet people, maybe go on a few dates, I signed up for a dating site and paid for a six-month subscription. I originally planned to pay for one month, but I didn’t want to sabotage myself by counting the cost.

At the beginning, I wrote charming messages to all the men my friend thought might be suitable, and even some the site found for me, though the site’s computers seemed to think I was looking for an inarticulate, overweight, tattooed smoker who rides a motorcycle. Um, no.

I suppose it’s understandable I got not a single response to my notes. Inadvertantly, I’d created a profile that guaranteed I wouldn’t catch any man’s attention — I told the truth about myself, used more than 95 words, didn’t downplay my intelligence, didn’t show cleavage, didn’t use words like “fun-loving” that could connote an eagerness for mattress games, and most of all, I didn’t lop years off my age. Eek. I must have seemed like their worst nightmare!

I eventually joined two free sites besides that first fee-based site, but the free ones garnered me no attention either. (In fact, those sites matched me with many of the same unsuitable men the first site did.)

Last night, my paid subscription ended, so I laid my profile to rest. I deleted my photos, deleted the description of myself, deleted my thoughts about what I was looking for in a man. Then I went through the whole rigmarole of deleting the profile. They promised that the profile would be permanently deleted from their site, but a while later, when I tried to sign in to make sure the profile really was gone, there it was along with a welcome back note. So I deleted it again.

The truth is, I am glad I didn’t find anyone to go out with. I am finding my wings, waiting to see if I can fly, and I don’t want to be held earthbound by anyone else’s expectations of me, no matter how potentially rewarding the relationship might be.

Goodbye, online dating. Goodbye, romance.

Hello to . . . whatever might come next.

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Posted in culture, life, relationships. Tags: accidentally falling in love, creating a profile, dating sites, fun-loving, online dating. 4 Comments »

On a Pilgrimage

June 4, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Today when I mentioned my idea of walking up the coast, a friend asked, “Why walking?” I had to stop and think about that. I originally planned a journey by car, crisscrossing the country, so I’m not sure how the idea of driving metamorphosed into walking, or why the idea took hold except that I’ve always had an affinity for walking.

When I first started roaming the desert after the death of my life mate/soul mate, I would follow the paths drawn in the sandy soil by bikes and ATVs, always wanting to see what was up ahead, around the next turning, behind the next knoll. I had to be careful not to wear myself out because I needed to make sure I had enough energy to get myself back to home base, and I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if there were no home base, if I could just walk until I got tired, and when I was rested, continue on. Such practical things as being able to carry enough water, food, and protective coverings to get me to wherever I was going didn’t enter the equation. I just like the idea of walking to see . . . whatever there was to see.

Back then, I was still going through the pain of first grief, and walking was the only way I could find any peace. Somedays I walked for hours, limited only by my strength and the amount of water I’d brought. My walking, though it was always circular rather than to a special place, seemed like a pilgrimage, a long journey to a new life. My old life was dead, cremated along with my life mate/soul mate, and somehow I had to find a new way to connect with the world. My current idea of walking up the Pacific coast seems like a continuation of that grief-born pilgrimage.

“Pilgrimage” has been defined variously as any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest; a journey or search of moral or spiritual significance; a walk in search of something intangible. Although making a pilgrimage was not my intention when I first thought of walking up the coast, “pilgrimage” seems to define most what I want out of the journey. I don’t want the journey to be one of survival (though I do intend to survive it, of course). My wilderness survival skills are nil, so in any contest between me and the wilderness, the wilderness would win. My ability to carry a heavy pack is also nil. And yet, I would like to see the coast more intimately than from the window of a car passing by at 65 miles an hour, with only periodic stops to rest. I would like to see what I am made of. Could I handle the endless hours of nothing to do after my walking stint is finished for the day? How would I connect with the world? Could I handle the uncertainty of never quite knowing what will happen? Could I spend so much time outside without becoming ill? I’d stay in motels when I could, but for long stretches, there would be just me and whatever was around the next bend.

Meantime, I am on another pilgrimage. Bruce Chatwin in Anatomy of Restlessness wrote, “To dance is to go on pilgrimage.” Some people see dancing just as exercise, but for me it’s a way of connecting with life, of being alive, of searching for something intangible, if only proficiency and grace. Dance is a journey of the spirit just as I would hope an epic walk would be, and it’s changing me in some ephemeral way. For example, for the first time in my life, I have no body image problems. All that time in front of a mirror is making me comfortable with the way I look, both my good points and bad. Dancing also seems to reach inside to hidden places and pull out previously unknown joys.

Dancing is the one thing besides physical inability that would change my mind about walking up the coast. It’s a rare and special privilege to be able to learn how to dance at any age but especially when one is sliding down the banister of life.

At the beginning of my journey into grief, a wise woman told me that I could be entering the happiest time of my life, and though it took longer than I expected, I can see that she was right. The pain of grief seems like a portal I went through, and now on the other side I can feel the possibility of true happiness and joy.

Walking. Dancing. Embracing whatever the future might bring.

My pilgrimage.

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