Leading an Elegant Life

October 24, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Elegance. Such an elegant word, evoking images of times gone by, when clothes gracefully draped the human form, and people wrote with stylish hands.

Several times lately, I’ve stumbled across the word elegant in reference to both language and living, and I’ve become enamored with the idea of leading an elegant life. When people speak of elegance, they generally refer to things — the materiality of life — such as elegant dress or elegant furnishings, but what does that have to do with life itself?

According to my dictionary, elegance means pleasingly graceful; excellent, splendid. According to Wikipedia, elegance is a synonym for beautiful that has come to acquire the additional connotations of unusual effectiveness, simplicity and focusing on essential features.

So an elegant life would be a life of grace, excellence, effectiveness, and simplicity. Finding the essence of life and paring away that which is cumbersome, unattractive, or unnecessary. Overcoming the limits we have set for ourselves (or that others have set for us). Dreaming of becoming more of who we are.

Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

During these past years as I’ve struggled to find a way through grief after the death of my life mate/soul mate, I’ve often talked about wanting more, though I have never quite known what I meant by “more.” Well, I still don’t know the specifics of what I mean, but at least I have a better way to describe what I want — an elegant life.

I have a hunch aspiring to lead an elegant life is not an easy task, but beauty and elegance never come without a price.

And it just so happens I have the rest of my life to spend on the pursuit of elegance.

***

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.

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Life After the Death of a Soul Mate

October 23, 2013 — Pat Bertram

What I love most about blogging is that sometimes when I start writing a post, new or buried thoughts percolate to the surface, ending up on the page and surprising me with insights. Yesterday, when I wrote Living Offline, I had no idea I was starting to look forward to the rest of my life. I’ve kept my head down, plodding along, trying new things, meeting new people, visiting new places, and apparently, somewhere along the line, I went through a renewal of sorts.

Many people who had gone through a grievous loss have told me that it takes three to five years to find a renewed interest in life, and so it is with me. In just a few days, it will be three years and seven months since the death of my life mate/soul mate, and I find myself involved deeply in life, not just with such difficult matters as looking out for my 96-year-old father and dealing with problematic family members, but also with taking care of myself and my well-being.

Sierra Club conditioning walkI’m physically active, eat right, and have accidentally become part of an intelligent and talented coterie. I say “accidentally” because when I joined a group of walkers, I didn’t expect to end up going to art shows that feature members’ work, hearing one member in a choir of madrigal singers, and seeing others dance. Because of these people, I’ve also learned not to fear old age. Although people of all ages walk with us, some of the most active members could be considered elderly, but I can barely keep up with those in their seventies. I have no idea what life has is in store for me, of course, but I do know that getting older doesn’t necessarily mean getting feeble. It just takes a bit of luck and a lot of physical activity and mental stimulation.

Grief goes in cycles, so chances are I will still be experiencing occasional grief surges (especially on the weekends when I can’t feast on the endorphins and friendship of the group walk), but now I know the truth: there is life after the death of the person who connected you to the world. There is even laughter. Maybe even joy.

***

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.

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Living Offline

October 22, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I seem to have more of an offline life lately than I do online, which is a throwback for me. I didn’t get a computer or get on the internet until 2007, but they came at a time of upheaval in my life (my mother was dying and my life mate/soul mate was declining) and they proved to be lifesavers. Well, mindsavers. I needed something to occupy my mind to keep from giving in to foolish worry (foolish because there was nothing I could do about either situation except to be available when needed), and learning has always been my forte. So I learned what I could about using computers, navigating the internet, blogging, social networking, and everything else that goes to making up an online life.

Origidesknally, I was gifted with a year of the internet, and after checking out libraries and finding other interesting sites such as the Internet Movie Database, I wondered how I could possibly use this unexpected gift. I figured that by the end of that first year, either I would find something to do, or I would get rid of it.

It didn’t even take a year, just a few months. Not only did I find something to do, I found a life, excitement, friends, even love of a sort. (I loved blogging from the first time I posted an article and understood what blogging was all about.) I also found support and encouragement. I don’t know how I would have dealt with the death of my life mate/soul mate if it weren’t for the bereft I met because of opening myself to the blogosphere.

Now, almost three and a half years after his death, I’m looking around my offline world, and I’m finding life, excitement, friends, even love of a sort. (I love walking with the local Sierra Club.) I no longer seem to need the screen of a computer to filter the worst of my worry or pain. I see the world through the excited eyes of child rather than the angst-ridden eyes of a bereft and lonely woman.

Parts of my offline life are hard, of course. I’m looking out for my 96-year-old father, dealing with problematic family members, and experiencing occasional upsurges of grief, but what isn’t hard is easy. Fun, even.

Instead of fearing the rest of my life alone, now I’m looking forward to seeing what I will make of myself.

***

(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.

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It’s In the Cards

October 21, 2013 — Pat Bertram

This is going to be a tough weekend for me, a convergence of people and events and influences from the past that I would just as soon not cope with. I wanted to run away but couldn’t find anywhere to run (except for a long solitary hike in the desert), and anyway, the situation has to be dealt with.

cardsNormally, I don’t put much faith in prognostications, but since I’ve been nervous about how I will handle the situation, I asked my sister to do a Tarot reading for me. (Strange, until recently, I didn’t even know she knew how to do a reading.)

Apparently, the cards say that I’m going to be fine. They say I have the strength and courage to do this, it’s something that needs to happen, and I have the skills and abilities to handle it. I hadn’t expected to feel anything but a vague amusement at the ways of the cards, but instead I felt relieved by the assurance that I’ll be able to handle what is coming. (I knew it anyway. I just got nervous.)

One odd thing — apparently, this weekend I will see myself as working with others, yet others will see me as being on a solitary quest. Something to think about.

If you’re interested, this is the layout of the cards, which seems to accurately describe the situation, my hopes and fears for the outcome. If you find a different, more disturbing meaning, I don’t want to know!

Celtic cross spread:

Card 1: The card in this position represents you. (VII Chariot): In control, confident, connected to the power of the world. Able to triumph over obstacles, achieve victory by focusing intent and will. Self-assured, assuming reins of power.

Card 2: The card in this position is about what the conflict is. (XV The Devil): This card is about losing independence, becoming enslaved, having limited options, feeling desolate, but choosing to stay in the dark. Needing to break free.

Card 3: This card represents the foundation or basis of the situation. (Ace of Wands): Having grounded energy and enough self-assurance to rise to the occasion; accept this as an opportunity, a challenge. The spark has been lit!

Card 4: Influences of the past affecting the situation. (Seven of Wands): Being trapped, in conflict, defending others against harm, evil. Having the strength and fortitude to take a stand, defend what you believe in. Having the faith and courage to face difficulties.

Card 5: What is likely to happen in the immediate future. (King of Swords): Contemplation, solitude, patience, wise understanding, compassion. Understanding that all aspects and needs of people must be balanced.

Card 6: The outcome you most desire. (Queen of Wands): Calm assured confident. Can handle anyone and anything- this is not arrogance, but understanding your skills and abilities. Dedicated, engaging, wanting peace, harmony.

Card 7: Your self-image, how you see yourself in this situation. (3 pentacles): Working with others, compromise, cooperation.

Card 8: Influence of those around you/ how others see you in this situation. (8 Cups): On a solitary quest. Relinquishing the material world to seek answers from the depths, the underworld. Maybe upsetting the balance in order to achieve something greater- a more lasting connection or peace.

Card 9: What you hope or fear the most. (4 cups): Getting lost in yourself, not belonging, loneliness, boredom. Being too self-absorbed, introspective, seeking too deep into own concerns, lost in reverie.

Card 10: Outcome. What is most likely to come of it all if nothing much changes between now and then. (3cups): Coming together, creating something together, celebration, friendship, relying on others. Some sense of community, working things out together.

***

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.

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By the Light of the Moon

October 19, 2013 — Pat Bertram

Last night I went walking by the light of the moon. I was in a group, and we strode on a trail beside a riverbed, so we didn’t have to deal with traffic, which is just as well. Even with the full moon, we would have been invisible to drivers. (I couldn’t see the couple who walked in front of my car as I drove to the rendezvous until I was almost on them. Good thing they were aware of me, though it wasn’t bright of them to be so careless.)

I don’t remember ever taking a moonlit walk before. When I was a young adult, before I got my car (the same one I have now, incidentally) I walked to work, and I often had to hike home alone in the dark. I suppose during many of those city nights there had been a visible moon, but streetlights brought the sky in close, so something as far away as the moon would not have been as impressive or as memorable as the moon last night.

I do remember one particular night walk — it had to have been almost twenty-five years ago when my now deceased life mate/soul mate was still strong and healthy and up for adventure. We were living in a small town. Snow had fallen, and no one was about. No cars were on the road. All was still. Not even a hint of a breeze. We could hear the crunch of pristine snow beneath our feet, and the almost cathedral-like silence. It was bright — we weren’t walking in pitch black — but I don’t know if the light came from a moon or from ambient light reflected off the snow. We only walked a few blocks to a small town square. We stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the magical night, and then we headed back.

I don’t recall any other night walks. We spent the last couple of decades in ranching country, and an irrigation ditch ran in front of the house. Stagnant water. Mosquitoes. Need I say more? Well, maybe I do. I’m sensitive to mosquito venom — the bites always make me sick — so as much as possible I stayed inside when evening came. Besides, I didn’t much like the thought of meeting a coyote or a fox (or even an angry dog) on that empty country road.

So last night was a treat. A cool, clear, autumn evening with a hint of a breeze. A few stars. And a moon so bright in the huge empty sky, it cast our shadows on the pathway.

A walk worth remembering. A walk worth writing about.

***

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.

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Stop Wasting Food!

October 18, 2013 — Pat Bertram

A few days ago I wrote Haunted by an Image of Pizza, a post about the huge mounds of half-eaten pizza I saw in dumpster behind a restaurant. I’ve always believed that food was sacred, and that it was a sin to waste anything edible. I despise food fights in movies and scenes where people trash leftovers instead of carefully saving them. Too often, the characters take a few bites of food and scrape the rest in the trash can or garbage disposal, and this ruins the movie for me. It shows a pattern of disregard for food that viewers consciously or unconsciously pick up on.

Besides, how can I empathize with a character who wastes food? I never waste food. I buy only what I can eat before the food goes bad, and when/if I cook, I always store what is left. Leftovers is a term I never use. I believe there is no such thing as leftover food, just a precooked meal. (And to way of thinking, if food smells and looks fresh, it’s still edible. Expiration dates seem more like an expiration of liability than the expiration of food. I’ve eaten eggs that are still fresh two weeks after the expiration date, and canned goods a year or even two after the date.)

Someone left a comment on that post that I would like to share with you. I ended my blog with “I can’t do anything about the situation, either to help the homeless fellow or deal with the discarded food, but still, the image stays with me.” She responded:

Why do you feel like you can’t do anything about the situation? Who do you think can? I will link a couple of articles and a video that I think you (and everyone else) should read/watch. Note the quote “Everybody is waiting for somebody else to take action.”

http://www.thinkeatsave.org/index.php/stop-wasting-food

http://www.themindfulword.org/2011/designed-starvation-food-waste/

http://www.ted.com/talks/tristram_stuart_the_global_food_waste_scandal.html

I can’t emphasise enough that this IS everybody’s responsibility, especially those of us in the privileged position to live in countries with surplus food as opposed to none, and you CAN do something to help the situation.

People are starving all over the world, yet we are so greedy, we order/cook/buy more than we can eat, and throw away the rest. The world produces enough food to feed each person on the globe 2,700 calories per day. (Read more at http://www.themindfulword.org/2011/designed-starvation-food-waste/#yh1IrXaCweEPe6J8.99). No one needs to go hungry.

We’ve been taught that the aesthetics of food is important, and we can be taught that food with blemishes and such things as crooked carrots can be pleasing, too.

As Mahatma Ghandi said, “The world has enough for everyone’s need, but not enough for everyone’s greed.”

***

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.

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Haunted by an Image of Pizza

October 14, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I saw something unsettling the other day that I can’t get out of my mind. A homeless man was standing at a dumpster behind a pizza place, feasting on discarded slices. That wasn’t the unsettling thing since it seemed oddly normal — we humans have origins as hunter/gatherers, finding food wherever we might. It wasn’t even that the food had been previously nibbled on, because it hadn’t been. Most of the slices of pizza were whole.

PizzahuttWhat haunts me is the sheer bulk of the discarded food. Hundreds of slices of pizza. Huge bags full. Mounds of it. (Did you ever see Space Balls? Pizza the Hutt? The piles of pizza looked like that.)

I have such a respect for food, that even seeing food wasted in a movie, such as a food fight, turns my stomach. Somehow I had assumed others had the same respect for comestibles. And yet, there was a dumpster full of food that people had ordered and not eaten.

Ignoring the dubious designation of pizza as food, it is edible, and supplies needed calories. Only in a society that views food as disposable and calories as something bad can such a situation occur. I don’t know what the solution is, or if there is a solution. Restaurants can’t really donate used food to homeless shelters, though some restaurants do donate leftover food. (I was a at a family-style dinner once where they kept bringing huge platters of food long after everyone had eaten their fill, and those platters of food were taken to a nearby shelter. They could have fed an army that night with our leftovers alone.)

I can’t do anything about the situation, either to help the homeless fellow or deal with the discarded food, but still, the image stays with me.

***

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.

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Do the Dead Miss Us?

October 13, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I had an odd dream last night. The setting wasn’t very detailed — just a simple bed in the middle of an empty white room that my waking self doesn’t recognize. I was lying in the bed, the white sheet pulled up to my chest. My deceased life mate/soul mate walked into the room wearing only white underwear. I got the impression he was coming from somewhere else or someone else, and that we weren’t still together. He stopped by my feet, gave them an affectionate rub, then came around to the empty side of the bed. He bedlay on the bed on top of the sheet, cuddled up close to me, and said softly, “I miss you.”

I woke, and tears came to my eyes. I’ve been keeping myself busy lately, and haven’t been thinking about him much, and the dream reminded me how much I missed him. I lay in bed waiting for a full-blown grief upsurge, but after a minute or two, I simply went back to sleep.

This is the closest I’ve ever had to what I would consider a “visitation” dream, and it’s left wondering if it was some sort of real encounter.

In various updates about grief on this blog, I mention that I talk to him, and I always make a facetious remark about his silence, such as this comment in a letter to him I posted a few days ago: so far you’ve been mum about your situation. Just one more thing to hate—the silence of the grave. (Well, the silence of the funerary urn.)

Could the dream have been an attempt to contact me? I don’t really believe it, but still, this is the first of the handful of dreams I’ve had about him in the past three and a half years that ever mentioned how he might be feeling. Could it be that the dead miss us as much as we miss them? Could they be feeling as amputated as we do?

Whatever the truth of the dream, it adds one more facet to this strange and incomprehensible state we call grief.

***

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, grief, life, relationships. Tags: , , , . 21 Comments »

Are You Your Brother’s Keeper?

October 10, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I went to lunch with a few friends today. One is dealing with an aged mother who seems to either be bipolar or downright evil, jealous of her own daughter and unable to say a single nice thing to her. Another woman had such a mother, and the mother’s death set her free.

desert knollsWhen it comes to a parent, I can see that perhaps you have no choice but to deal with her (or him) as best as you can, but how much responsibility does one grown sibling have for another? If the sibling has some sort of mood disorder (undiagnosed and untreated), are you obligated to put up with their invectives and haranguing? And if so, how do you deal with it without being destroyed in the process?

If the mood-disordered sibling is also homeless, are you obligated to give that sibling a home? If you’re not in a position to give the sibling a home, what then are you supposed to do? Is it ever okay to walk away and leave the sibling to deal with life as best as possible on the streets? What if the sibling is suffering  with once broken bones that were never set and other painful issues because of a lack of insurance? And what if the sibling is also an alcoholic? How much responsibility do you have then, especially if the sibling doesn’t want to hear anything you have to say and misinterprets even the smallest gesture of kindness, such as the offer of a bit of food?

Is one ever free from the situation? If you walk away, how do you keep your heart from breaking? If you stay in contact, being subjected to so much anger and hatred, how do you keep your spirit from breaking?

***

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.

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Excerpt From “Grief: The Great Yearning” — Day 197

October 9, 2013 — Pat Bertram

I’ve come a long way in the three years since I wrote the following letter.  I still don’t understand the nature of life or death. Still don’t understand the point of it all, but I am embracing life, trying to create my own meaning out of small occurrences.  I’m learning to live without him, learning even to want to live without him. Sometimes I see his death as freeing us — me — from the horrors of his dying, and I don’t want to waste the sacrifice he made.

I still wish I could go home to him when my current responsibilities come to an end, but even that desire is waning. It took me a long time to feel the truth — that he is gone from this earth, and I am here. I still miss him, and I probably always will, but I’m learning to be comfortable in my own skin again. When one of “our” things disappears from my life through attrition, it no longer pains me — they are merely things, not “us”.

I’m  grateful we met and had so many years together. Grateful I once had someone to love. Grateful that when my time comes to die, he won’t be here to see me suffer. Grateful he won’t have to grieve for me.

Excerpt from Grief: The Great Yearning

Day 197, Dear Jeff,

It’s been a while since I’ve written, but I’ve been thinking about you. Are you glad you’re dead? You said you were ready to die, to be done with your suffering, yet at the very end you seemed reluctant to go.

I didn’t want to throw you away. Despite all the problems with your restlessness and the disorientation from the drugs, I wasn’t ready for you to leave me. I still am not. Nor do I want to go back to where we were that last year, waiting for you to die. We were both so miserable, but honestly, this is even worse. I can live without you. The problem is, I don’t want to, and I don’t see why I have to.

I want to come home. Please, can I come home? I have a good place to stay, but without you, I feel homeless. Sometimes I watch movies from your collection and imagine you’re watching with me, but that makes me cry because I know you’re not here. Your ashes are, but you’re not.

I broke a cup today, one more thing gone out of the life we shared. Our stuff is going to break, wear out, get used up. I’ll replace some of it, add new things, write new books, and it will dilute what we shared. Is there going to be anything left of “us”? I feel uncomfortable in this new skin, this new life, as if it’s not mine. As if I’m wearing clothes too big and too small all at the same time.

There’s so much I hate about your being gone—hate it for me and hate it for you. It might be easier if I knew you were glad to be dead, but so far you’ve been mum about your situation. Just one more thing to hate—the silence of the grave. (Well, the silence of the funerary urn.)

Adios, compadre. If you get a chance, let me know you’re okay.

***
Click here to find Grief: The Great Yearning in print or on Kindle from Amazon.


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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, grief, life. Tags: , , , , , . 9 Comments »
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