My Small Life

September 9, 2026 — Pat Bertram

This has been a rough summer for me, one of sadness, incomprehension, and uneasiness about what is going on in this country. I blamed myself for a while, thinking my dejection was my own fault for paying attention, but it seems as if this summer really is an historic one, where the hidden agendas suddenly became unhidden. One that shocked me is the move to make socialism and communism thinkable, where for so many years it truly was unthinkable, even though behind the scenes the push was in that direction (the push, specifically, to take over one of the established parties rather than create one of their own). But now the plan is not only thinkable, it’s visible. The lies are more obvious, the propaganda more blatant, and the willingness of too many people to accept the headlines and the chopped video clips too appalling. Whatever the reason — the success of the victim/oppressor ideology taught in schools, the move to make Israel the instigator of all ills, the hatred of one old man, and anything else that might be behind it all — it does seem as if this is a pivotal summer and autumn.

So much, too, of the past is coming out — the truth that I knew but had no proof, such as the whole Covid mess, the insane level of lawfare perpetrated against elected officials, the election fraud — that it makes this summer even more of a pivotal one. Since too many people are holding on to the “truths” that their opinions are based on rather than the facts that could cause an identity crisis, they are exacerbating the rift that already has been created.

I know I’ve been talking about this way too much, but as I’ve mentioned before, writing is how I try to make sense of the unsensible. The plethora of these posts, as well as the all too obvious evidence of my dejection, has probably led people to think that I’ve given up my pursuit of gratitude. But there is no reason one can’t see what is going on and still dress themselves in thankfulness.

Because, despite it all, I am grateful for so many things. I’m grateful that people are fighting the push toward communism. I’m grateful that, despite my sense that it’s dangerous to speak the truth, it’s still a protected right. I’m grateful that we’re allowed to move freely without restrictions, still allowed to think, still allowed to own property.

It’s the last I’m most grateful for — owning my own house. As long as I pay my taxes, so far, there’s no one who can take my home from me. I’m grateful for every minute I spend taking care of the house and yard. I’m grateful for every beautiful thing I’ve brought into my life, whether outbuildings, plants, or friends.

I’m grateful, too, for the many moves of my life that have taken me from big cities to small towns until here I am, almost at the edge of civilization, where there’s a strong sense of community.

Is it necessary to pay attention to the outside world? That is one of the questions these blog posts never seem to clarify for me. I could block out the world quite simply — turn off my computer, turn my eyes to just what is directly in front of me, turn my mind to small issues, such as how to change smoke alarm batteries without getting on a ladder. The really important things of a small life!

And that, I think, is what I am most grateful for — that I have the choice to take a look at the big world beyond my environs and then find solace in my small life.

***

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

Posted in life, history/myth, being me, house, home, gardening. Tags: , , , , , . 3 Comments »

Preparing for Visitors

September 5, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Until the hyperawareness of other peoples’ germs that held during the Covid years, if I had company, I always cleaned house super well before guests arrived and didn’t worry about cleaning after they left. During those years, I wasn’t all that concerned about cleaning beforehand, though I made sure to clean extra well after any guest left.

Now? I’m not sure what to do. I’m expecting out-of-town guests in a little more than a week, and of course, I want the place to look it’s best, but I don’t think I have it in me to do a deep clean twice in a short period of time. (Once before and once after.) Actually, I’m not sure I have it in me to do it once, so I’m taking it easy, doing a bit at a time. Mostly the house is company-ready — fairly neat and presentable except for hard-to-clean corners, but I feel as if I should put in an effort.

Luckily, they will be staying at an Airbnb across the street, which gives us all space as well as comfortable quarters for them (and their own bathroom), so I won’t have to give up my bedroom for them. I imagine I’ll end up doing what I always do when it comes to housework — do the least possible until I get one of those rare urges to clean every corner and polish every surface. Hopefully, the urge will come before they get here. If not, well, they are getting older, too, so perhaps they will be as blind to dusty corners as I am.

Meantime, there is the yard. I’ve mostly been keeping up with that, too, and what doesn’t get done will just have to be chalked up to . . . I was going to say old age, but honestly, not working as hard as perhaps I could is more of an inclination than a physical impossibility.

There are some areas I can’t do much about. During one of my lopping sessions, I trimmed an overgrown bush, and what was left was mostly trunks and a few branches that were too thick to cut. The bush is growing new leaves, and perhaps there will be enough of them to cover the scraggly mess of branches, but if not, oh, well. The same goes for the area where I pulled up dead sunflowers and cut back the pumpkin vine to allow more room for the rest of the wildflowers to grow. Again, I’ll just have to hope it looks all right, and if not, it will be another case of “oh, well.”

The third mess I made in an effort to clean up is in my raised garden. I lopped off the heads of the marigolds that were taking over to give the remaining plants breathing room. Since I ended up with a lot of empty spaces, I fill in with my collection of fairy houses.

With any luck, the yard will dazzle. In the next week or so, it’s possible the chrysanthemum will pop, the holes in the gardens will fill in, and the grass will continue to green up in the cooler weather.

For sure, though, there will be plenty of pretty sights to see. As I’ve learned, it’s only me who sees the holes where I chopped things back. Everyone else sees the overall beauty as well as specific plants, which makes my concern just that . . . a concern and not a problem.

***

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

Posted in being me, dealing with old age, gardening, home, house, life, photography. Tags: , , , , . 2 Comments »

We Are Not the Same

August 24, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I mentioned a few days ago about no-showing contractors and handypeople (just to be gender neutral, even though I haven’t found a single handywoman around here who does the work of a handyman), but to my astonishment, the guy I’d hired to clean my gutters did show up! He had kept me informed — mostly — about his no shows, so that was a point in his favor. He and his hired hand did a great job cleaning out the gutters, so that was another point in his favor. He’s also a personable fellow, so that is yet another point and he gets still another point for his willingness to do any job, no matter how big or how small. Plenty of points for me to keep his card handy.

When he was here, I mentioned a few things that needed to be done that workers hadn’t show up to do, such as filling in the cracks in the stucco, and a few things I hadn’t yet asked anyone to do, such as repainting the peeling trim on the eaves, so when the weather cools down, he’ll be back to do some more work.

The morning turned out great, especially since he loved my car and my yard. (Those are two ways to always get on my good side!)

The most amazing thing was when he and his helper gathered up the tarp and moved from one side of the house to the other. As you can see from the photo below, there is a knee-high drop-off on the ramp to the right of the door. They strode up the ramp that’s parallel to the door and kept on walking even when I yelped that there was a drop-off. The guy called over his shoulder, “I see it,” and kept on walking. The two of them walked off the ledge and over the flowers as if they weren’t even there. I was going to say they walked off the ledge with the ease of someone stepping over a crack, but even so, sometimes people hesitate a fraction of a second before stepping over an uneven crack. But these guys didn’t pause for even that fraction a second. There wasn’t even a hitch in their step when they landed. They just kept on walking.

Me? I stood there with my mouth open. And when I could talk, all I managed to say was, “That’s not fair!”

Admittedly, he was half my age, but even so, it seemed like an astounding feat. I could walk off a curb like that when I was young, but something that steep? I didn’t know such a thing was possible for anyone, but apparently so. It does prove to me, though, that contrary to what people want us to believe, we are definitely not the same.

***

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

Posted in being me, home, house, life. Tags: , , , , . 2 Comments »

No Shows

August 19, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I had two or three days in a row where I didn’t have to do any outside work because of rain. I’d scheduled Monday as the day to start up again, but someone was supposed to come clean my gutters, and I didn’t want him to have to deal with wet ground while he was on a ladder or a scaffold, so I crossed my fingers and hoped the yard would be okay another day without care.

And yes, it was fine yesterday morning when I went out to do the chores I should have done on Monday. The respite must have been good for me because I was able to do a lot of cleanup work, like trimming bushes and pulling up a few weeds.

It seems as if we’re back to high heat and no rain, so there won’t be many more respite days for a while. But that’s okay. August is nearing the end, and though September around here usually remains hot, there’s no doubt cooler days are coming. If nothing else, the sun time is less and will continue to grow less for the next four months, so that leaves less time for plants to get heat stroke.

So, I’m okay and my yard is okay, but my gutters aren’t. What’s with people? Two years ago, my contractor promised he’d stop by to clean the gutters, but he never did. Last year, I hired another fellow who’d been doing occasional work for me to clean the gutters, but he never showed up to do the work. Last week, when I was out watering, a guy who was working next door came over to me and introduced himself. He said he was certified for all sorts of work, so if I needed anything, he’d be glad to do it. I asked about the gutters, and explained about the others who had never showed up. He said, “Sure no problem. I can do that. Is tomorrow first thing in the morning okay?” Of course I said yes.

The next morning came and went with no sign of him, though later he did stop by to explain that he’d been hired to do some emergency cleanup after the big storm we had, but that he would be here Monday. For sure.

But he was a no show on Monday. I thought maybe he’d come when I was outside working yesterday, but that was another day of no showing.

I imagine someday he’ll show up, but then, I imagine a lot of things. Luckily, with as little rain as we get, the gutter problem shouldn’t really matter, though I don’t like seeing twigs and such sticking out from those gutters. Too bad there isn’t a long-handled gutter cleaner so I could do the work myself without having to get up on a ladder. Although I’d sworn off ladder climbing, I did tack up a shingle that blew off my gazebo because the guy who promised to fix it never came. But that was a short ladder (a step stool, actually) so it wasn’t much of a problem. But cleaning gutters? Not for me. I’ll just wait until . . .

Well, I’ll just wait until he shows up, and if he doesn’t, next year I’ll hire someone else who probably won’t show up, either.

I did find one surprise in my yard today — a couple of daylilies! I thought they were finished for the year, but apparently not.

At least something knows how to show up!

***

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

Posted in gardening, home, house, life. Tags: , , , , , . 8 Comments »

Off Balance

August 9, 2026 — Pat Bertram

This town is supposedly built on a giant ball of clay that moves, which puts doors out of plumb, even shifts foundations at times, and then it rolls again and everything moves in the opposite direction. I don’t know the truth of the “ball,” though there is no doubt that the soil here is heavy clay that doesn’t hold moisture. It’s also true that doors close differently at times, though, as someone pointed out, that could be due to moisture or lack thereof. Still, when I have to pull my north/south facing doors in tight to get them to latch, I also have to pull my garage pedestrian door in the same direction. And when I have to push the doors hard to get them to latch, the same thing happens to the garage door.

Also, a couple of years ago, I had to fix part of my foundation. There was a huge crack four feet from the corner on the western side of the southwest corner, as well as a huge crack four feet from the corner on the southern side, and that whole corner section moved several inches toward the southwest. Clay ball? Maybe. Moisture or lack of moisture? Could be. I don’t truly don’t know. All I know is that it happened. (I was able to get the foundation fixed. Whew!)

There is also a piece of concrete in the foundation that I had put in place to cover the coal chute since the coal burning furnace is long gone (and I wouldn’t know where to get coal anyway). That concrete slab moves back and forth — sometimes there is a fist-sized gap; sometimes no gap at all. The reason I had to have that chute blocked off is that the concrete that had blocked it off many years ago moved away from the house and sunk into the ground, making it useless.

So, the unstable clay ball could be the cause of all that. Or not. Who knows.

What brings this up today is that recently, at least a half dozen friends and acquaintances in this area have fallen. Me, included. I tripped on the edging around my lawn and fell slowly onto the cushioning grass that left me unharmed but with a single bruise I didn’t even know I had until days later, and more importantly, I had no trouble getting up, ungainly though my rise might have been. Not everyone was as lucky — some of the injuries were rather severe with a couple of people ending up in the hospital and needing care afterward.

It just seems bizarre that so many of us older women who have not even been in contact with each other lately have all fallen around the same time, especially since a couple of us are not prone to falls. I joked that maybe the earth moved and unbalanced us all, and once we’re acclimated, we’ll all be fine. Or it could be that the clay ball moved and did the same thing. (What makes the local ball the lesser explanation is that one of the falls did not take place around here, but at least five did, so that non-local fall could simply be an outlier.)

I do know it’s not one of those situations where once you become aware of something, you see it everywhere, because we all find out when one of our ilk falls, and generally it’s a one off.

But this time? There were too many falls. It must have been that old clay ball, either the local one or the entire globe putting us all off balance.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Well, no — I’m not sticking to that story, much as I liked it. I have a hunch we’re all dealing with the summer blahs as well as a heat wave that could be messing with our equilibrium.

***

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

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

Blowing a Fuse

July 30, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Does anyone say “blew a fuse” anymore, either referring to an electric control box or losing one’s temper? Probably not. Well, except for me, and even my use isn’t strictly accurate.

Last night, I flipped a light switch. The bulb went out in a flash and blew a fuse. Or tripped a switch. Or broke the circuit. Or did whatever things do nowadays to make the electricity not work.

I checked the erstwhile fuse box that’s on the wall going down to the basement, but those switches still were in their proper position. It was raining heavily (yay for the rain!!), and dark, besides, so I couldn’t access the main breaker box. For some reason unknown to me (code requirement, maybe?), when the electricity in this 98-year-old house was modernized, the new main control box was set outside. The first insurance inspector I had said to put a lock on the box to prevent anyone messing with it, which I did. It only prevents casual passersby from accessing the box since a lock is so easily cut, but at least it makes me feel as if I am doing the right thing.

Since there was nothing I could do about the situation, and since I was too tired to worry, I went to sleep.

This morning, first thing, I changed the burnt-out bulb, which was no easy task. The screws holding up the globe light fixture hadn’t been touched in perhaps ten years, and I was balanced on a three-step stepstool, but I was careful and managed to get the cover off. Then I had to sort through my lightbulbs (another task that needed the stepstool) to find the proper one.

When those tasks were safely concluded, I found the keys to the control panel, went out and finally flipped the switch.

Such a simple and silly thing, and yet I feel as if I accomplished a monumental task, as if I were sorceress magically creating light, especially since I don’t remember ever having to change a lightbulb in an enclosed fixture. I must have at some point or other because it seemed familiar. But, whatever . . . now I have light!

 

***

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

Posted in being me, home, house, life. Tags: , , , , . 2 Comments »

Decor . . . Um

July 29, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What’s your home decoration style?
View all responses

I thought I’d be clever and try to find some way to link décor and décor . . . um (decorum, get it?), but I really couldn’t find a fit since décor is about one’s things and decorum is about one’s actions. If my house did have the ability to act in good taste rather that simply being in good taste then, yes, the two are linked.

Still — décor? Um . . . what do I know about décor? Not much. My decorating style is whatever was donated or what I could scrounge, and yet somehow, it all fits together in a pleasant, comfortable, and inviting way.

That’s the extent of my decorating style. If left to myself, I’d probably be living in an empty house with a single furnished room: my office. And that certainly doesn’t have any sort of décor — just tables, and chairs and a day bed that I purchased and put together by myself. (I’d probably need help if I were trying to assemble the bed today. It was heavy and the pieces were awkward, but somehow I did it. Whew!)

It is interesting, though, that even without any planning, my living room ended up being so inviting. It’s impersonal enough (I don’t like pictures on the walls and I have a minimum of gadgets collecting dust) that people feel at home from the minute they walk in the door. Supposedly, too many photos and such screams “my place!” to visitors, keeping them at arm’s length, which is why realtors have sellers remove those personal items.

Or maybe not, I don’t know. All I know is whatever my decorating style, it works for me and whoever happens to stop by. (And yes, I know the mat in front of the door is not centered, but it’s where it needs to be for when I enter the house.)

***

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

Posted in blogging, home, house, life. Tags: , , , , , . 2 Comments »

Dreams I Never Dreamed

July 28, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What’s your biggest dream?
View all responses

I don’t have any dreams, biggest or otherwise. Well, I do have the night kind, but I don’t have many of those either, at least not that I remember. Should we have dreams? I don’t know. I tried looking up dreams on Google, but no matter what my search terms, I always ended up with a list of sites pertaining to nighttime dreams. I even asked if we needed a dream, and what I got was a lecture on the importance of REM sleep.

So, I guess I’m on my own for a definition of this topic.

Do we need to have a dream? It seems to be the consensus (except for Google) that yes, we do. As Harper’s Bizarre once sang, “You gotta have a dream. If you don’t have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?

As far as I can recall, though, I never really had a dream, something I was passionate about that I wished would happen or that I could work toward happening. When I was young, I wanted to be an author, even quit a job to pursue the craft, and it came as a shock when I discovered I had no talent. Years later, long after any vestige of that ambition had disappeared, I learned how to write, even had some books published but never became a “real” author, one who makes a living by writing. Perhaps the closest I came to having a dream was after Jeff died when I considered walking the Pacific Crest Trail, or walking cross country, or doing some other epic walk. I called it an impossible dream in my many blog posts about pursuing that dream, and as it turned out, it was impossible, but still, it was something that consumed my attention for many years. I researched, tried to get in shape enough to carry a heavy pack, did so many things to try to achieve that “dream,” though was it a dream? I don’t know. Looking back, it seems less a dream and more of a mental escape or a way of coping with a life of uncertainty.

And my life was uncertain. After Jeff died, I moved a thousand miles from our home to go take care of my aged father, and then after he died . . . well, let’s just say I was untethered.

Still, back then, I did think a lot about trying to find a “dream,” a way of getting through the rest of my life as fully engaged as possible. I did a lot of things in pursuit of a dream, though in fact, I’d never even dreamed any of those dreams. Dancing on stage, for example. I’m not the lightest of folks, not much of one for music or rhythm or bendability or any of a dozen other things one thinks about when you think of a dancer. And yet I did learn to dance, even did several performances on stage before a live audience. Apparently, despite the Harper’s Bizarre song, you can have a dream come true even if you never had the dream.

It’s the same with my house. Until I decided to spend my last bit of savings on a house, I’d certainly never even entertained the idea of owning a piece of property. Once I had the idea, I dreamed the house into existence, and now I seem to be living a dream, one that I never really dreamed.

And my garden. It’s a dream of a garden, that’s for sure, but for sure one that I’d never dreamed. In fact, I distinctly remember thinking (and telling people) that I didn’t want a garden or any landscaping. I wanted a yard that would take care of itself, and yet here I am, with an aftermath of a dream I never had.

Although I still don’t have dreams, I continue to open to whatever comes my way. And who knows, one day I might find myself in another situation where a dream I never dreamed actually came true.

***

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

Posted in being me, gardening, house, life. Tags: , , , , , , , . Leave a Comment »

Best Purchase Ever

July 23, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What is the best purchase you have ever made?
View all responses

All too often, these blog prompts leave me wordless. Literally wordless. In that I can’t think of a single thing to write. A recent prompt was if I could be an animal for a week, what kind of animal would I be. Yeah, wordless. I have enough trouble imagining myself as a human animal let alone any other sort of creature.

Another prompt was about what book inspired me to travel. How would I know? I’ve read tens of thousands of books. There’s no way I could pick out a single book. And anyway, as far as I remember, no book ever inspired me to travel — reading books was how I traveled. It was being left alone in the world with no place I needed or wanted to be that gave me the impetus to go on the road.

But this blog prompt? A no brainer!

The best purchase I ever made by far has been this house. I honestly never thought I’d be able to own a house, never really wanted the responsibility, but it’s been great, especially since it happened so late in my life. It’s nice to know I am where I will be until the end unless something drastic happens. It’s nice to know where I am going to be sleeping every night. It’s nice to have control of the temperature (the rooms I rented were either too hot or too cold, with no vote on where I wanted the temperature set). It’s nice to be able to do what I want with the yard.

It’s just . . . nice.

I was lucky to find a place I could afford to buy. (That window of opportunity has closed, so I truly lucked out!) It took a long-range move to get me here where I can live life under my own terms. Well, my terms and the weather’s terms. The weather does control a lot of what I do — when it’s too hot or too windy or too snowy, I pretty much have to stay inside where I can control my environment. It’s this modicum of control that confirms (as if I needed confirmation!) that this house is the best purchase I ever made, especially during these seeringly hot days. (Spell check wants to change “seeringly” to “sneeringly,” and while that might also be apropos, it’s not the word I chose.)

I wake up every day feeling grateful. And I give a last nod of gratitude every night.

Apparently, my best purchase was not just this house, but a life of gratitude, and that, too, is nice.

***

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

Posted in blogging, books, dealing with old age, home, house, writing. Tags: , , , , , , . 2 Comments »

Where I Want to Live

July 7, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
View all responses

Ha! I bet you can guess my answer to this blog prompt!

Yep, it’s true. If I could live anywhere in the world, I would choose to live exactly where I am living now — in this tiny forgotten town, in my own house with my own yard and my own flowers, and friends that I seldom make the effort to see but know they are always there for me.

It’s taken me decades to get to this point, decades of uncertainty, sorrow, and fear of not being able to afford to live anywhere. This last is not an uncommon fear among women — even those with financial security worry about becoming a bag lady. In my case, the fear was exacerbated by the growing requirement of being able to pass a credit check when renting, and with my lack of any sort of credit rating, I simply did not know how I was going to navigate that morass. Assuming, of course, I wasn’t priced out of the market.

Exactly ten years ago today, I was feeling rootless, feeling suspended over an abyss with nothing to hang onto, worried as always about my uncertain future. At the time, I’d just returned from my cross-country trip and was staying in a fleabag motel. (Actually, it was a mosquito-bag motel. Eek.) I had no real reason to go back to that town, other than friends and dance class, but I had no place else to go. As I wrote back then: “I have looked at tiny windowless rooms scarcely larger than closets with a higher rent than the three-bedroom house Jeff and I lived in, gated communities that are merely fenced rooming houses, apartments with incredibly stringent requirements. . . . Maybe I don’t belong here in the desert. Maybe I don’t belong anywhere. But then what?”

A few years later, through a series of unexpected events, including an unasked-for email from Zillow showing me a place they said I might like though it was far from that desert town, I found my “then what.” Now here I am, living in the very house Zillow picked out for me, a house I once dreamed up.

I’m sure there are many wonderful places to live, places I might even like to live, but my days of looking beyond the perimeter of my own yard for something more are long gone. With any luck, this is where I will live out my years, with even greater luck, I might even be able to continue taking care of the place. (I still find it humorous that my goal when I got here was to have a care-free yard, and what I ended up with was a mini park that requires several hours of work each week.)

If I could tweak one tiny thing, it would be to have a wilderness walking trail nearby, but considering that I’m not as fanatical about walking as I once was (in fact, I seldom walk at all anymore), that missing trail isn’t as much of a lack as it used to be. The truth is, any outdoor time is spent in my yard. Just this morning, I went out for a quick tour to see how everything was holding up in this heat, and ended up trimming a bush, cutting back leggy yarrow, lopping the tops off New England asters to keep them from browning out, staking the tomato plant, and various other small chores.

Since I wasn’t planning on doing the work, I hadn’t doused myself with mosquito repellant, so I ended up with several new bites, but it’s all good. It’s all part of being at home in my own place, insects and all.

***

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

Posted in gardening, home, house, life, writing. Tags: , , , , , . 15 Comments »
« Older posts