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Proverbs From Around the World — N to Z

October 24, 2012 — Pat Bertram

This is part two of Proverbs From Around the World. You can find the A to M proverbs by clicking here.

William Penn wrote, “The wisdom of nations lies in their proverbs, which are brief and pithy. Collect and learn them; they are notable measures of directions for human life; you have much in little; they save time in speaking; and upon occasion may be the fullest and safest answers.”

Anonymous, that prolific pontificator, wrote, “Proverbs are the cream of a nation’s thought.”

These are by no means the only proverbs from around the world, Nor are they the best. They are simply those that I happened to read and like. Feel free to add your own.

Norwegian Proverb

Heroism consists in hanging on one minute longer.

Persian Proverb

Fate: When its time has arrived, the prey comes to the hunter.

Polish Proverbs

The greatest love is a mother’s, then a dog’s, then a sweetheart’s.

When I have money, everyone called me brother.

The woman cries before the wedding, the man afterward.

Portuguese Proverb

An old man in love is like a flower in winter.

Russian Proverbs

If God listened to every shepherd’s curse, our sheep would all be dead.

The eggs do not teach the hen.

Live with the wolves, howl like a wolf.

A sleeping fox counts hens in its dreams.

When money speaks, the truth is silent.

Sicilian Proverb

The less things change, the more they stay the same.

Scottish Proverbs

Better bend than break.

A man is a lion in his own cause

Spanish Proverbs

If you want to make someone laugh, tell them your troubles.

An ounce of mother is worth a ton of priest.

There is no happiness; there are only moments of happiness.

It is better to be a mouse in a cat’s mouth than a man in a lawyer’s hands.

If I die, I forgive you. If I live, we’ll see.

Never advise anyone to go to war or to marry.

Habits are at first cobwebs then cables.

How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then to rest afterward

United States of America Proverbs

The most dangerous food is wedding cake.

Never swap horses crossing a stream

A louse in the cabbage is better than no meat at all. (Pennsylvanian Dutch.)

A people without history is like wind on the buffalo grass. (Sioux)

In the beginning God gave to every people a cup of clay, and from this cup they drank their life. (Northern Paiute)

Don’t talk unless you can improve the silence. (Vermont)

Welsh Proverbs

Heaven defend me from a busy doctor.

He understands badly who listens badly.

Better one word before than two after.

Yiddish Proverb

Small children disturb your sleep, big children your life.

Yugoslavian Proverb

Tell the truth and run.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the conspiracy 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+

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: American proverbs, Polish proverbs, proverbs, Russian proverbs, Spanish proverbs, Welsh proverbs, wisdom of nations. 3 Comments »

Proverbs From Around the World — A to M

October 23, 2012 — Pat Bertram

This is part one of Proverbs From Around the World. You can find the N to Z proverbs by clicking here.

Anonymous, that prolific pontificator, wrote, “Proverbs are the cream of a nation’s thought.”

These are by no means the only proverbs from around the world, Nor are they the best. They are simply those that I happened to read and like. Feel free to add your own.

Belgian Proverb

Experience is the comb that nature gives us when we are bald.

Chinese Proverbs

Two leaps per chasm is fatal.

One joy scatters a hundred griefs.

Do not use a hatchet to remove a fly from your friend’s forehead.

Behind an able man there are always other able men.

Blessings never come in pairs; misfortunes never come alone

English Proverbs

What can be done at any time is never done at all.

As bad as marrying the devil’s daughter and living with the old folks.

Estonian Proverb

What you are afraid of overtakes you.

French Proverb

Everything passes, everything perishes, everything palls.

German Proverbs

Too clever is dumb.

An old error is always more popular than a new truth.

Indian Proverb

The cobra will bite you whether you call it Cobra or Mr. Cobra.

Irish Proverbs

It is better to be a coward for one minute than dead for the rest of your life.

Patience cures many an old complaint.

When the apple is ripe, it will fall.

Italian Proverbs

The best way to get praise is to die.

There is no thief like a bad book.

By asking for the impossible, we obtain the best possible.

Japanese Proverbs

The reverse side also has a reverse side.

To teach is to learn.

A man in love mistakes a pimple for a dimple.

The nail that sticks up gets hammered down.

A good husand is healthy and absent.

At the first cup man drinks wine; at the second cup wine drinks wine; at the third cup wine drinks man.

Jewish Proverb

If the rich could hire people to die for them, the poor could make a wonderful living

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Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: Chinese proverbs, Engish proberbs, Irish proverbs, Italian proverbs, Japanese proverbs, proverbs, wisdom of nations. 6 Comments »

Grief: The Great Yearning

October 21, 2012 — Pat Bertram

I never set out to write a book about grief, but I was so lost, so lonely, so sick with grief and bewildered by all I was experiencing, that the only way I could try to make sense of it was to put my feelings into words. Whether I was writing letters to my deceased life mate/soul mate or simply pouring out my feelings in a blog or a journal, writing helped me feel close to him, as if, once again, I was talking things over with him. The only problem was, I only heard my side of the story. He never told me how he felt about his dying and our separation. Did he feel as broken as I did? Did he feel amputated? Or was he simply glad to be shucked of his body, and perhaps even of me?

I wrote this letter to him exactly two years ago. It shows some of the collateral effects of grief, such as the questioning, the yearning, the struggle to come to terms with death and dying. Although I am going through a time of relative peace, what I wrote back then still holds true today.

Excerpt from Grief: The Great Yearning:

Dear J,

For the first time since you died, I almost forgot to advance your permanent calendar. I’m surprised I’ve remembered to do it all these months. I thought it would be a remembrance, but I don’t need anything to remind me of you — everything I see, say, do reminds me of you.

I’ve decided the only way to fill the hole you left in my life, to make sense of your absence, is to fill it with activities I would not have done if you were alive. There are not enough events in the whole world to fill the void, but I need to try, otherwise I’ll never manage to get through the next decades. I hope I don’t become one of those people who hold on to their pain because it’s all they have to make them feel alive, but it is all I have to connect to you. Well, I have memories and some of your things, but that’s not enough.

Would your death be easier to accept if you’d been happy? Is your unhappiness a reason for me to accept your death? What makes this so confusing is that your long dying, the accumulating weakness and pain made you unhappy, so how can I use that as a rationale for being okay with your dying?

I’m like a child, wanting to scream, “It’s unfair!” And it is, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re dead.

Did I hold your hand when you died? I think I just stood there as you took your last breath, but I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of the last couple of years. It’s like I was in suspended animation, just waiting for you to die. What a terrible thing to say, but it was a terrible time to have lived through. But you didn’t live through it, did you? Well, you did live it, you just didn’t survive it.

I wonder if subconsciously I knew all this pain was waiting for me, and that’s why I closed myself off from the reality of your dying. I don’t like this, J. I don’t like it at all

***

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.

Click here to find out more about Grief: The Great Yearning

Posted in culture, grief, life. Tags: dealing with grief, death, effects of grief, Grief: The Great Yearning, letter to the dead, loss. Leave a Comment »

Does One Have to be a Coffee Drinker to be a Writer?

October 18, 2012 — Pat Bertram

I do author interviews on my Pat Bertram Introduces . . . blog, I have a constant feed of authors’ status updates in my Facebook feed, and I participate in several online discussion groups for writers. And always, one word seems to come to the fore: coffee. Coffee seems to be part of the writing ritual, and many authors claim to find inspiration in a cup of coffee. Hmmm. I don’t drink coffee. Am I missing a vital part of the writing process?

Here are some responses to the question of what writers drink while writing. The comments are taken from interviews posted at Pat Bertram Introduces . . .

From an interview with: J. Conrad Guest, author of Backstop and One Hot January

My morning sessions start with a pot of coffee and a trip to my humidor to select a cigar.

From an interview with: Coco Ihle, author of She Had to Know

I have a wonderful 16 oz. thermos mug that keeps my coffee hot, so I don’t have to get up so often for a refill. My right hand seems to be permanently crooked into the mug holding position.

From an interview with: P.I. Barrington, Author of Isadora DayStar

Coffee and Diet Coke are my working poisons. If I could get them both via an IV drip I would, lol!

From an interview with: John Paul Allen, Author of “Monkey Love”

Lots of coffee — two or three pots are a must.

From an interview with: Millicent Borges Accardi, Author of Injuring Eternity

I typically drink Peet’s coffee when I am writing or at my computer.

From an interview with: T. C. Isbell, Author of “Southern Cross”

Coffee, I drink vast mounts of coffee while I work.

From an interview with: Dr. Dorothy McCoy, Author of “The Manipulative Man”

I fix a cup of superb, fresh ground coffee (one should not skimp on coffee).

From an interview with: Jetta Stone, Author of “Silver Moon”

Chocolate and a cup of steaming strong brewed coffee.

From an interview with: Tom Rizzo, Author of “Last Stand At Bitter Creek”

Coffee. Is there any other?

From an interview with: Steven Hart, Author of “We All Fall Down”

Coffee. Oh yes — coffee.

See what I mean? Coffee. What about you? Do you have a favorite beverage that you drink while writing?

(If you’d like me to interview you, please check out my author questionnaire http://patbertram.wordpress.com/author-questionnaire/ and follow the instruction.)

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Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: author interviews, coffee, cofffee drinker, Pat Bertram Introduces, writing and coffee. 9 Comments »

Is it Your Business What Others Think of You?

October 17, 2012 — Pat Bertram

Occasionally I see a saying that seems to bring a moment of enlightenment, but the more I see it, the murkier its truth becomes. And so it is with this little gem: What others think of you is none of your business.

To a certain extent, the saying is true. You can’t live your live trying to figure out what others think of you and then work your life around their opinions. You have to consider what you think of you and live your life accordingly. This also works in reverse — what you think of someone is none of their business. So often, we feel the need to tell others what we think of them — simply to help them, of course — but if what we think of them is none of their business, we might as well keep our opinions to ourselves. (And perhaps save a friendship in the process.)

But . . . (by now, I’m sure you’ve read enough of my blog to know there is always a but somewhere in my posts.)

What a child thinks of his parents is often a key to his emotional health, so what the child thinks of his parents is definitely the parents’ business. If the child is overly attached to his parents or is angry at them for no apparent reason, the child could be having emotional problems. On the other hand, if the child is embarrassed by his parents (beyond normal bounds) or if the child finds it hard to be around them for some reason, maybe the parents are the ones with the problem.

If you are in a romantic relationship, a marriage, or some other long-term coupling, what your loved one thinks of you is definitely your business. If you think yours is a love match and the other thinks it’s a lust match, you need to know that so you can make informed decisions about your future. If your husband no longer loves you and has developed a roving eye, you certainly need to know how he feels about you so you take appropriate actions, such as getting couple’s therapy. (Unless, of course, you prefer not knowing.) If you’re in a relationship and are ready “for the next level” (whatever that is), and your partner in the relationship wants only your money, you need to know the truth before things go to far.

And of course, if your neighbor hates you enough to want to kill you, that most certainly is your business.

There must be many other examples where this particular saying doesn’t pertain, but you get the point: sometimes a clever message is simply clever and not a great truth.

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Posted in culture, life, relationships, writing. Tags: enlightenment, none of your business, what others think of you, what you think of others, what you think of you. 11 Comments »

Grief Rant

October 16, 2012 — Pat Bertram

I still have some anger in me, apparently. I occasionally “flame out” as one friend said when I disagreed with an email that friend sent. I am regaining my equilibrium, though, able to get through my days mostly even tempered, but one thing continues to raise my ire: when people assume all grief is the same, and especially when they assume they understand the grief of someone who lost a soul mate because they lost a beloved pet. Such a comment set me off tonight, and when my reply ended up being longer than some of my blog posts, I decided to publish the comment here rather than get in a grief match (“my grief is worse than your grief”) because, honestly, all loss is devastating, especially when it happens to you.

And yet . . . the death of a pet, no matter how beloved, is not the same as losing a soul mate. Nor is the trauma of losing a brother or a mother the same as losing a long-time spouse. The only thing that comes close is losing a child. (My younger brother’s death hastened my mother’s death. She died a year after he did.)

I understand there are all kinds of grief, and I know they all have to be honored. Grief of any kind that is not processed can cause additional problems. (Or not. Some people seem to do quite well walling off their grief.)

My concern has always been for those who have to deal with the death of a spouse, whether a life mate or a soul mate because that sort of all-encompassing grief is more than most people can comprehend. I thought I understood grief — after all, I grieved the deaths of my brother and my mother — but until the death of my life mate/soul mate, I never even knew such profound grief existed. During the past two and a half years, I have met dozens, maybe hundreds of women who have lost their mates, and they all mentioned the same thing — they had to hide their grief because no one understood. That is unconscionable. (I didn’t have this problem. I’m a quasi hermit, so no one was around to see me mourning.)

The truth is, it’s the very prevalence of grief that makes people uncomfortable with the profound grief of someone who lost a soul mate. People figure they got over their grief, whatever or whoever it was for, so you should, too. The trouble with losing your mate is that your grief is not just emotional, but also physical. In addition to the unimaginable agony of loss, you have to deal with shock, a blizzard of hormonal reactions, changes in brain chemistry, an incredible level of stress (losing a mate is considered the most stressful thing a person ever has to deal with; many people end up being treated for PTSD). Your death rate climbs 25% for all causes.

Added to that are all the horrendous “death” chores you have to deal with such as planning a funeral and filling out all the official and financial paperwork involved in “removing” someone from the world. As your emotions begin to stabilize, you have other griefs to deal with since a soul mate is more than a spouse — he’s also a best friend, companion, sometimes even a business partner, and all those losses have to be processed. You also grieve for the loss of yourself, at least your coupled self. And then you have to deal with the restructuring of your life. Your dreams are gone as are your plans for the future so you need to find new reasons to live. Sometimes you have to leave your home. It takes years to sort out all the losses so you can process them and begin again.

I don’t mean to belittle anyone’s grief. But, as I explained in my post, Why I Write About My Grief, people who have lost a mate deserve a lot more consideration and understanding from their family and friends than the assumption that their loss is comparable to the loss of a beloved pet.

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Posted in culture, grief, life. Tags: all grief is not the same, dealing with grief, death of a spouse, grief and loss, grief and stress, loss of a pet, whose grief is worst. 28 Comments »

Opening Myself to the Power of the Universe

October 15, 2012 — Pat Bertram

I’ve never had an interest in yoga, though as it turns out, several of my morning stretching exercises are yoga poses. But now I’m hooked and mostly because of a single pose called Warrior. (I can’t even pronounce the Sanskrit name: Virabhadrasana.)

The pose seems to open me up to the universe and myself, makes me feel strong and potentially invincible, as if I’m tapping into hidden sources of power. I have no idea why the pose has this effect on me since the others in the class don’t have the same affinity for the pose that I do. All I know is the effect it has on me. I feel the power even more when I am out in the desert, alone with the sun, facing the mountains.

“Warrior 1” is shown here, with the arms extended over head. In “Warrior 2”, the right leg is foremost, the right arm is extended straight out in front and the left arm is stretched out behind in line with the legs, and the head pointing toward the right thumbs (You can find images of the pose by Googling “Warrior 2.”) You also do the pose in reverse, with the left leg foremost.

It will be interesting to find out what happens over the course of the months by doing this exercise. If the effect isn’t an illusion, and I’m really gathering power, then watch out! Who knows what I will become.

Posted in being me, culture, life. Tags: feeling powerful, gathering power, the power of the universe, Warrior 1, Warrior 2, yoga. 10 Comments »

Twisting Time is Here: The Power of Saying Yes

October 11, 2012 — Pat Bertram

A few years ago I developed a new philosophy: say yes. When people ask me to do something or invite me somewhere or suggest a course of action that I would not normally have considered, I try to say yes instead of immediately dismissing the idea as I once would have done. I’d hoped that by opening myself to diverse activities, I would spark new interests, maybe even twist off my usual path onto a new path of living. So, far, that hasn’t happened. I still don’t have much life in my life or spring in my step, though I don’t know whether these are lingering effects of grief or simply a sign that I haven’t yet found something to be passionate about.

One of my most recent yeses lead to yoga classes, something I had absolutely no interest in, especially since I had no interest in twisting myself into uncomfortable positions. The point of these particular classes is to open oneself up, to breathe, to be, which falls right in line with my latest outlook, which I found interesting. I’ve been pausing in my desert walks to do a few of the breathing exercises (the standing ones), opening myself to the universe, and then saying my affirmation: “I am happy. I am being me. I am where I am supposed to be.” And for a while, I am happy, or at least at peace.

Another yes landed me at twist party for Chubby Checker’s 71^st birthday. It was actually a concert, but everyone danced in the aisles, and a couple of times Chubby Checker came down off the stage and joined us. We also sang happy birthday to him, and I found singing to a singer corny enough to be amusing. (Amazing — 71 and still able to perform for 75 minutes and more.)

Other recent yeses took me to see the top-rated Elvis tribute artist in the world and a war dance demonstration.

None of these yeses twisted my life around, changed my thinking, or added anything besides an hour or so of diversion, but still, I’ll keep saying yes. Anything can happen, and perhaps that possibility is the real value of saying yes.

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Posted in being me, culture, life. Tags: Chubby Checker, Elvis tribute artist, saying yes, the power of saying yes, twisting, war dance, yoga. 7 Comments »

Being is Reason Enough for Living

October 10, 2012 — Pat Bertram

I saw the 1993 movie Indian Summer the other day, and one scene still haunts me. Alan Arkin takes Diane Lane, whose husband has been dead a year, to see a house on the lake. He tells her the owner died fifteen years previously and, abiding by the old guy’s wishes, he dropped the guy’s body in the center of the lake. The guy’s wife continued to live in the house, and fifteen years later, when she died, Arkin “buried” her next to her husband. Arkin say he should simply have dropped the wife in the lake when the husband died as a not very subtle way of telling Lane to get on with her life.

Oddly, the reinforcement of the idea that after a year we bereft are supposed to set aside our grief and get on with our life (get a guy, in other words) didn’t bother me as much as the implication that the old woman wasted her life by living at the lake alone.

Is living alone a waste? Not everyone gets to be with someone, and even those who do get to be with someone for a while don’t always get to live out their life with that person. So does that mean their lives are a waste? Not everyone is gifted with friends or has the gift of making friends. Does that mean the lives of the friendless are a waste? We’re told repeatedly in songs, movies, stories, poems, greeting cards, that love makes the world go round. But if love doesn’t come to you, does that mean you should just get off the world and let it go round without you?

If living alone is a waste, does that mean every minute you’re not with someone, anyone, you’re wasting your life? Of course not. So what is the break off point? It’s okay to be alone for a day or two? A week? A year? Is it better to be with someone you hate just so that you’re not alone? I don’t believe that, and I hope you don’t either.

Maybe Arkin’s character thought that being isolated made the old woman’s life a waste. As long as her husband was alive, apparently living by the lake was okay, but when he died, what was she supposed to do — give up her cherished home, the clean air, closeness to nature for a dubious life in the city? And if she did move, what would keep her from being even more isolated? Some of the loneliest people are those who live in the midst of others.

Or maybe Arkin’s character assumed the woman was unhappy, though sadness isn’t a reason to think her life was worthless. Happiness itself doesn’t make life worthwhile — it only feels that way.

I don’t suppose this scene would have bothered me so much if I weren’t struggling with these questions in my own life. There is a good chance I will live out the rest of my life alone. That doesn’t mean — can’t mean — my life has no worth. It would be a pathetic state of affairs if being with someone is the only thing that makes life worthwhile.

Being is reason enough for living (which Alan Arkin’s character, the supposedly wise old Unca Lou should have known). Even if we are blessed with love and friendship, the truth still remains: our only obligation to life is to live the best we can for as long as we can — to simply “be.”

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Posted in being me, culture, life. Tags: Alan Arkin, Diane Lane, indian summer, love makes the world go round, reason for living, what makes life worthwhile. 8 Comments »

The Wonder of Us

October 9, 2012 — Pat Bertram

A friend told me that she almost died in her early twenties. She said she thought she had been spared because one of her as yet unborn offspring (my word, not hers) or their offspring would do something vital. Perhaps, for example, her young granddaughter will grow up to be president. (Frankly, I think she shouldn’t set her sights so low.) It made me sad that she thought her importance to the world lay not in herself, but in her grandchildren, and it got me to thinking about what makes us important.

Most of us will never be known outside of our circle of family and friends, will never even have fifteen minutes of fame. Most of us will never change the world or make an earthshaking discovery. Most of us will never be wildly successful, though many of us will be quietly successful — at living, if nothing else. Most of us will never satisfy all our dreams, though we will be mostly satisfied with the dreams that do come true. In other words, in the eyes of the world, most of us will never be important.

And yet . . .

We unimportant folks are people of peace. We don’t start wars, don’t start fights, and seldom start arguments. We give more than we take. We nurture more than we smother, help more than hinder, solve more problems than we generate. We create more than we destroy. We try to do the right thing, though we don’t always know what that might be. We appreciate more than we denigrate. We are often kind and seldom mean. We usually give credit where credit is due and don’t demand more credit than we deserve. We are seldom prejudiced, and if we are, we never let our bias get in the way of how we treat others. We are grateful more than we are regretful.

We value a rich life more than we value a life of riches. We care for this world and for the creatures that depend on it. We feast on beauty, though we might not always agree on what is beautiful. (Besides sunsets. We all see the beauty in sunsets. Not one of us has ever looked at a sunset and said, “oh, how hideous.”)

We love more than we hate.

So, even though most of us will never be considered important, we are probably more important to the world than those who are considered important. And that is the wonder of us.

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