Learning Something New

Daily writing prompt
How do you stay motivated when learning something new?

This must be a question for people who are forced to learn things they don’t want to, such as for school or work or new technology, because otherwise it makes no sense. At least not for me. Learning something new has always been its own motivation. Now that I think about it, learning something new seems as if it is sort of the point of life. If we never learn anything new, where would we be? Lolling around in oversized cribs, I imagine, crying from sheer boredom.

The joy of learning is written in our genes. That’s obvious if you’ve ever watched babies, newly sprung from their playpens, crawling all over, learning new things, trying to pull themselves up. And oh, that grin of sheer pride and joy when they manage that first step. They didn’t need to stay motivated, the learning itself was the goal, though encouragement from their parents never hurt. Obviously, there are some things babies need to learn that perhaps they don’t want to, such as using the potty or not touching the pretty fire, but for the most part, babies learn because they want to. Because to them, learning is playing, and playing is learning.

There is an old quote: we don’t stop playing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop playing. I never liked that quote because it’s too specious, too simplistic, too out of touch with reality. Look at professional athletes. They have to stop playing because they get too old to be able to compete with younger players, not the other way around.

Now, if I were to substitute “learning” for playing, then that quote makes sense, though again, it doesn’t always hold true. Often the elderly can no longer learn because of growing cognitive issues, but still, I tend to think curiosity (and boredom) does motivate people of any age to learn new things. Besides, whether we want to or not, we have to continue learning as we age if only to learn how to do things we once did with ease but that now seem complicated, like opening jars or bending to pick something up. For sure we have to learn how to be mindful or else a reckless step can lead to disaster.

Since writing this has convinced me of the importance of learning — with or without a need for motivation — I’m sitting here trying to think what I’ve recently learned, but I can’t really think of anything. At least nothing fun. I learned a lot of fun things in the past decade — dancing, camping, buying a house, taking care of a house, the tarot, landscaping, gardening — but not so much today except for small things I learn while reading or gardening or doing puzzles. The only specific thing I can think of is that I am learning more of the history of the middle east than I ever cared to know. I never did understand anything of their history or who they were or why they did what they did — it was simply too confusing, uninteresting, and of no particular value to my life, but now I’m seeing a much broader picture, one that dates back almost to the first days of civilization, but specifically back to the 7th century. Is it important to know the history? Only if I want to know the historical reasons for a lot of today’s events, which I don’t, not really. But it is learning, so that’s good.

What I need is to find something new to learn. Something I want to learn just for the fun of learning, something I don’t have to worry about motivating myself to learn. Though what that might be, I don’t know, because if I did know, I’d already be learning it.

***

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

Books and Surprises

Daily writing prompt
What’s a book that completely surprised you?

I can’t say that any book completely surprised me, though some books have surprised me, in both good and bad ways.

I am currently rereading Noel Barber’s novels. I finished Tanamera and am now on Sakkhara. Neither should have surprised me since I’d read them before, but they did surprise me, though I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

I’ve always thought of Tanamera as a Malaysian Gone with the Wind, and Sakkhara as an Egyptian one, though to be honest, I never paid much attention to the romances that thread through the stories. To me, both of those books are about the exotic locations — Singapore and Cairo in the 1930s and 40s — and about the war experiences in those places as well as their problems with being British colonies. In both books, a British family is friends with a native family, and it’s through the relationship between those two families that the conflicts are filtered, and where the real story lies. What I especially like about the books is seeing World War II from a different perspective. Barber was a British war correspondent, so he tells the stories both from the British point of view as well as the location’s point of view. For example, the main war in Singapore and Malaya (as it was known then) was with the Japanese. And originally, the main war in Egypt was with the Italians before the Germans came.

All that is good, and what I remembered. What I didn’t remember — and why it came as a surprise — is that the romance is basically the same in both books and is rather boring: a love triangle (or maybe quadrangle) between the two families as well as an outsider that one of the brothers got pregnant and had to marry rather the woman he loved.

Not a problem, really. It’s no worse than most secondary romantic plots, though I found myself surprisingly on the side of the other brother. Though the first brother (the sort of hero) married not for love but because of his indiscretion, most things worked out for him. And in the end, so did the romance. While the other brother in both stories lost everything. (Makes me wonder if Barber had problems with his brother.)

Next on my list is Farewell to France, basically the same story as the other two, though — obviously — in France (in the Champagne district), and the hero is of American descent, not British. I don’t remember the romance part, though I would be willing to bet it too is the same.

Even though I found it surprising that I was so underwhelmed by the romance aspect and was surprised that the books told the same story, I still like them. It really is interesting seeing basically the same story told in three different countries showing three different perspectives of what truly was a world war.

***

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

Exercise Routine

Daily writing prompt
How can you build a regular fitness routine?

When I was in my twenties and wanted to start running, I asked my brother, a track star, for advice. He told me to run a block every day. No more than that. No less than that. Then gradually increase distance. I followed his advice, and within a couple of months, I was regularly running a mile a day. I did that for years, and then one day, for some reason, I forgot to run. And gradually, the “forgetting” became more prevalent. Also, my work hours changed and my early morning running time disappeared.

Over the years, I tried to get back into running, always starting with that one block a day regimen, and it always worked. What didn’t, was me. Things always happened to change my routine, and if I wasn’t in the groove, the habit disappeared. Amazing — when you try to break a bad habit, it takes forever. When you inadvertently break a good habit, it takes a single day.

Long after I stopped being able to run, I used to dream of running. I loved that effortless feel of almost flying along those dreamscapes, though waking to the realization that I could barely plod along was painful. Luckily, those dreams eventually stopped.

I did various other exercise routines over the years. Jeff helped me with weightlifting, and as with running, the advice was to start light and then gradually increase. After he died and my weights were packed away in a storage unit, I took up other forms of exercise. Mostly hiking. Stretching. Yoga. Dance classes.

I set up my weights when I moved to my house, but I worried too much about damaging my fake elbow, and I didn’t want to one-sided weight lifting, so that exercise, too, disappeared. Pretty much all I do every day anymore is a stretching routine that keeps me relatively limber and at least gives me the illusion that I am exercising. Now that spring and gardening weather is here, I don’t worry about other forms of exercise — I get plenty of movement outside taking care of my yard. Or so I tell myself.

Oops. This post was supposed to be about building a regular fitness routine, and I’ve mostly been mentioning how to destroy a regular fitness routine.

For what it’s worth, the best way to do anything physical is to do what both my brother and Jeff suggested — start small and build up.

Writing this almost makes me want to go out and do some sort of exercise. The relevant word being “almost.” Though if I could go back to dance class, I’d do that in a heartbeat!

***

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

Minimalist Living

Daily writing prompt
What are the biggest benefits of minimalist living?

I had no idea “minimalist living” was a thing. A simple Google search showed me hundreds of articles about how to become a minimalist, including a lifestyle guide to minimalist living, a complete beginner’s guide to minimalism, ways to start living a minimalist lifestyle, how to ease into a minimalist lifestyle, how to convert your family to a minimalist lifestyle. And on. And on. And on.

Weird. Who knew you had to learn to live a minimalist lifestyle? It’s probably the simplest thing imaginable. You just live . . . minimally.

The truth is, I’ve been living a minimalist lifestyle my whole life, but I don’t call it that. I call it not buying things I didn’t need. I call it living debt-free, not buying anything I can’t afford right now. (My thought has always been that if I can’t afford it today, why would I suddenly be able to afford it when the bill came due? More than that, though, I’ve always had a fear of being in debt. Perhaps I read too many books about owing money to gangsters in my youth.)

I call my minimalist lifestyle “using, reusing, using up.” I call it not wasting anything, especially not food. (How do people live with themselves when they throw away perfectly good food because they don’t like leftovers? I don’t eat leftovers either. At least not by that word. I call any uneaten food a pre-cooked meal or tomorrow’s fuss-free lunch.)

I know one thing minimalism isn’t — following someone else’s guide to minimalism.

I have way more stuff than the minimalism gurus suggest, but a lot of that was hand-me-downs, such as my furniture. Instead of doing nothing in a relative’s storage unit, I get the use of those lovely items. (According to him, it’s my furniture now. I guess he was minimalizing his life by maximizing mine!) A lot of other stuff I own is left from the retail business Jeff and I used to run, though gradually, I’m finding people to dump the stuff on. (Oops. I mean finding people to donate it to.) All my extraneous stuff is neatly packed away on shelves in my garage, so it’s not in the way. Since I don’t like things on the walls in my house, my finished paint-by-number pictures and other “artwork” decorate my garage. And if I get something new, such as a gift, I get rid of something old. It doesn’t reduce what I own, but it keeps me from becoming a hoarder.

To me, minimalism isn’t so much about what I own but what I do. I try to do only one thing at a time. Not only that, I am truly a minimalist when it comes to letting — or rather not letting — the world intrude on my life.  I don’t listen to music while I do chores or whatever. Actually, though I am loath to admit it, I don’t listen to music at all because, to my tin ear, it’s all just noise. Besides, I hate having snatches of songs stuck in my head. I prefer silence. I don’t watch television, either, and when I’m on the computer, I have the volume turned off.

So what are the benefits of my minimalist style of living? Well, no debt, for one. (The typical U.S. household is carrying about $105,000 in debt. Yikes. How do people do that? Doesn’t it make them crazy to owe that much?) My income is also minimalist, but it’s not a problem because my minimalist lifestyle is one I can afford. At least for now. Since I’ve kept the same vehicle for the past fifty-four years, I don’t have to deal with a car payment, and since my driving is minimal, I don’t spend much on gas. (In fact, for me, gas is always the same price — I put in twenty-dollars’ worth each time I get gas, and that’s that.)

Other benefits — less stress since I don’t have to worry about paying off a debt. Peace of mind because I try to keep my mind as uncluttered as the rest of my life. A feeling of lightness since having too many possessions weighs me down. An ability to enjoy the small pleasures of life, such as flowers in my garden, since I haven’t straightjacketed myself into a hectic routine.

I can’t imagine living an opulent life (or whatever the opposite of a minimalist life would be). This minimalism is so ingrained in me that, to me, it’s just life.

***

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

My Ideal Life

Daily writing prompt
If you had to describe your ideal life, what would it look like?

If I had to describe my ideal life today, it would actually look like my life today, but that description has changed over the years.

If I had to describe my ideal life when I was a child, it would have been no chores and time to read all I wanted. And dessert after every meal.

If I had to describe my ideal life when I was a young adult, it would probably have been a job I loved that paid me a ton of money so that I could save enough to quit my job and read all I want. And yes, dessert after dinner.

In my middle years, my ideal life would have been how things were when Jeff was doing well — playing games together, working together, and making enough to get by. Ideally, we would have made enough not to have had to worry about neither of us working when he wasn’t doing well. Still, during those intervals, I had plenty of time to read, though not always money for dessert every evening.

Now, that I have grown up (actually more than grown up — I’ve almost grown to the stage of spoilage), and now that I have realigned my life after losing Jeff, my parents and my older brother, I can’t imagine any life other than the one I have. And rightly so. For me, it’s . . . ideal. Truly.

For example, this morning, after my stretching exercises, I went outside and mowed the lawn. I talked to one neighbor who crossed the street to chat, saw another neighbor out walking, and she stopped to chat. I watered the petunias I’d purchased yesterday morning and planted yesterday afternoon, then wandered around my yard, marveling at being able to live in such a fairytale environment.

Admittedly, the yard does take work, but right now, it’s easy enough to make the effort. Besides, the work I did today wasn’t work so much as an excuse to be outside in the clement weather, especially after the past two days of inclement weather.

Although I have time to read, I’ve run out of books I want to read, have no interest in scouring the shelves of the local library for more books I have no interest in reading, so I’ve been rereading the few books in my own library. And that dessert after every meal? I could have it of course, but then there’s the issue of my being smart enough not to indulge. But those “ideals” were left over from my childhood, so doing without isn’t an issue. Other things take their place. Blogging. Solving pencil puzzles. Painting by number. Gardening. Sometimes even visits with friends, whether impromptu or planned.

Best of all, I know that this is an ideal life. Since I’m in the aforementioned state of spoilage, I have no idea how long this particular phase of my life will last, though I tend to think that whatever happens, since I’m in the habit of being grateful for whatever life I have, I’ll find that an ideal life, too. Eventually, anyway. And if not, well, that life is in the future, and the future is up for grabs.

But I do know what today is like since I’m living it, and for me, it is the ideal life.

***

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

Ordinariness as a Super Power

Daily writing prompt
What super power do you wish you had and why?

When I was young, I thought mental super powers, such as telepathy and telekinesis, as well as the ability to see ghosts, were a sign of an advanced spirituality, that people who had such abilities vibrated at a higher frequency than normal. I found it disappointing that I was merely normal, not supranormal, just one of the masses. Nothing extraordinary.

Now I find comfort in that ordinariness. I’m glad I can’t read people’s thoughts, even more glad that they can’t read mine. To tell the truth, for the most part, I don’t even want to be privy to my own thoughts, which is why I try to focus on the moment and not let my thoughts overwhelm me. Besides, who needs telepathy when there is writing — seeing a few words or writing a few words exchanges thoughts from one person to another in a quite orderly and controlled manner. And conversation, of course. That’s an even more ordinary way of learning someone’s thoughts.

The telekinesis I exhibit is the ability to get up and get what I want, which is pretty remarkable, when you think of it. As for ghosts . . . no. Just no. My sister says she saw a ghost in my house, and if that old lady ghost lives here, at least she isn’t bothersome. I like being alone in my own space.

Although I sometimes think it would be great having the ability to manipulate the earth’s energy as do the power-wielders in The Wheel of Time books, I don’t see how that would add to my life. When I am reading those books, I can almost see the veneer of the world parting to allow me to step from one place to another, but there’s really no place I want to be other than where I am.

Unless a person is living in a comic strip or a magical novel, most super powers seem superfluous. Being able to fly, become invisible, shapeshift, time travel, control people’s minds, manipulate the weather, use elements such as fire and metal and water, foretell the future, live forever — it all seems too much of a good thing. I wouldn’t want to be burdened with any of it.

I tend to think my super power, if there is such a thing, is my ordinariness. Now that I am not young enough to want to be special, I would choose to be ordinary even it wasn’t already within my grasp. Because truly, ordinariness is a super power. At least, it is for me.

I can be . . . me. I don’t need to be someone other than what I am. Don’t need to grasp for specialness. Don’t need to compare myself to others. Don’t need to reach beyond what I have. Being ordinary and accepting my ordinariness allows me to embrace the special joys that come from simple pleasures, allows me to look beyond myself and engage in meaningful moments with others. Admittedly, ordinariness isn’t the sort of super power that creates comic book characters, but it’s the sort of power that allows a person to live a life of peace.

***

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

Family Mysteries

Daily writing prompt
What’s a mystery from your own life that you’ve never solved?

I’ve always loved stories about family mysteries and secrets. It’s such a delicious feeling reading about people discovering that what they thought they knew, they didn’t. That their reality was in truth something completely different.

If there are any secrets in my family, they are just that — secret — since I have never heard of any. There are a couple of interesting family stories, though, with maybe a bit of mystery attached.

According to family lore, our family comes by its insanity naturally — we inherited it. My great-grandfather was a scientist and inventor. He worked with Edison and other renowned scientists of the day, perhaps even Tesla. He invented the postmarking machine and foolishly sold the patent to get funds to invent a subway sweeper that never caught on. The people who supposedly did him a favor by buying the patent, became very rich because that postmarking machine was used continuously until the digital age made it obsolete. This otherwise intelligent man had been married twice. One wife he threw down the stairs. The other he consigned to the Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island.

No one knows which of my great-grandfather’s wives is my great-grandmother (and therein lies whatever mystery this story contains), but even if she weren’t the one committed (especially since there’s a chance he had her committed for his own reasons rather than her mental state), the insanity could come from dear old great-grandfather himself because there does seem to be a portion of insanity in incarcerating one woman and tossing another down the stairs.

Whatever genius he had wasn’t passed on to me, which is just as well. Too many geniuses seem to be unbalanced, and I much prefer the balance I’ve managed to find in my life.

There is another story that I think about — my mother’s brother ran away in his teens. He couldn’t handle school, was considered slow, but who knows the truth of that. Back then they didn’t have names like dyslexic, and ADHD, and whatever else they call kids who have a hard time in school. This uncle completely disappeared. No one in the family ever heard from him again. A couple of decades ago, the church in the small town where my mother and her siblings were raised got a request from a family in Florida for his birth certificate so they could arrange his funeral. Wait — does that make sense? Why would they need a birth certificate? Anyway, for whatever reason, the family contacted the church, and that’s when his siblings found out he’d been living with this family as a caretaker, jack-of-all trades, and adopted grandfather. I have no idea when or how he met up with this family. I don’t know what he’d been doing after he ran away. I never even knew he existed, frankly. But it does make me happy that this boy who ran away because he didn’t fit found a place where he did fit.

No much as secrets go, but there it is. My family life laid bare.

Eccentric scientist with wild hair and glasses holding a flask with green and purple liquid in a cluttered lab with sparks and chemical equipment

***

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

Frozen Moment

Daily writing prompt
What’s a moment you wish you could freeze and live in forever?

What’s a moment you wish you could freeze and live in forever? What a question! There’s nothing I like enough to see or feel or taste or experience forever. Sounds like a hell to me.

It makes me wonder, though — if we were locked into a single moment, would we even notice? I mean, when you think about it, we live in our minds, in our memories. The only thing that distinguishes one moment from another is the memory of what has gone before and the forward memory of what will come after (because except in rare cases of accidents and instantaneous body breakdowns, we can almost be assured that the moment after this one will be almost identical to this one). Without a memory of the past and without a forward “memory” of what is to come, the isolated moment we’d live in might as well be frozen forever because we wouldn’t know the difference.

It is interesting to think how the moment preceding this one and the moment following are almost identical except perhaps for an indiscernible change, and yet those indiscernible changes add up to be significant changes over time.

If I were to expand the question from a moment to longer period of time that I absolutely had to freeze and live in forever, I imagine a couple of mornings ago before winter returned would be as good as any. It was perfect weather: not too warm, not too cool, no wind. The flowers were blooming cheerily, the greenery jewel bright. I was feeling good — no aches or pains — and able to bend to pick weeds without any trouble. The neighborhood was quiet, no loud noises — just the crunch of gravel beneath my feet and the sound of an indrawn breath or two when I did too much weed-pulling. I was living totally in the moment — or rather, in that series of moments — with no thoughts of anything but me in my garden. Me as part of the garden.

Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Always to be pain-free, always in perfect weather, never hungry or thirsty.

But even perfection palls. I could have been outside longer than I was, but I got thirsty, tired, even (dare I say it?) bored.

Of course, in that frozen forever time, none of those hampering sensations would have happened, but still, stasis is never a desirable objective. We are dynamic beings, always on the move, even if we are frozen in place. The earth hurtles around the sun at 67,000 mph. The sun hurtles around the galaxy at 140 miles per second. The entire universe is also moving and expanding, so from one second to the next we are in a completely different place with a possibility of different factors.

And so things change, will I, nill I.

Still, I do have to admit, that was a lovely morning, frozen in memory if not in time.

***

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

The Camping Life

Daily writing prompt
Have you ever been camping?

The summer before my epic cross-country trip, I lived in a friend’s camper in Northern California where I could tramp along the coast and hike the redwood forests. Although most people call this camping, to me I was simply living in a tiny house and enjoying the environment that was so different from anything I’d experienced before. (And enjoying the friendship, of course.)

The other end of the camping spectrum is “cowboy camping” — out in the wilderness with no roof over your head except the Milky Way and so many stars you wouldn’t believe. Although the romanticism of that appealed to me, the physical sensation of being out alone and vulnerable in that vastness seemed too intimidating, so I never did it.

I did camp in a tent, though, which seemed, Goldilocks-like, to be perfect, falling as it does somewhere between a tiny house on wheels and an infinite roof overhead.

I loved tent camping. Like most of my adventures, people kept telling me I couldn’t do it — I was too old, it was too dangerous, too many things could go wrong — but that didn’t deter me.

The first night I camped out was the first night of my cross-country trip. I’d practiced setting up the tent, so that wasn’t a problem, though it was a bit awkward since the tent was a six-footer. (I got a big one because I wanted to be able to stand up. And it was on sale.) I had a folding lounge chair big enough to sleep in since I wasn’t sure I could sleep on the ground, and all sorts of other comforts, including the main one — a restroom within walking distance.

I woke in the middle of the night to use that rest room. By the time I got back I was wide awake, so I lay on the top of the picnic table and drank in the stars. Eventually, I went back into the tent and finished the night in my cozy pallet on the ground.

I learned a lot about how to be comfortable in that tiny space. I spent most of my time outside, of course, so it was only at night and in the heat of the day that I sought shelter. A few nights were frigid, and I couldn’t get warm, so I opened my backpacking tent inside the larger tent, and soon became warm enough to sleep comfortably.

During that trip, I camped in deserts, mountains, forests, near swamps and lakes and on a beach. Each campsite was special. Each experience was exquisite. Each person I met was an instant friend. One slightly older woman had gone to the same high school I did, which made us even instanter friends. She was a retired teacher whose retirement funds didn’t stretch enough for a conventional life, so she spent most of her time on the road, living in her tent. Although campers were only allowed a two-week stay, she’d been there almost a month. There were few campers during that February, and so they let her stay.

I considered doing what she was doing, and if I hadn’t lucked out on buying a house, I might have lived the camping life, though to be honest, as much as I loved camping, I’m so much more comfortable living in a stationary house with a roof and heat and running water and my own bathroom.

I didn’t camp every night during that trip. Most often I was with friends, who treated me royally. Occasionally I spent nights in motels, especially if the weather was bad or I was tired or there weren’t any nearby national parks. (I did stay in a couple of state parks, but so many were almost as expensive as a motel that it didn’t seem worth it.)

I still have that oversize lounger. Maybe this summer I’ll drag it out and sleep under the stars. Or not. Although it’s a nice thought, second thoughts remind me that mosquitos, skunks, and other denizens of the night aren’t so nice.

It’s funny — sitting here writing this, I know I had all those adventures, but they seem as if they happened to someone else, as if I’d just read myself into some fictional character’s life — a character who is spontaneous and adventuresome and courageous, all things I’m not.

Except, apparently, I am those things. Or at least I was.

***

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

Nix on the Happy Face

Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite emojis?

I have never liked any emoji even before they became emojis. Especially the idiotic happy face that began it all.

I wasn’t aware of the smiley face in its infancy because it was an inhouse graphic created for State Mutual Life Assurance Company in 1963 to make their employees happier about a corporate merger. The face quickly moved beyond those bounds, and in Denver, in the late sixties, a jewelry store passed out happy-face stickers for a promotion, so that sappy yellow face was everywhere. I don’t know why — perhaps because it was everywhere — I couldn’t bring myself to like the insipid thing.

Even worse was after Hallmark took over the design in 1971, added “Have a happy day,” and then expected people to . . . I don’t know . . . give Hallmark happy days by buying happy faces, I guess.

I disliked “Have a happy day,” even more when it replaced “thank you,” as a farewell to shoppers who’d completed a purchase. I was depressed a lot back then, which made that whole “have a happy day” thing seem like a slap in the face, but more than that, it was so utterly phony, it depressed me further. Ironically, I’d give anything to have people go back to “Have a happy day” if they’d only get rid of today’s version, “Have a good one.” That sure makes me cringe! “Have a good one what?” I ask when I’m feeling particularly curmudgeonly. I can’t help but think of caregivers asking their elderly constipated patients if they’d had a “good one” that day.

In my life, almost always things I like disappear, most recently the most useful sprinkler I’ve ever found, with several water patterns as well as an ability to convert it to a hand-held sprinkler. But that sappy face? Nope. Now that it’s a global necessity, embedded in almost all computer programs, it will hound me forever.

Admittedly, I’ve used various emojis when trying to elucidate what I thought a witty comment, but that didn’t always work well.

Many years ago, I signed up for a dating site at the instigation of a married friend who wanted the vicarious experience. I eventually ended up communicating with one fellow who mentioned that he loved laughing and humor, and I don’t remember the comment I made, but it was supposed to be a humorous response to his humorous comment, and to emphasize the point, I added a happy face emoji. He took the comment at face value, and got nasty with me. I explained that the emoji was an indicator of it being a joke, and he got even more angry and said he didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone who had to use happy faces to explain what she was saying. Apparently, the only one who was supposed to funny was him. I tried a different site, and there he was again. So, to my friend’s disappointment, that was the end of my efforts.

But not, alas, the end of emojis. If I do grit my teeth and use any emoji to end a text conversation, it’s something simple like a heart or a tree, but mostly, I stick with (gasp!) words. It’s so much better for my peace of mind.

***

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