Life is a Great Big Canvas…

The words might not have originated with me, but the photo art is mine. I was trying to cheat and do a quick post since it’s so late, but this little bit of fluff took longer than a written post would have done!

Life is a great big canvas

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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+

My Star-Studded Weekend

I had a phenomenal time in Seattle this weekend. And such gorgeous weather! (I don’t know whether the bluest skies are in Seattle, but they sure were blue when I was there.)

seattle

Today I woke feeling like Cinderella after the ball. What? No more champagne? No more limousine? No more Shen Yun? No more ferris wheels and fish feasts? Ah, but I have something Cinderella never had . . . photos!!

It truly was a star-studded weekend.

Stars

And the star was . . . me! Here I am decked out in sparkles and party eyes, ready to go to Shen Yun.

But wait! I have to tell you about the first day. My sister and brother-in-law met me right outside the secure area at the airport, then took me to a restaurant on the Puget Sound waterfront where we feasted on crab, shrimp, mussels, corn, sausage, potatoes, and probably a few other things.

Next, we rode a ferris wheel on the pier . . .

Ferris Wheel

and could see . . . well, not exactly forever, but almost.

puget sound

To keep with the theme of going round and round, we went on a carousel at a nearby arcade.  This was my trusty steed.

carousel

Before we left the waterfront, we stopped by Pikes Place Market. It was late, and most vendors had packed up, but the flower sellers were still there. Flowers, flowers, everywhere.

daffodils

The next day, we had a liesurely breakfast (a strata prepared by a professonal chef — my brother-in-law!) then dressed in our finery and waited for the limo my sister hired to take us to see Shen Yun. Often during this past trying year, I’ve found comfort telling myself that I am where I am supposed to be. This little affirmation takes on a whole new meaning when one is driving around in a limousine drinking champagne!

And Shen Yun, the whole point of this excursion? I was afraid that after that first wonderful day of playing in the sun, the show would be anticlimactic, but it was fantastic. Truly a delight for the eyes and the ears. As the program explained, Shen means “divine” and Yun refers to a dancer’s style and the meaning behind his or her movements, so Shen Yun is about “the grace, compassion, and sublime beauty of heavenly realms that are shown through the subtlest expessions and gestures of the dancers.” Truly an experience.

After the show, we went to a fancy restaurant right on the water. (I had Pacific Northwest Chowder and Dungeness Crab Cakes.)  While enjoying a touch of desert (lemon semifreddo) we watched the sun set on a perfect day.

There were many gifts and blessings arising from this weekend, including a closer connection to my sister (and brother-in-law), a realization that yes, someday I can be happy again, and the crowning glory of the stay — a new chapeau.

Pat Bertram

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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+

More Incendiary Photos

Yesterday I posted a couple of photos from my father’s ninety-sixth birthday party, and here are a couple more where he looks very wizardly. (The second one is actually the unretouched photo I posted for the benefit of Rami Ungar, whom I sure you know through his comments on this blog.)

In retrospect, perhaps lighting 96 candles wasn’t the smartest thing to do. One brother who didn’t make it to the party emailed me and asked if everyone behaved. I responded, “You mean except for the part where we lit 96 candles?” He replied, “No EMTs were called, so that doesn’t count.”

What does count, though is that it was an adventure. My life is too staid and going nowhere fast, so I decided to go in pursuit of 101 adventures. Until the candle incident, the number of adventures I’ve had so far this year is zilch. Zero. Nada. So, now I have only 100 more to go. (The resolve for 101 adventures wasn’t really a New Year’s resolution, though the resolution was made on New Year’s Day, because there is no way I can fit that many adventures into a single year and still look after my father.

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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+

96 Candlepower — Don’t Try This Without a Fire Extinguisher Handy!

Yesterday was my father’s ninety-sixth birthday. I never had any intention of putting candles on the cake, but my brother brought four boxes of 24 birthday candles which added up to exactly 96, so it seemed a fitting sign. Besides, there didn’t seem to be very many of them when they were sitting side by side so innocuously in the boxes. Luckily (or maybe unluckily) we had fireplace matches, which are about eight inches long, otherwise those candles would never have been lit. Still, it took four people to light the candes before they burnt out.

Once the candles were lit, they became a single flame, so I never did get to see ninety-six tiny candle flames cheerfully paying homage to all those years.

As my brother said, “In retrospect, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Next year, we’ll get the candles with numbers, but when my father hits 100, we’ll go for 100-candlepower, but maybe a bigger cake  . . .

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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+

Wishing you a peaceful day

Wishing you a peaceful day

and all your troubles far away.

Snowy peaks

A Photo is Not a Living Person (Though Sometimes I Wish it Were)

I only have two photos of my deceased life mate/soul mate. It seems odd in this age of electronic imagery to have so few pictures, but there was no reason to take photos. We were almost always together. We remembered the things we did, the events we participated in, the conversations we had. A camera would have only been an intrusion in our lives.

One of the photos I have is fifteen years old, a formal photo of the two of us, taken at my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary celebration. After he died, his mother wanted a picture, so I took a photo of the picture, cropped me out, and sent it to her. That image of him sat in my computer for over a year without my looking at it. I simply could not bear the pictorial reminder that he was forever gone from this earth. (To be honest, I still cannot bear the thought of his being gone.) Even worse, it didn’t look like him, not the way he looked toward the end (though it had been a perfect likeness at one time), so I barely recognized him. I didn’t want to supplant what images I had of him in my mind with a photo.

About a year ago, however, my memories of him started to fade, and I desperately needed to see him, so I printed out the photo. Somehow, the photo makes him look happy and radiant, as if he were smiling at something only he knew. (Which is odd, because he does not look at all like that in the original photo.)

The other photo of him is from a few months before we died. (I can’t believe I made such a typo, but I’m leaving it in because in so many ways, “we” did die.) I’d just come back from a trip in a rental car, and since a rental car is a terrible thing to waste, we took a rutted and sparsely graveled road to the north rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. (Although we lived only twenty miles from there, neither of our old cars could safely make the trip.) I didn’t realize I had a photo of him until months after his death when I went through the pictures I took of the canyon. (By then, I often took photos — seeing life through the lens of a camera was the only way I could deal with his dying and then with his death.) He is standing at the rim of the Black Canyon, his back to me, staring out at . . . eternity? I was able to look at this photo occasionally, for some reason — maybe because I was able to “see” him the way I remembered him.

There is a third photo, one his oncologist took. I’d considered asking for it, but I remember how appalled my mate was when he saw it — he looked old and haggard and gray and very, very ill. I didn’t want to remember him as such, so I never followed through with my inclination.

A few months ago, I put away the photos. I went from not wanting to look at the pictures, to drawing comfort from them, to not wanting the constant reminder he was dead. But yesterday, I set the photos out again. I needed the feeling of connection, no matter how ephemeral. I don’t know how long it will be before I can’t stand to look at them again — perhaps only a day or two. As much as I need to feel connected to him (sometimes that lack of connection is like an itch deep inside), the truth is, a photo is not a living person, and I cannot feel connected to an image on a piece of paper.

Visiting La-La Land

La-La Land is defined variously as:

  • Los Angeles
  • A place renowned for its frivolous activity
  • A state of mind characterized by unrealistic expectations or a lack of seriousness.
  • A euphoric dreamlike mental state detached from the harsher realities of life

Whatever La-La Land is, I took a trip there. The actual name of the place I visited was Venice Beach, but Venice is part of Greater Los Angeles, so it counts. There was definitely frivolous activity of all kinds, though I’m sure the guys at Muscle Beach and the various street artists and entreprenuers all thought they were involved in serious business. Others were like me, taking a vacation from the harsher realities of life.

These images show a completely unrealistic view of the area since the place was people-packed and smoggy. But still, I managed to get some lovely photos. So, come join me in a pictorial tour of a make-believe land far away.

La-La Land

Venice Beach Pier

Venice Beach as seen from the pier

Sail Away

Low tide

Surf shop

Sand by Any Other Name is . . . Beach

I’ve been walking in the desert almost every day and as much as I enjoy my sandy treks, I decided I needed a change, so I took a trip to Santa Monica in California and found . . . yep. Sand.

Santa Monica Beach

It must be sand that brings out the mystic in me, because I sitting on the beach, looking at the ocean, and what should have been a startlingly wonderful experience was lovely, but not startling. It occurred to me that all this practice of being me, of being in my body, of being present, makes every experience unique in it’s own way. Of course, being in the moment at the beach is more fun that being in the moment in a traffic jam, but both add up to the moments of our lives.

Here are a few moments from Santa Monica.

Santa Monica Pier

Santa Monica Pier

One-Man Band — part of the never ending human carnival on Santa Monica Pier

Santa Monica Mountains as seen from the pier

End of the Trail

More California Dreaming on Route 66

One of the oddest places I visited on Route 66 was the bottle farm outside of Victorville. All the sculptures were created from bottles and other artifacts found in the Mojave Desert.

I wish you could have visited this fascinating place with me, but maybe we’ll meet on Route 66 some other time when we are dreaming of the Mother Road and days gone by.

California Dreaming on Route 66

I am in Victorville. California at the San Bernardino County Fairgrounds, signing books at the Route 66 International Festival. Route 66 enthusiasts from all over the world are here to celebrate the Mother Road and a world gone by.

Ruins along Route 66 in California near Bagdad

The road that fueled dreams of a better life is mostly absorbed into the modern world of interstate travel, but there are still some remembrances of those nostalgic times.

Bagdad Cafe from the movie of the same name

The original Bagdad Cafe is long gone. This structure was the Sidewinder Cafe, renamed for use in the movie, and is located 50 miles west of where Bagdad once stood. Odd to see the screen come to life in this dusty, out of the way place.

Roy’s Motel and Cafe in Amboy on Route 66

Roy’s Hotel and Cafe in Amboy, California, is being restored to it’s former glory (if such an elemental structure can be considered glorious.) The route beer I got at the small store at the gas station was glorious, or perhaps I was simply thirsty. I’m sure you’ve seen similar photos before, but I took this one. Well, I took all of them.

Route Beer. What writer could resist such a pun?