New Month, New Tarot Deck

Every month I’ve been using a different tarot deck in an effort to see if the deck feels the same as the rest, or if it resonates with me. Although I like a couple of the decks better than any of the others, either because of size or feel or the artistry, I haven’t felt any special affinity with any of the cards.

This month’s choice of decks is the Jungian tarot, which is based on archetypal images designed to activate the imagination. According to the designer of the deck, most of the current values assigned to the various cards were arbitrarily developed in the nineteenth century by occult groups. By contrast, he says the attributions in the Jungian Tarot were painstakingly researched in an effort to relate tarot interpretation to more ancient traditions.

Sounds good, right? Well, today’s card, the ten of wands activates my imagination not at all. The image gives me the impression of being weirdly inappropriate since it seems sinister, and the ten of wands is a rather benign card relating to careful management, functioning within a large organization, success, the loneliness that comes from success, and reacting defensively to badly organized ideas. Which is not a whole lot different from the meanings assigned by other tarot interpreters. Most say the card is about success and the perhaps oppressive responsibilities one has to take on because of that success; a need for prioritizing, delegating, and sharing your burdens. (None of which seem to have any relation to my life at all.)

It almost seems as if the major arcana (the cards most people have heard of, such as the fool, the hanged man, the sun, the moon, etc) are the cards that every tarot artist and interpreter spend most time on, and the others are “also rans.” (Which is why so many readings, such as online readings, use only those twenty-two cards rather than all seventy-eight cards.)

When I do graduate from picking just one card to doing a periodic reading (weekly or monthly), chances are I will only use those twenty-two cards until I get familiar with how the cards fit together to show . . . well, to show whatever it is they are supposed to show. I still don’t know. I do know the tarot isn’t really about foretelling the future; it’s more about communicating with our deepest being, but so far, there’s not a hint of what I might be hiding in my innermost depths. It could be I have no such depths. It could be the cards are not speaking to me, and if they are, I haven’t learned to listen. It could be that the whole thing is hokum.

So far, the only imagination it has activated in me is the possibility of using the cards as story telling cards — using each of the face cards as a character, and surrounding them random cards to see how their lives would unfold. But the idea has gone no further than that. Nor have I deepened whatever intuition I might have or learned anything I don’t already know.

But I have the cards, so it does me no harm to pick one every day just to see what I pick.

***

While sorting through her deceased husband’s effects, Amanda is shocked to discover a gun and the photo of an unknown girl who resembles their daughter. After dedicating her life to David and his vocation as a pastor, the evidence that her devout husband kept secrets devastates Amanda. But Amanda has secrets of her own. . .

Click here to buy: Unfinished

What’s in a Name?

I’m reading a mystery that takes place in a historic coffee shop, which is interesting in itself because I didn’t realize how far back coffee shops went — way back to the 1700s, actually. And maybe even before. I thought they were a more recent idea, though I don’t know why I supposed that — after all, beverage restaurants go back to the beginning of time. (The time of commerce, anyway.) Grog shops, pubs, taverns, wineries, tea houses, so why not coffee shops? I’m sure when chocolate became popular in the 1700s, there were chocolate shops, too, though a cursory look at Google’s offerings didn’t tell me if my surmise was correct.

But I should have known about coffee shops; after all, the term “café society” was coined in the early twentieth century, though the custom of literati, artists, and socialites gathering at coffee shops after attending cultural activities stems from the nineteenth century in the United States. Although coffee shops were prevalent in European culture, they didn’t become the cultural icon they are today in the USA until the later part of the twentieth century.

So, here I am in a fictional coffee shop that has been around for a hundred years, “listening” to the manager of the shop ramble on and on about the different coffee beans, the different ways of brewing, the different tastes and smells (particularly smell since apparently half the appreciation of coffee lies in the scent), as well as the various undertones, overtones, and aftertastes.

Reminds me of wine. People always taste more in wine than I’ve ever been able to even guess. Maybe it’s like music — even a good barbershop quartet grates on my poor ears because I hear only a single discordant sound. Afficionados and others with a musical ear can hear each tone separately, and so they can appreciate the harmony.

I’ve never been able to taste anything in wine but . . . wine. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that my tastes run more to a slightly sweet sparkling wine, though the last time I had any wine (a glass of Seven Daughter’s Moscato) was a couple of years ago when a friend took me out to dinner to celebrate my buying a house. So you can see, I am not a big fan of fermented grapes.

And coffee? It all tastes the same to me, so I find it amusing that I am drinking a cup of instant coffee doctored with honey and lots of cream while I am reading what amounts to a connoisseur’s guide to coffee sandwiched between a couple of murders.

It’s a good thing I never aspired to be member of café society. There’s just no getting away from my plebian tastes when it comes to . . . well, almost everything. Books, movies, art, coffee, wine — plebian all the way. It’s ironic, really, when you consider that my name comes from patrician, which is the exact opposite of plebian.

I guess the answer to Shakespeare’s question, “What’s in a name?” is “Nothing.”

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God

The Art of Living

I visited my friend today, the one who is dealing with end stage cancer, and it was a nice visit. The four of us were there — the four who have formed a small family and who celebrate holidays together — so it was fitting we all got together for this informal celebration of life.

None of us were morbid or melancholic in any way — not the three of us (including her husband) whose mates have died, and not our lovely friend who is facing her final months. We simply visited as we normally do while nibbling on nutritious snacks. The talk revolved around food as it often does among the four of us, perhaps because our food backgrounds are completely different; two of us are native-born Americans and two are from widely different Asian countries.

The food and the talk of food seemed to fit the mood we established of living for today without any thought of what tomorrow might bring, because what is more life affirming that food? Not only does it nourish our bodies and spirits, it unites us with our heritage, and it brings us together in a peaceful and sharing manner.

I am truly glad we had such a pleasant visit. In a side chat, the other widow and I mentioned how sorry we were for our friend’s trouble, how sad we were for ourselves, and that we didn’t really want to think about “it.” So we didn’t.

I don’t know if I could have endured a tearful time. After all, she is still here, still living each day the fullest she can. And isn’t that all any of us can do? Some of us might know our expiration date, at least to the extent of a doctor’s guess, but no one truly knows what tomorrow might bring. So we live each day with an almost careless lack of concern. And isn’t that just as important when it comes to an end, whether our own or a loved one’s?

After Jeff died, I often mentioned in my blogs about his “time of dying” or his “dying years,” but those are misnomers. Even when a person is dying, he is living, even if he’s in too much pain to care.

I remember crying to the hospice social worker who would come and check on us, that he hadn’t had much of a life, which seemed to make his death all that much more tragic, but she reminded me that whatever one has to deal with — disregard from parents, lack of financial success, ill health, whatever — it is still life.

And I remind myself of that now. However long I have with my friend, it will be about enjoying the time together, because this is part of living. Maybe it’s even the art of living.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator

Unrandom Acts of Random Kindness

I got a notice today reminding me that February 15-21 is Random Acts of Kindness Week. Included were a list of kind acts one can do, but doesn’t that take away the randomness of being kind if you have to plan to be kind? Isn’t the purpose of being kind simply . . . being kind? And not just one week out of the year, but every week.

It reminds me of that scene in Road House where Patrick Swayze tells his bouncers to be kind. Not matter what anyone does, be kind. If they get in your face, be kind. Well, he actually said to be nice, but this isn’t a post about being nice — it’s about being kind — though there isn’t much difference between the two concepts when it comes to behavior. Being nice is about being pleasant and agreeable, and being kind goes beyond simply being nice to being benevolent. Either way, it’s about treating others with respect and graciousness.

So many of the suggestions for unrandomly committing random acts of kindness are neither particularly nice nor particularly benevolent, especially if you are doing it for the purpose of being kind to make yourself feel good about being kind.

For example, leaving a note on someone’s car telling them to have a nice day. Have you ever had a nice day just because someone told you to? Doesn’t it irk you more than it evokes kindness, especially if they lifted your windshield wiper to secure the note? A better act of kindness would have been for them to keep their note writing to themselves.

Another idea was to place a quarter in a new purse in a store because it will be a treasure to the person who buys the purse. Um, no. First of all, in no way can a mere twenty-five cents be considered a treasure. And second of all, it would probably trip all the metal detectors as the person left the store, creating an embarrassing situation. Well, probably not, since the detectors only detect theft-detection devices, but still . . . leaving a quarter is not really being kind. It’s better to save your quarter for the person standing in front of you in the check-out line who is fumbling for cash, irritating the hell out of you. So, be kind. Even if you don’t give the person the quarter, be kind. Getting irritated and impatient does no one any good.

One popular suggestion is to bake cookies for an elderly neighbor. So not a good idea! The elderly person might like or even want the cookies, but are they allowed to eat them? After all, they could be diabetic or prediabetic, or on a diet, and your foolish act of kindness could derail their attempt at better health. Besides, with The Bob running rampant, I certainly wouldn’t want to eat anything someone made just so they could feel kind, so for sure I won’t make anything for anyone else, and that, in its own way, is a kindness — it shows I have their best interests in mind.

One thing I do agree with is to only say nice things. That ties in with the Swayze quote. But not just for that one week, but for every week. There is seldom a reason not to say nice things unless people are being larcenous toward you or creating a dangerous situation.

For example, one of the suggestions is to help an older person cross the street. Um, no. If you lay hands on me, well, that’s my cue to NOT be nice.

So, before you do something kind, make sure people welcome your kindness, otherwise it isn’t kind; it’s merely self-serving, and being self-serving generally falls under the category of not being kind.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator

Accepting Life’s Challenges

It amazes me how some people are so accepting of life’s challenges, determined to enjoy every day as it comes no matter what else they must endure. A dear friend has been battling cancer, and after a crisis that entailed a visit to the hospital, she was told she has three to six months. She and her husband are accepting and cheerful, happy and grateful for each day given them, so I can do no less. When I get to see her, I too will be cheerful, happy, and grateful for the time together, will feel privileged to considered a part of the family, but beneath the cheer, my heart will be breaking.

Words from “Hurt,” a song written by Trent Reznor for the band “Nine Inch Nails,” but also poignantly sung by Johnny Cash keep going around in my head: Everyone I know goes away in the end.

Barring any unforeseen problems, traumas, accidents, illnesses, I could live many more years, perhaps decades. The problem with a long life is that everyone does go away in the end. There are always new people to meet (at least, I hope there always will be; after all, the nonagenarian woman I take care of has met me, and we’ve become friends), but that does not mitigate my sorrow for those who “go away.”

Oddly, this is the first friend whose death I will have to deal with. Most friends I lose go away in a less permanent way, or I go away.

But I don’t want to think about that. Like her and her husband, I want to focus on the happiness of the day. I want to be grateful for the joy she’s brought into my life, to be happy for the time we still have, to be accepting of life’s challenges.

But there’s still that poor, aching heart of mine to deal with and the tiny voice in the back of my mind that whispers, “It’s so not fair.”

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God

Nature In the Raw

I don’t often get true adventures any more because my life is quite tame. I get the day-to-day adventures, of course, such as getting up in the morning (it’s not something everyone can do), or going out to shovel snow, or seeing the changes in my yard during the different seasons. But compared to the adventures I once had, such as hiking in the woods or taking long road trips, my adventures are small.

I certainly don’t deal with nature in the raw very often, generally out of laziness. I mean, when the weather gets wild (and yes, weather is considered nature), I could go outside but . . . well, I don’t.

Walking to and from work is the one time where I go out no matter what the weather is. For a while, I got to walk in the dark (well, quasi dark — there are plenty of streetlights between our two houses, and I carried a flashlight for the darkest nights), and I truly enjoyed that. I don’t drive at night, and I generally don’t like going for a walk in the dark, and being out in the dark in the summer is more “nature” than I want to deal with. Too many mosquitoes! Though maybe, before the mosquitoes come this summer, I’ll spend some dark time out in my yard.

Last night was a treat, a real adventure, short though it may have been. We got a huge amount of snow, and it was COLD! The women I work for wanted to drive me home, and were almost insistent, so I agreed, but when I got outside, I simply could not forgo the small adventure of walking home in the crackling cold. The temperature was close to zero, and what appeared to be a few flurries of snow was actually the humidity in the air freezing.

It was lovely — so quiet and still, with only the muffled sound of an occasional vehicle in the distance.

There will come a time, I am sure, when I couldn’t trust that I would be okay even for such a short time in extreme weather, so I especially enjoyed last night’s experience of nature in the raw.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive? Would you even want to?

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God

Respecting My Years

I am rapidly approaching that “elderly” birthday, the one that can no longer be kindly categorized as late middle age. For the most part, I don’t notice a difference, but there are some interesting dichotomies. My memory is slowing down, especially when it comes to short-term memory, and I am a bit slower in thought, but on the other hand, I think that I think better, if that makes sense. I’m also a bit slower physically, some of which is due to age and some to my perception of age, by which I mean that I am respectful of my years and try to make accommodations, even if they aren’t strictly necessary.

For example, I have no trouble shoveling my sidewalks, and yet I won’t go walking in the snow unless I must, and if I do have to, I make sure to wear non-skid hiking shoes and use my dual trekking poles. I also make sure to carry my single hiking pole whenever I am out in the dark or in any other possibly adverse condition, though to simply take a walk on a good weather day, I leave it behind. (People call it my cane, which I object to because a cane seems such an elderly thing to carry, but I suppose technically it is a cane since I’m using it in the city to help with my balance as I navigate broken sidewalks and bumpy streets.)

Now that my knees are doing better, I could probably climb stairs without too much trouble but I am very careful when I’m on stairs, walking up or down like a very old-elderly woman instead of a young elderly one.

Knowing how easy it is to trip, I try to be aware of what I am doing, even when walking around the house. I pay particular attention to the sill between the kitchen and dining area; it’s the sort of thing old women tend to trip on, and after such a fall, too many of their lives are never the same.

Sometimes I worry that respecting my years and acting like an old woman will age me more rapidly, but I tend to think it’s better to err on the side of caution even if I move slower than I could. Of course, accidents happen to even cautious people, but I can’t worry about every little thing — otherwise I’d never do anything! But still, I am trying to respect my many years of living so I can be around to enjoy more of them.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive? Would you even want to?

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God

Contemplating ESP

One benefit of being an eclectic reader is that once the cover of the novel about the sabotage of the electric grid system in the US was closed, the emergency was over. Not in real life perhaps, but as one reader pointed out, there are a million ways the universe is out to get us (since, after all, the end result of our lives on this planet is our death); 999,999 of those ways won’t get us, so why worry about them.

Now I’m on to another book-induced worry. Well, not “worry” exactly, more like a train of thought. This time about psychic powers, artifacts infused with psychic powers, and the ways these artifacts can be used for good or ill.

When I was young, I thought the various forms of extra sensory perception were an indication of a more enlightened being. I felt bad that I wasn’t one of the chosen, and I hated the thought of being just like everyone else. Now, I am exceedingly grateful for my normalcy. It’s hard enough dealing with life with the tinge of intuition I do have. Apparently, I have a built-in lie, manipulation, and insincerity detector, though it manifests as confusion in the case of lies and manipulation, and nausea in the face of insincerity. (Which is why I cannot watch any news, cannot listen to any politician.) The problem with such low-level perception is that often I don’t know what the lie is, just that it is. Which, of course, adds to the confusion. Even more confusing, it took me most of my life to realize what was going on.

I also have a bit of an ability to pick up vibes. For example, back when dancing with my class, I could feel the energy flowing in sync from all of us, as if it were lifting our arms and feet at the same time. I thought it was a universal feeling, that all the other dancers could feel the same thing, but that wasn’t the case.

Also, sometimes I sense an affinity with people I just met. Of course, we all have that sense of affinity at times. It’s just a matter of learning to trust it.

But to actually be able to read someone’s mind? To be able to move things with mental energy? To be able to see auras? To have visions, whether of the future or of things that have already happened? To be able to view things remotely? I don’t think so. If my life is steeped in confusion now, I can’t imagine the sort of extreme confusion I’d be afflicted with if I had such powers.

As long as I am reading the novel, I will be aware of such things and contemplate the possibility of extra-sensory perception, but I’ll be glad when the book is closed and I can go on to something more mundane.

Like a serial killer, maybe. Or perhaps covert activities. Or, even worse, a romance!

What about you? Would you like to have some sort of ESP? Do you think it would enhance your life or make it even more complicated?

***

If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

Taking Life as It Comes

Are you doing anything to prepare for Armageddon or whatever the next national or international crisis might be?

If there is anything major, like the entire electrical grid being sabotaged in the United States as I spoke of yesterday or the nuclear threat of the cold war era, I doubt anything I could do to prepare would be efficacious for any length of time. To survive such a wholesale catastrophe would take a huge expenditure of time and money, to say nothing of skulking around to prepare in secret because if something did happen, the unprepared who knew what you had done would try to take you out to get to what you have.

But even without any sort of preparation, people can — and have — survived localized disasters.

I’m sure I’d be okay for a short time as long as I wasn’t ill or injured. I have one of those metabolisms created in less affluent ages, where systematic starvation was rampant. The less I eat, the less I need to eat without any loss of energy, which makes it almost impossible for me to lose weight, but in a time of hardship, I’d probably do fine.

Water would be a problem, so I do keep a few things on hand, like bottled water, a wee bit of food, and some common emergency supplies, such as flashlights and batteries, as well as first-aid supplies.

To be honest, I wouldn’t want to live in a time of chaos, where it is truly a dog eat dog or human eat human world. Though, also, to be honest, as long as I wasn’t in too much danger or suffering unduly, it could be interesting to watch such a scenario.

Either way, I’m not preparing for much of anything except my own uncertain future. (Uncertain because all futures are uncertain, although that isn’t exactly true. We know our ultimate fate; only the time, place, and cause are uncertain.)

It still amuses me the things people stocked up on when The Bob was first mentioned. Of all the necessary things, toilet paper wouldn’t even be on my mind. An old sheet cut into small pieces does the trick. Of course, you couldn’t flush it, but then, if civilization was in total turmoil, chances are no one would be flushing anyway.

I know I’m better off in my own house rather than in a high-rise in the middle of a city, so to that extent, I did prepare. I would never live in a highrise. If the electricity went out and I’m fifteen or twenty or thirty stories up, I’d be trapped. Nor could I ever live on a lower floor with a whole building above my head (an edifice built by the lowest bidder, I might add). I can just imagine my trying to sleep while feeling the weight of the building above me. Eek.

So to the extent that I think of such things and act on them, I do have a survivalist mentality. But for stocking up on toilet paper, stacks of canned goods, huge vats of fuel? No, that’s not for me.

If I’ve scared you now, and you want to prepare for calamity, there are all sorts of survivalist guides and kits out there. But for me? I’m taking life as it comes.

At least, I’m trying to.

***

If you haven’t yet read A Spark of Heavenly Fire, my novel of a quarantine that predated this pandemic by more than ten years, you can read the first chapter online here: http://patbertram.com/A_Spark_of_Heavenly_Fire.html

Buy it on Amazon here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0024FB5H6/

Download the first 30% free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1842

Feeling Vulnerable

I’ve been doing a good job the past year or so trying to keep focused on the day rather than what might happen in the future, especially when it comes to my precarious financial situation and my advancing years, but the exorbitant increase in house insurance shocked me out of my complacency, and I’ve been feeling unsettled and vulnerable.

Knowing so many people who are getting The Bob adds to the feeling of things being out of kilter. It certainly doesn’t help that one of the library books I got was about electric grid of the entire United States being destroyed, which reminds me how vulnerable we really are. If the electricity goes out, so will heat, plumbing, communication, and transportation. Which means after a few weeks, people will be dying en masse of dehydration and disease and starvation since water won’t be coming into the house, wastes won’t be going out, and food won’t be distributed to the stores. Just what I do not need to be reading when I am feeling vulnerable to begin with!

I’m not sure how I would handle such a calamity as the book portrays, but I did buy some bottled water today to have just in case. I have camping equipment, including a little stove that works with twigs and other readily available bio-fuel, and a solar powered charger, so I could charge a phone, assuming there would be anyone to call. I have learned from camping that one can keep a whole lot warmer at night if you sleep in a tiny tent inside a larger tent, and I could set up the double tents inside the house, so my tiny sleeping area would be warmed by whatever body heat I could engender.

I also have solar lights outside my house, which, if necessary, could be brought inside.

It seems surprising that a book written in the past year or so didn’t mention the ubiquitous nature of such lights. The author just talked about it being totally dark at night. Around here, when the electricity goes out, there are still quite a few lights on because of solar lighting. But then, this is a relatively sunny area; maybe other areas aren’t as accessible to solar power.

For my own peace of mind, I’ll have to ignore the vulnerable feelings of the past few days and go back to believing (all evidence to the contrary) that I will be fine. Even if it’s an illusion, it’s still important for me to act as if everything will work out. Because who knows — things could continue working out for me, and it’s possible (at least according to some theories) the belief itself will make things come true.

And if all else fails, there are all those origami cranes I am folding to ensure my good fortune.

***

What if God decided S/He didn’t like how the world turned out, and turned it over to a development company from the planet Xerxes for re-creation? Would you survive? Could you survive?

Click here to buy Bob, The Right Hand of God