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 »

Quite Contrary

September 4, 2026 — Pat Bertram

There are always contrary things to see in a garden — mildew that shows up on a lilac bush, weeds that infest a lush lawn, insects that hungrily eat everything in sight, plants that die without giving a reason. So many things!

Luckily, some of those contrary things are fun enough to keep gardening from being a totally frustrating experience. For example, the morning glories that showed up in my garden a couple of years ago. (Leftover from the previous owners, I think. Apparently, the flowers were waiting to see if I would be a good caretaker before they showed their pretty heads.)

Those first morning glories were dark purple with a sun-like shine in the center, but this year, for some contrary reason, they came in all shades of blue and purple. The blue could indicate a more alkaline soil, but the soil has always been alkaline (a leftover gift from ancient oceans).

Still, they seem healthy, glad to be alive, and preening before my appreciative eyes.

***

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

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Feeling Lazy

August 16, 2026 — Pat Bertram

It rained a couple of nights in a row, with just a faint misting the third night (last night), which is nice for me, since I got a break from working, nice for the yard since it managed to recuperate from the long heat wave we had, and nice for the flowers.

Although there hasn’t been much color in the yard lately, the rain managed to bring some flowers to life. I generally don’t like sunflowers — well, I like the flowers, I just don’t like huge flowers that tower over and intimidate me. Nor do I like having to deal with the leftover trunk-thick stalks. But the sunflowers were in a package of wildflower seeds my sister had gifted me, and since she’s coming next month, I thought I should make an effort to grow those seeds.

What I ended up with were some cosmos and a bunch of sunflowers. I’d planted them in an area that usually lies fallow in the summer, though this year, I’d also I planted a few food plants and surrounded them with marigolds and lilliput zinnias I’d thinned out of other gardens, again, because of my sister’s visit. (I wanted the place to look as good as possible.) It turned out to be a jungle, but a fun one, especially since buried in all the foliage is a pumpkin the size of a basketball.

Of course, the rain made other things grow, such as the grass, but with heavy due and a ground still moist from the rain, I need to wait a bit to mow. And of course — weeds. Always weeds. I suppose I could go out, brave the mosquitoes, and do some work, but these days off have left me feeling lazy. Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow.

And as I have discovered, it’s often better not to do today what you can put off until tomorrow.

***

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

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My Back Forty

July 17, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Usually at this time of year, my “back forty” is lying fallow. It’s really a “back twenty” — an area about twenty feet by ten feet, but who’s counting. Almost everything I ever planted back there has died off except for a couple of plum trees I planted a few years ago, which in six years have produced a grand total of four plums. The plants that were here when I bought the place are still going strong — a wild rose, a honeysuckle, and a trumpet vine, but those plants are obviously well adapted to their environment. I think it gets too hot in that section for most plants, with the sun reflecting off the white garage next door and then kept sandwiched in between the two garages. In the spring, the area is lush with larkspur, but once I harvest the seeds and clean out the dead stalks, I just let it be. It just never seemed worth trying to grow anything.

Last year, I’d planted a tomato plant, a pumpkin vine, a watermelon vine, and a cantaloupe vine in my raised garden, and those four plants so overwhelmed the relatively small garden that this year I decided to try planting them in my back section, thinking they’d have plenty of room to grow. And they are doing supremely well! Perhaps the trees have grown enough to provide a bit of shade, but whatever the reason, I’m delighted.

I transplanted self-planted marigolds from the raised garden to provide a bit of protection for my “farm garden.” (If four plants can be considered a garden, let alone a farm garden.) I also threw out some wildflower seeds I’d been gifted, and though in previous years, nothing ever came of the wildflowers, this year they are adding to the lushness of the area.

Going by old blog posts I’d written around this same time, this is usually a discouraging time for me. Not only are the heat and humidity hard to bear, but they deplete my energy and my desire to do anything. (I know you people who live in truly high humidity will laugh at my thinking that 40% is high, but when you are used to single digit humidity, that is a huge change. And anyway, that’s just the afternoon humidity — the early morning humidity gets close to 80%.) This year, although the heat and humidity are playing with me, I am managing to keep up a semblance of enthusiasm for the yard, and I tend to think it has to do with that back twenty. With those vines growing so long (the pumpkin vine is at least ten feet long right now, though the others are catching up), they are easily filling the area with a lot of green and some luscious blossoms.

There seem to be many pumpkins starting to grow, but oddly, that wasn’t my main reason for planting them. And anyway, I have no idea what to do with the pumpkings once they’re big enough to eat.

***

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

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Lily Forest Update

July 15, 2026 — Pat Bertram

My lily forest is still going strong. Lush and vibrant, it’s at its peak, so I am making sure to enjoy the blooms every day.

And now, you can enjoy them, too!

It’s interesting that this tiger lily showed up among the more traditional lilies.

You can see it hiding among its taller brethren in the following photo.

As I’m sure you’ve figured, I have nothing much to say today.

Still, considering that a picture is worth a thousand words, or so I’ve heard it said, then this post is a good 5,000 words long. Well, 5,000 plus the 120 words of text.

***

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

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Alien Invasion

July 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram

If you think you’re going to be reading a blog about invaders from another planet or even from another country, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Though, truly, for all I know, this discussion of alienism could be about something from outer space. Spores, perhaps.

These plants are called hen and chicks because, I presume, of the way they proliferate. The mother hen grows multiple babies, then, when she gets tired of them clinging to her skirts, she gets ready for her end by flowering. Unlike other plants, when these particular genera of hen and chicks finish flowering, the worn-out hen gives up the ghost so that her chicks can have room to grow.

Although I like the plants, especially the way they create a lovely carpet of succulents that look like fallen blossoms, I find the flowers creepy.

The central portion of the hen grows and grows and grows, sort of like the alien in Kim Bassenger’s purse in the My Stepmother is an Alien.

Very creepy.

The flowers themselves aren’t really that bad, in fact, they’re sort of pretty in an otherworldly sort of way, like something you’d see under a microscope, but the whole thing — the base, the long stalk, the bundle of flowers at the very top — is . . . well, it’s just creepy.

Most years, my hen and chicks don’t flower, and if they do, it’s only one or two. Usually, when they start to become alienish, I pull up the mother hen. I figure, since it has to be pulled up after she flowers, I might as well do it before so I don’t get creeped out.

But this year, more than a dozen mothers all got to flowering. A veritable invasion! I let them do what they wanted, even knowing my reaction, for the same reason I do so much of what I do — it gives me a blog topic. (I used to do a whole lot of things simply to have something to write about, but I don’t do that so much anymore, so what goes on in my yard has to suffice.)

This morning, I took the photos, wrote this blog, and then I went out and got rid of my alien invasion.

Whew! Disaster averted.

***

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

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Lily Tree Forest

July 9, 2026 — Pat Bertram

When I first started thinking about a garden, I came across photos of a luscious flower called a tree lily, a hybrid between an Oriental lily and a trumpet lily. (For obvious reasons, they’re also known as Orienpet lilies.) I’d always thought lilies were a rarified flower that only professional gardeners could grow, but apparently not. I loved the idea of a lily tree forest, so I decided to take a chance, even though the bulbs aren’t cheap.

Some of the original bulbs never came up, so the next year I planted a few more. And a few more after that. A couple of years ago, the lilies started to grow tall and to bloom. And oh, how lovely those lilies are! Large than my hand, on stalks taller than I am, they manage to deal with the weather extremes of this area very well. Even the late frost didn’t do much damage.

My one nitpick with the plants is that they need to be staked to keep them from growing in crookedly, but how does one stake a six- or seven-foot plant? I do fine when they’re young with my 2-foot metal stakes and the three-foot bamboo stakes, but after that, they’re on their own. I could tie them to the fence, but it would take a lot of plant ties or twine, and I’m afraid I’d forget it was there and trip on it or decapitate myself. Well, not decapite, of course, but something unpleasant anyway.

Although the forest looks as if it’s a narrow swath, the tallest lily and the one most needing to be staked is six feet from the fence. Still, leaning or not, my lily forest is awesome. The plants are just starting to bloom, and since each has multiple flowers that bloom at different times, I will have lilies to enjoy for over a month. (The flowers on the lower left-hand side of the photo are purple magnus echinacea.)

It’s amazing what an amateur gardener can do with no expertise but a head full of hopes. I’m still an amateur, of course, but after five years of gardening, I do know a few things, such as water them, remove weeds and weedy grasses, and let them do what they want to do.

Luckily for me, what they want to do is . . . bloom.

***

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

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Orange You Glad

July 5, 2026 — Pat Bertram

When my little brother was small, three or four maybe, he was annoyingly smart. He’d ask if I wanted to play a particular game, and if I said no, he’d say, “I’ll let you win.” That’s how smart he was — he knew how to beat me (even though I was more than a decade older than he was) as well as figure out how to let me win. He also had an infectious laugh. He used to tell one of those knock knocks that kept repeating the refrain, and when he got to the punchline, he’d just laugh and laugh. I’d have to laugh with him, even though by the time he finished, I was sick of “bananas.”

You know the joke:

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Banana. Banana who? Knock, knock. Who’s there? Banana. Banana who? Knock, knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? Orange you glad I didn’t say banana again?

As I was sorting through the photos I took for today’s blog, I noticed that they were mostly yellow and orange, and it reminded me of that joke.

The flowers are no joke of course — they are a delight to the eye. My eye, anyway.

Although the spring flowers are gone, and the few summer flowers I planted — wildflower and dwarf zinnias — haven’t yet come in, there are a few flowers showing their colors.

Daylilies.

This shy pumpkin blossom.

A dainty cantaloupe blossom.

The first moss rose. My raised garden is filled with the greenery of flowers that planted themselves, but so far, there’s only this one yellow rose.

And then there’s this tree lily flower. I always thought lilies were an exotic flower, only able to be grown in special circumstances, so I was delighted when I found out I would be able to grow a forest of lily trees. (Lily trees are a hybrid of oriental and trumpet lilies, enormous flowers sitting stalks that grow to six feet or even more, and I have dozens of them yet to blossom!)

I realize this pink lily doesn’t fit with the color scheme of the rest of the blog, but orange you glad I posted it anyway?

***

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

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Success

June 22, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
What’s your top tip to be successful in life?
View all responses

There are two ways to be successful in life. The first is to decide what being successful means to you, then focus on what will get you there. If being successful means being in a loving relationship, then prioritize that, don’t be distracted by what others think being successful means. If being successful means raising healthy and happy children, don’t give up time with them for other pursuits that might interfere, though sometimes, admittedly, what interferes is the need to make enough money to support those children. If being successful means making a ton of money, then go after it, but don’t be surprised when you find that other parts of your life aren’t as satisfying. If being successful means being a good person, following one’s faith, or doing simple acts of kindness, then that’s what you focus on.

Of course, just because you go after something doesn’t mean you will succeed at it, so this brings me to the second way of being successful — being grateful for what you have and what you have accomplished. Enjoying the moment. Celebrating your good fortune and accepting that you did what you could. And not comparing yourself to others. What you might see as their success, they might not. In fact, they might be comparing themselves to you, thinking you are the successful one.

When I became a writer, I hoped for success, which at the time meant being a self-supporting writer, selling enough books to make a living wage so I could write more books. Unfortunately, I didn’t succeed at being self-supporting, but I did succeed at writing. I wrote nine books, all of which were published. That I was not successful at promoting those books does not mitigate the success of having written all those words, told those stories, offered a helping hand to people who have lost a spouse or a child.

Just the other day, a woman came up to me to tell me she’d bought two copies of Grief: The Inside Story, one for her sister who had lost her husband and one for herself so she could understand what her sister was going through. It was due to the comfort offered in my book as well as the explanation of the mechanics of grief, that helped the sister finally sleep through the night, which, if you don’t know, is a big step for grievers. Also, the woman who bought the books was able to support her sister, letting her sister grieve as she needed to, without urging her to “get over it.” She had tears in her eyes as she thanked me for what I had given them.

So . . . . success. Yes? No? Well, the book did not solve my financial woes as I’d hoped, but oh, my, having truly helped someone who needed it? That is success. Maybe it’s even a more profound success than making money — to those two women, it certainly was.

So, in short, decide what success means to you, focus on what you need to do to achieve that success, and then celebrate whatever success comes your way, even if it comes in a way you never envisioned.

***

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

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True Magic

June 11, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I mentioned yesterday that it had suddenly struck me with amazement — again — that I was living in such a beautiful place.

And the same feeling struck me again today.

It makes sense why I feel so grateful and so blessed; I live in a truly magical place. I was out working in the yard today — overdoing it as usual — and for a change, I stopped to rest on my pretty bench because I was too tired to drag myself to a chair under the gazebo.

I sat there musing about my magic place. A few seeds, a few plants, some water, and suddenly, there it is — a magnificent yard, with views on every side. (Not suddenly, not really, but as the saying goes, nothing happens then everything happens.)

I’m not being ingenuous. When I moved here, there wasn’t much but weeds, dirt, and a rotting garage, so obviously I did a lot of work, but still, isn’t it magic? I didn’t really have anything to do with the plants sprouting from seed and then growing and having babies, and all of them showing off for me. I gave them the space and opportunity to do what they needed to do, but the rest was them. All the intelligence they needed to know what to do was in them, packed in a tiny kernel of information. I could only marvel at their cleverness at being able to do all the real work.

It’s a good thing they know how to come to life because I don’t. Putting the seeds and started plants in soil and watering what doesn’t die is about all I know how to do.

And apparently, it’s enough. Because sitting there, I saw a whole lot of beauty.

To the right of the garage is the gazebo, of course, and the raised garden, filled with petunias and a whole lot of moss rose that planted itself. There are also dozens of marigolds that decided they wanted to join the petunias and moss rose, but I am thinning those and transplanting them elsewhere.

In front of the bench where I am sitting and to the left of the garage is . . . well, all I can call it is a mini park. Toward the back are the four food plants I just put into the ground as well as a patch of wildflower seeds. Behind the bushes, the lily forest is growing so very tall. One lily towers over me! With any luck, I’ll be seeing flowers in a couple of weeks.

And peeking from behind the bushes, along the fence, are the hollyhocks that planted themselves.

True magic.

***

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

 

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