It’s raining again, as it has been on and off for the past few days. Usually the rain comes in the evening when it’s barely noticeable, but it started raining this morning just as I set out for a walk, and now it’s pouring. The cloud cover is so heavy that it seems more like twilight rather than barely afternoon.

Can you tell I have nothing to say? I mean, really, what can one say about rain? The moisture is desperately needed in this dangerously desiccated and drought-ridden area, of course, and it’s a nice change of pace from the dry heat we’d been suffering through. And it’s great to see my yard greening up. But other than that, rain is . . . rain.

Shortly after the dark clouds moved in, the local tornado siren went off. A quick look at the clock reminded me this was the weekly test — every Monday at noon, we’re blasted with three minutes of an unspeakable sound. Which led me to question: considering the weather, if a tornado had been in the area, how would we have known? Perhaps they would have let the siren finish its cycle and then started a second cycle as a warning?

Not that it would matter to me — I probably wouldn’t go down the basement. Stairs. Bum knee. Not a pleasant combination at the best of times, though come to think of it, I did manage to creep down those steps the other day to replace the furnace filter. When the contractors come, they would be glad to do such a chore for me, but there are always way more important things for them to do. Such as fixing the stoop outside the back door, putting in a sidewalk from the house to the garage, dragging the old counters into the garage instead of letting them rust and rot in the backyard. (It takes two people — strong people — to move them, and only one has been coming here at a time when anyone does come.)

The counters were in the enclosed porch when I got here, and they put them in the garage so they could redo the porch foundation. Then, when the garage was torn down, they were stored under the carport. And when the carport was finally hauled away, there the counters sat. Normally it wouldn’t matter, but I worry about them out there in all this rain. If nothing else, when the rain stops and the counters dry out, I’ll cover them. Oh, wait. That will guarantee no more rain! Such a dilemma.

It will all work out in the end, I’m sure.

Besides, I did tell the workers the garage was the most important thing, and it is fabulous not having to worry about my car out in inclement weather. (Is that proper English? Out in? It seems contradictory when I look at it.)

It is funny . . . rainy weather. Rain brings humidity, so even though it’s cool, it’s uncomfortable because of the humidity. I know . . . all you people who live in humid climates are looking askance at me (or giving me askance thoughts if there is such a thing) because you often have to suffer uncomfortable humidity levels, but when one is used to single digit humidity, 80% is ridiculously high.

Apparently, since I can’t go out and ramble physically, I’m rambling verbally. At least I’m rambling, right?


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

Folly and Glory

Not a lot going on building-wise today. The builder/magician spent most of the morning redoing some of the electric work the professionals had done. When they put in the electric outlets in the garage, they didn’t allow for walls. Um, really? How is that possible? Originally, my contractor was going to do the electric work, but since he’s not licensed, the building inspector wouldn’t let him do the work. I had to pay a huge amount extra to licensed folk only to have my builders redo it. Oh, well. It’s done. I can be glad about that.

I’d saved the faux window I’d painted on the old garage, though I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to sully my brand new walls on my brand new garage with that bit of folly, but after all, it is a piece of art, silly as it is, and I do like the idea of sprinkling objects of interest around the yard. So today, he cut new frames for the window to match the rest of the trim on the garage, and put up the window. Seeing it made me smile, so apparently, it was the right thing to do.

The white framing around the “window” had gotten dingy, and the window had pock marks from where it had been attached to the old garage, so this afternoon, in the excruciating heat of the July sun, I went out and freshened the window. Such folly! (And maybe glory? After all, I did do something instead of just loll around reading.)

But that wasn’t the only glory. This morning, I had to smile at finding a morning glory bursting out of the periwinkle. Such a lovely surprise! It’s amazing to me how many things I plant that never do anything, and yet things I have nothing to do with grace my yard with beauty.

Ah, folly and glory! Not a bad way to celebrate a day.


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

Open Sesame

Oh, frabjous day! So, I’m mixing my quotes — Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and Jabberwocky — but I don’t care. My garage opener has been installed!

No more struggling with a car cover, no more sweating out storms to make sure my car doesn’t sustain any damage (as if even a bucket of my sweat would stay a single hailstone or slow so much as a gust of wind), no more announcing my away-from-home status by the absence of the vehicle. The bug is snug in its beautiful new home, and oh, how wonderful is modern day magic! I don’t have to say open sesame or crack a sound. All I do is press a button and . . . presto. The door opens by magic.

And the magic is all mine.

The wonderful magician who installed this magic apparatus understands me well — he double bolted the mechanism to two different trusses to make sure there is no way it will ever fall on my car. (Worrier that I am, that thought did cross my mind and even my lips.)

Sometimes I worry that I’m getting too caught up in the things of my current life, but how I can I not? It’s all so magical. Water comes to me with a twist of a knob. Wastes are washed away with the touch of a finger. Foods heat up without a flame. My non-nomadic abode requires no effort to put up or take down — it stays put. And the sturdy walls protect me from the elements and even provide my own microclimate.

Magic for sure!

When the installer left today, I took a short ride for no other reason than the thrill of opening and closing the door. The creepy, thieving, drug-dealing, loud-music-playing neighbor took that very moment to wander down the alley, which made me especially glad about the secure garage. It made me nervous at first, his seeing inside the garage, but maybe it’s for the best. This way he knows that he can’t easily get to anything in the building.

It would be nice if everyone in the neighborhood was as trustworthy as the rest of my neighbors, but I suppose any magic kingdom needs its trolls and trollocs, its devil toads and poison mushrooms, its evil minions. At least my nemesis is only human. But I’m straying from the point. Or not. After all, I’m talking about magic, and that includes the protective spells of locked gates and secure buildings that keep the crone safe.

Yep. Magic.


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

Snug as a Bug in a . . .

Snug as a bug in a rug, you might be thinking, but no. Today the saying is: snug as a bug in a . . . garage!!!!

Look at that happy little car.

The opener hasn’t been installed yet so the door has to be opened manually, and the gravel hasn’t been laid in front of the apron so there was a bit of an impediment getting the car into the garage, and there are a few other minor things that need to be done, but the garage is otherwise finished. I’ll have to move the car when the builders come back so they can put on the finishing touches, but meantime, I’m delighted to have the poor thing out of the brutal sun. And wow, it’s been brutal. I had to turn on the air conditioner at 9:00am this morning just to be able to breathe. Luckily I have an air conditioner. (And grateful am I for that comfort!)

Even though the contractor volunteered to move my storage into the garage, I’ve been feeling guilty about lolling around while other people do the work, so I got started on the task this morning. I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I overdid it a bit, but I’ll be taking it easy the rest of the day. I might be able to finish tomorrow if I haven’t redamaged my knee. Except for sorting through the conglomeration of things, it should be easy — I did all the heavy lifting today.

So, not only do I have my car in the garage, I also have all the boxes of storage items out of my house. The boxes that aren’t in the garage are in the enclosed porch, which is part of the house, but not. For as much work that has been done back there, and for as functional and attractive as the area is, it still has a porchy feel. But soon I’ll be able to reclaim even that room. Then, finally, I will be completely moved in.

And I’ll be as snug as my bug.


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


Pretty White Walls

The insulation and the walls of the garage are in, and now the painting begins! The walls are white (not blue as they appear in the photo), to make sure the garage is nice and bright.

I’m still a way from being able to use the garage. Once the walls and ceiling are painted, the opener will be installed, and then gravel will need to be brought in to fill in the space between the driveway and the alley. I think the contractor wants the ramp/sidewalk from the house to the garage done before some of the rest of the work to make sure I have a safe way to get from one building to the next, but I’m not sure if the sequence matters as long as the sidewalk is done.

From the beginning, the contractor has understood that I’m fixing the place up now to prepare for my old age so I can be self-sufficient as long as possible, and he’s been very good about pointing out things I should be done, even things I wouldn’t have thought about. But he’s used to elder-proofing houses and yards, and I’m not used to being an elder. Though I’m getting there. Things I didn’t think I’d have to worry about for a few more years, such as going down the steps to the basement, are definitely things I need to worry about now. My bum knee, though it is healing and isn’t preventing me from doing things I need to do, doesn’t like stairs. (It’s a good thing we decided to make the garage big enough for storage because my original idea of storing things in the basement has become defunct.)

It’s nice having someone look at the place from a different point of view than mine. From his standpoint, I’m sure I already seem old-lady-ish, so it’s not much of a stretch for him to consider my safety, especially when I stumble because of a depression in the yard. Such unevenness will be taken care of with loads of dirt — they have to bring in dirt anyway to fill in where the old garage used to be, and to fill in around the garage — so it will be easy enough to expand the fill site. Besides, he’s going to be putting in pathways for me. (Made from something called breeze?)

It will be fun to gradually fill in the corners of the yard and the various secret spaces created by the walkways with interesting plants and artifacts, so that if I can’t go far, I can still have a micro adventure in my micro park. Such an undertaking will take years, of course — not just because I can only do so much at a time but because things take a long time to grow.

The contractor also seems to understand that I like the work he does, but that I also like the companionship. Knowing that congenial people are here, working for my welfare adds an additional dimension to the experience of owning a house and adds to the richness of the experience. Their presence has certainly helped to keep me from feeling completely isolated during these Bob times.

And it gives me something to look forward to on the days I know someone will be here.

Luckily, from a companionship standpoint, things are far from finished. Even though the garage is nearing completion, there is a whole list of other things that need to be done, such as the water lines replaced, the foundation maintained, the gutters fixed. Etc. Etc. Etc.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Today, I am focusing on the garage and the pretty white wall.


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

Pat’s Big Adventure

For the past few months, I haven’t been more than a few miles from home. I probably wouldn’t even have gone that far except that I needed to drive my car to keep it working. It’s actually been nice, staying close to home, though I probably wouldn’t have gone so long without a visit to a larger town with larger stores despite The Bob if it hadn’t been for my knee. I wasn’t sure I could drive the fifty-mile round trip, but I was sure I wouldn’t be able to walk across the expanse of the parking lot and then maneuver my way around the store and then stand in the check-out line.

I’ve done well staying on top of the things I need, but the list of items I couldn’t get locally has been growing. Even more than that, I’m getting a feel for the areas in the yard that will need some kind of bush or shrub, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could pick up locally before I threw money down the black hole of mail order plants.

So today, after the workers finished up a stint on the garage, I took off. It kind of surprised me — I would have thought this first excursion in a long time would have taken more planning, but then, it’s something I’d often done, so it’s not like I was stepping off into the unknown.

Still, it was fun, just taking off like that. I thought the drive would feel interminably long, but it was over almost before I settled into trip mode.

The shopping itself was disappointing in a way — although I know this is long past planting time, I expected to find something to interest me, but I didn’t know what any of the plants were and didn’t want to grab indiscriminately. The more prosaic part of the trip — picking up such things as allergy medicines and ointments and cleaning products, as well as some food — was easy, and the drive home was nice. Hot but nice.

As soon as I got in the house, though, we were deluged. Not just with huge sheets of rain, but hail. Mothball size hail. Big enough to sound like rocks being flung against the house, but not big enough to do damage. I am looking forward to being able to put my car in the garage. Hail damage can be severe around here, and some insurance companies won’t insure against hail damage, and the ones that do insure demand a huge deductible. But that’s a worry for another time.

Today, the hail passed quickly. My garage is a bit nearer to completion.

And I went on an adventure.


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


Yesterday I mentioned I hadn’t lived anyplace where fireworks were legal, and it shocked me to hear and see the neighbors’ almost incessant firework displays, especially the huge falls of sparks over my house and garage. I found out today that I still haven’t lived anyplace where fireworks are legal — all fireworks that leave the ground are illegal everywhere in Colorado. Surprisingly, no one issued citations for the firework setter-offers — it’s not as if they were hiding their crime.

But then, the one thing that I don’t like about living here is that the code enforcer only works during the day on weekdays, so the rest of the time, too many people feel free to break the laws they find inconvenient, such as leash laws and firework laws and trespassing laws.

I lucked out on the fourth because there was rain that night, so any sparks that landed would have immediately fizzled out, but I doubt the thought of rain being a safety measure played any part in the wrongdoers’ decisions to shoot off the fireworks because they would have had to stock up long before any rain was in sight. And until the rain, this whole area was so dry and desiccated that any spark could have set the whole town on fire.

People are still setting off fireworks — it’s been a nightly thing since the end of June — but eventually, they will have to run out of the blasted things, so I won’t have to worry until next year. I have no idea what I will do. Even if I spent the night in the yard, looking for fires, chances are any fire that was sparked would be slow to start and I’d miss it until the damage was done.

It makes me wonder — don’t other people think of these things? I’d blame my concern on my growing curmudgeonliness, but the truth is, fireworks are dangerous in ultra-dry climates. That’s why there are laws against them.

Oh, well, I’d be better off turning my thoughts to more important issues, such as what sort of climbing vine to plant along a portion of my fence. Climbing roses don’t do well here because of the frequent hot/cold temperature changes. (They do well as low bushes, not as climbing plants.)  I’d love some wisteria, but it needs to be pruned every year, and in more feeble times, I won’t want to deal with that. Though I might not have to — apparently, wisteria grows slowly in Colorado. And anyway, so far I haven’t done well with purchased plants, so perhaps I should try to transplant a trumpet vine or two. One of the vines I would transplant is riddled with ants, so I wonder if the ants would come with it, or if they would stay in the original area. I guess I’ll find out.

Meantime, the work on the garage is progressing — today they insulated and walled one side of the inside of the building. Yay!

As for Dune — I spent several hours online yesterday looking at books that were published around the same time trying to find one that I might have confused with Dune, but I didn’t have any luck. The lists did remind me of some I liked, such as Malevil by Robert Merle, On the Beach by Nevil Shute, and Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank. I thought of rereading these books, but decided, after the Dune fiasco, that I better not.

I read a mystery yesterday that takes place in a not-so-distant future, and the book itself mystified me. The future as the author had envisioned played absolutely no part in the story. The story could have been set in any age, any place, and it wouldn’t have mattered. It seems to me that if one is making a big deal about the time frame in a story, that time frame needs to play a part. Like a gun showing up in the first chapter of a book and then never mentioned again.

I’ve been picking a tarot card every day, asking the cards what I need to know that day, and so far, all the cards are telling me is that I need to learn what the day’s card means. It doesn’t seem to have any correlation to my life. I am keeping a sort of diary about my excursions into the tarot because I’m interested in knowing if they will show a pattern for the month. I did say I wanted to learn the tarot by osmosis rather than an in-depth study, and that seems to be the case. I am learning some cards — though mostly what I’m learning is that while some decks are based on a certain tradition, others eschew that tradition and make up their own meanings. I wonder if I were to create my own deck of cards, using whatever symbols I want, and giving those symbols any meaning I want, if it would work like a tarot deck.

I think that brings me up to date. If not, I’ll be here again tomorrow with another mélange of ideas and events.


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

The Joy of Fences

I don’t like being fenced in by ideas, by people, by expectations, but I love being fenced in by . . . fences.

I had my whole property fenced in before we realized that the old garage was not much good for anything, not even a shed, and that it would have to come down.

Then, when the shock wore off, I reluctantly let go of my travel funds because I decided that a garage was more important than that one last epic road trip. So most of the fence along the alley had to be ripped out. Not that the fence did anything to keep out trespassers — one snowy morning I woke up to find shoe prints all over my yard. A lock on the gate took care of that problem, but then, so did the fence being gone. If there was no gate, of course there would be no gate for people to open. (A joke of sorts.)

For all these months of construction (or rather, non-construction), I used blue plastic fencing, similar to the blaze orange fencing used at some construction sites, to block off access. It was more of a psychological barrier (at least, I hoped so) rather than a physical barrier because the stuff is rather flimsy. Luckily, there have been no snow storms, so I didn’t have to be frantic about trespassers since I could see no sign of them, though dogs did worry me. Too many the people in the vicinity don’t walk their dogs — they just turn them loose to do their business. It’s bad enough when the dogs are ankle biters, but pit bulls? Yikes.

But yay! Today, the fence was reinstalled. Instead of the fence going straight across the alley as it once did, it now jogs in toward the garage, giving me a huge area to pull into my garage or even a parking space if necessary.

But sigh. I’m still not able to use the garage. It’s getting there, though. The attic insulation is in, the ceiling is up. Wall insulation and OSB boards have been delivered, as well as the garage door opener but have not yet been installed. (One guy has been doing most of the finishing work by himself, and there is no way he can install the opener without a helper.)

Meantime, I am grateful for the gift of this day and will enjoy being fenced in.


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


Printer problem fixed! I finally found a place to download the patch to the computer update that screwed up my system and made the computer unable to connect to the printer. Why the fix wasn’t automatically uploaded like the original update, I don’t know. I have a hunch it would have uploaded in the July updates, but now I don’t have to worry about the printer not working. At least not until the next update.

I’d received five lilac twigs from the Arbor Foundation a few weeks ago, and they were all alive and all doing well, and for no reason that I can see, one died overnight. (In case you haven’t noticed, plants are as much of a mystery to me as everything else.) On the other hand, some old morning glory seeds I strewed out there have started coming up, so at least that’s something.

There’s been no further activity on my garage. That’s disappointing, of course, but at least it’s enclosed so the wood and tools and such that are inside won’t go missing. Admittedly, most stuff is too heavy to be casually carted off by the larcenous folk in the neighborhood, but I wouldn’t have put it past someone to pull up in a truck and load it all up. They’ve done that before. It was just a board they came and got, but other people have lost workshops full of tools.

My knee is doing better. I wear a brace part of the time (until it starts digging painfully into my leg), and that seems to help. So does massage, isometric exercises and the herbal poultices I have been using. (Frankincense and myrrh are a couple of the ingredients, which tickles me.) I even walked a bit outside until the pit bulls running loose had me scurrying back inside my fence. (Too many people around here don’t want to walk their dogs, so they let them run loose for a while, which is a real problem, but since they are back in the yard by the time the code enforcer goes on duty, nothing is ever done about it.)

I’m still working my way (again) to the last battle in The Wheel of Time series. It’s odd how the poor fellow who was born to fight the dark powers and save the earth is so underappreciated by everyone. They all think they need to control him (they think they know everything, and they think that if they don’t force him to go, he won’t do what he’s supposed to). What I’ve been thinking about this time through is freedom. The world of the story is a sort of chivalrous feudal matriarchy, with women asserting their rights and men trying to protect women at all costs. What it comes down to is all the disparate factions, as well as powerful individuals, are trying to control everyone else. It seemed weird to me, all this insistence on obedience, until it dawned on me that modern society is rather unique where individuals can try to form their own destinies if they will, rather than conforming so much to the will of the powerful.

I think these are all the recent updates to my life. Well, the tarot. Today’s card was the two of pentacles, which told me to be flexible and adaptable. Good advice, especially in light of all these updates.


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.

An Exciting Life

I spent my allotted writing time today responding to the very interesting and thought-provoking comments people left on my latest blogs that I forgot I hadn’t yet posted a new blog. I’m glad I finally remembered, not just because I’d hate to break my 256-day streak of daily blogging, but because this has been a rather momentous couple of days for me.

It started Thursday afternoon when I went to a friend’s birthday party in the park. Since there were more than ten of us, I said that if anyone asked, to tell them it wasn’t a party — it was a protest, a protest against getting older and against isolation. I doubt that would have held sway with any arresting officers, but luckily, no one showed up but us. And oh, it was so wonderful seeing people! I even hugged a couple of dear friends, holding on as if we were saving each other’s lives instead of perhaps endangering them. (One friend is recuperating from a severe illness, and even though she isn’t contagious any longer, I couldn’t take a chance on hugging her, and I feel bad about that, but I was  very glad to see her up and around.)

Despite this one lapse, I will be more diligent about isolation for a while longer. Many rural communities that managed to avoid The Bob when larger communities were suffering, ended up having problems when they opened up again, and I have a real issue with being a statistic. But that’s for the future. Now back to yesterday.

Yesterday, the contractor came to get the carport that has been cluttering up my backyard. (And brought me some fresh farm eggs!) They worked so hard taking the metal carport apart (the entire day in 100+ degree weather) that I felt as if I should be paying them, when in fact, the carport was payment for some work they had already done.

It is such a joy to have it gone! It opens up my yard and makes this place feel like an estate. (Not bad for someone who thought she’d end up living in some sort of subsidized housing.)

Even better, the garage door, opener, and the rest of the OSB board for the inside walls of the garage were delivered while they were here!!! Oh, my such excitement.

And that isn’t all. The library called. Well, the building didn’t call; a librarian did. My email from the end of March asking for books via their curb-side service apparently got lost at the bottom of their email list. The poor librarian was embarrassed and apologetic, though there was no need. Still, since I couldn’t get to the library to pick up the books, she delivered them to my house. Wow! My own private bookmobile! Luckily, they aren’t going to be charging overdue rates because I won’t be getting to the books until after I finish re-re-rereading The Wheel of Time series. I have a lot of the story in my head right now, so I’m able to find answers to various plot points and to see foreshadowings that have previously eluded me, and I don’t want to halt the momentum.

The library is aiming for a July 1 reopening, which will be nice. More than nice, actually. The only change they will really have to make is to curtail computer usage (the banks of computers are all real close to one another), which doesn’t affect me at all. I seldom see anyone in the stacks anyway, so I’m not worried, even if I’ll still be in my self-imposed isolation.

I should have babied my knee today after all that activity, but I took the time to pull some boxes of stuff out of a closet that I want to store in the garage when it is finished. And those boxes were heavy!!! They weren’t heavy the last time I lifted them, so what I have been suspecting is true: I am getting elderly.

Which reminds me of another “elderly” example. I haven’t been using the back door because the step is much steeper than normal steps and it really strains my knee, so I’ve been going in and out of the front door. Yesterday, I went out to check on the work the guys were doing, and when I tried to get back in the front door, it was locked. It confused the heck out of me because the only way to lock the door when leaving is with a key, and I didn’t have the key. I hobbled around the house to the backyard, and mentioned my dilemma. “I don’t understand how I got out here,” I said.

“You came out the back door,” one fellow said. “It didn’t look like you had any problem, either. You just came out.” Then he kindly went in the house and unlocked the front door for me so I didn’t have to navigate that step. (Apparently, going out is a lot easier on my knee than climbing back in.)

Yep. Old. I don’t remember going outside. Not at all. I know it’s easy not to remember things you do by rote (which is why if you want to remember locking a door or some such, you need to do something different, like patting the key when you are finished. You still won’t remember locking the door, but you will remember patting the key.) But it’s been so long since I went out that door that I would have thought I’d remember not to go out that way, if nothing else.

Oh, well. Such is life.

And what an exciting life it has been the past couple of days! That, at least, I remember.


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.