Something a Little Different

August 23, 2026 //
0

I slept in this morning (for some values of sleeping in), beginning the morning in the usual way, otherwise. I woke with a plan and a measure of real excitement. My knee has been bothering me, and my Traveling Partner suggested I give it a rest, and skip my walk (cane or no cane, 1-3 miles on it is a lot of demand when it’s clearly recovering from injury). So…

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

…I planned a different sort of morning, one that took advantage of temporary injury for other sorts of fun, and I packed up my RC car and added to that my GMRS radio , and my bag of fun was waiting for me in the morning, as I left the house. I picked up a coffee on my way up to the location I had in mind, and entertained myself with learning the features of the radio, and monitoring local channels. There’s a lot to learn – and a lot of “lost knowledge” to regain. It’s fun.

A little later I drove to a nearby town that has an RC car racetrack thinking I’d check it out. I got as far as the parking lot. 😆 The closest parking was still going to require a bit of a walk, partly down a steepish slope, on a barked path. I decide to stick with giving my knee a break and head back to my previous location, which has a big spacious parking lot that is empty on a Sunday. I drive my RC car awhile, enjoying myself immensely, practicing useful skills that make driving the car more fun.

…Even things like basic steering take practice, which I recall being the case when I was learning to drive a full size car for the first time, too…

Painting? Maybe later. I’ve got pastel-ready cardstock coming, and pastel “pencils” (they aren’t really pencils, but crafted such that they are more suited to lines than to shading), but it may be a couple weeks before they arrive. I smile, feeling fortunate and wrapped in contentment. There’s housework to get done, too. I keep postponing properly finishing moving back into my studio and outfitting my wee library as a functional space for quiet reflection and meditation. I shrug it off and go on with racing my RC car back and forth the length of this huge open space, zipping between and around the planted islands and working to improve the precision of my turns.

A sprinkle of rain prompts me to take this break, and I sit happily writing, and monitoring a local repeater on my radio. My beloved and I are both dealing with pain this morning. I’m not rushing back (certainly not any time soon), though I enjoy his company. I’m enjoying the morning on my own terms, racing my RC car and getting refamiliarized with radio procedures. The static reminds me how I most likely came by much of my tinnitus, and I feel a strange, warm nostalgia for a long gone chapter of my life that was mostly pure hell – but I was also serving my country, and still proud to be doing so. Funny how complicated our emotions can be.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The sprinkling has stopped. The pavement isn’t even damp. I probably could have kept driving, but didn’t want to risk damage to my car – it’s still new and I’m careful with it. I happily set the car onto the pavement again. I’ve got plenty of battery life left. I switch from my regular glasses to my shades to improve my distance vision as the brightness of the morning increases.

An older woman walking a dog and a child approaches and I bring the car back to me, stopping it at my feet (so I wouldn’t be tempting the dog to chase it. We exchange a greeting. She asks about the car as the kid squats down to get a better look. How hard are they to drive? Are they safe for kids? How much do they cost? Is there someplace local that has them? The kid has only two questions: how fast will it go and can they drive my car?

After a bit of conversation, and making certain the dog is well controlled, I run the car down the length of the parking lot at max speed and circle back, managing to drift beautifully on the turn (and totally fronting like that shit was deliberate and enjoying the excited squeals of the kid watching). I stop the car at my feet and give the kid, a chill youngster of 8 by the name of Ash, a turn driving after securing a promise to drive gently and to stay in this section of parking lot. Her grandmother takes down some notes about where the hobby shop is. She suggests to Ash that if her parents are okay with it she’ll take her there next weekend. She grins at me excitedly and hands back the controller, and they walk on.

… Sometimes people are okay…

I wave as they walk away, and turn my attention back to my car… can I get that drift in the turn down as a reliable skill? So much to learn… Time to begin. Again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

A Poignant Solitude

August 22, 2026 //
0

It was just a dream. I remind myself again and again, while also trying to ignore the recalled details, hoping it will fade as I wake, walk, have coffee, run errands…

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

…As dreams go, it felt “too real”, like living some other version of my life, or a moment not yet lived…

The space is tediously sparse: undecorated white walls, one window. The view is something on the urban edge of suburbia, cheapened by the vertical blinds. The quiet feels heavy, interrupted by a ticking clock and unintelligible voices in an adjacent room, or the corridor. I breathe, exhale, relax. I notice my hands, which seem unfamiliar and aged, frail and thin skinned, but beautifully manicured.

My head turns in the direction of a knock, and the door opens. A stranger, a woman, enters with an aggressively cheery greeting and the fake smile of someone who hates their job. “Good morning! How are we today? Ready for breakfast?” She places a tray on my side table and busily tidies the room as my eyes follow her movements. More effort doesn’t seem warranted; she doesn’t really see me. She starts for the door and I speak up, “Is M____ visiting today? Or… Is it tomorrow?” She looks at me, real eye contact, a long pause. “I’m not sure,” she says, “I’ll have to check at reception,” and she’s gone.

Faintly, as if from a distance, I overhear conversation as I look at the unappetizing tray with my meal on it.

“She asked what?”

“If someone named M_____ would be coming to visit today or tomorrow. I don’t know who that is…”

“You’re new. That’s her husband. He’s been gone – dead, I think – for like 20 years. She doesn’t seem able to remember that. Sometimes she remembers, you’ll definitely be able to tell. She clearly misses him, but she doesn’t talk much about him, just asks if he’s going to visit.”

“Oh, poor thing… Does she have other visitors?”

The matronly voice in the hall laughs, “Honey, she’s 117 years old. If she had kids or friends or family, she’s outlived them all. No one comes. She was a writer, I heard, and an artist, but the arthritis in her hands…”

The voices fade away. The food still looks unappetizing. Institutional, like the view. Tears fill my eyes. Ridiculous woman, I think to myself. Of course I know. I just can’t bear it, and I miss him so much…

…the tears spill over, and my shaking hands struggle with the fork, finally settling for just pushing things around on my plate…

I feel his hands warm on my shoulders. His touch eases my pain. I sigh and relax grateful for his touch, and his love. “You’ve got to eat something, Baby,” he says softly, running his fingers through my hair. “You could do that forever,” I whisper. We laugh together. I put my hand on his, where it rests on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came to visit,” I say.

… I don’t turn my head. I know what I’d see. It’s fine. I’m okay with solitude. I sit watching the light of the window chase shadows across the room. The clock ticks on. My hands ache. My head aches. My heart… aches.

… I wake with my face still wet with my tears, and grateful to see another sunrise, to love and be loved, and for still another chance to be a better version of myself than I was yesterday. I make a silent promise to some future version of me – I won’t waste these precious finite mortal moments. When things go sideways, I’ll begin again.

…

… I sigh to myself as I step onto the trail. I’m grateful for the dawn of a new day, and for this sunrise. I’m grateful for another opportunity to begin again. Grateful it was only a dream. Grateful that my beloved will be there to welcome me when I return home. I wipe away a stray tear and head down the path.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories breathe, gratitude, Love, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Walking In The Dark

August 21, 2026 //
0

I was on the trail this morning in the usual way. The little circle of light on the ground ahead of me bobbing and swaying with my footsteps holds my attention, which is probably a good thing. I watch my steps, one after the other, eyes mostly on the ground. Walking in the dark can be treacherous and full of surprises. (It’s a useful metaphor, too.)

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Yesterday went sideways abruptly, almost as soon as I got home. It was unfortunate, and dismaying. There were raised voices, door slamming, and an overabundance of hurt feelings. As with walking in the dark, there was more going on than we could easily see in the moment.

The resentment and anger that seethed beneath the surface lingered a long while for me. The hurt feelings, too. Still walking in darkness, metaphorically speaking. We did manage to get things sorted out. A mistake in medication, poor timing, individual frustration with circumstances had collided and become a problem. We’ve been through much worse, my Traveling Partner and I, which isn’t a surprise to me; I know through painful experience what I’m working with, and how much chaos and damage still remains on my path, creating obstacles on my path, often unseen in the darkness.

…”Wear a headlamp you silly bitch,” I think to myself as I walk in the actual darkness, wearing an actual headlamp. I think about metaphorical headlamps…

I get to my halfway point, still in darkness, and turn off my headlamp, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, before I begin to write. It must be overcast. No stars. I sigh to myself before I meditate. I feel a little out of sorts; it is recognizably the aftermath of yesterday’s unpleasantness. It will pass, I remind myself. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take steps to chase the blues with something more hopeful. It takes practice.

I am distracted by the sound of helicopters. I listen to the sounds of morning and watch the sky change color as daybreak arrives. I reflect on the importance of kindness and making room for failure, whether the failure is someone else’s or our own. I reflect on the importance of restoring peace, of reconnecting, and of healing each other’s hearts after conflict arises, and is resolved. I’m not actually very good at the part of conflict resolution that is “making things right again” and repairing an emotional connection. My beloved is more skilled. I’ve at least learned to be open to that process and to be accepting and approachable and willing to make things right together.

… There’s more to learn and more to practice…

I breathe the morning air deeply and exhale slowly. I remind myself to drink plenty of water today and to take my meds on time. It’s a start. (Still listening to helicopters, and wondering what’s up.) I breathe, exhale, and relax – meditation is also a practice. Sometimes it takes a couple tries to get it right.

Somewhere in the background, a ticking clock. Somewhere ahead, an opportunity to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Grateful, Generally

August 20, 2026 //
0

It’s a quiet morning. The sky is clear and starry overhead. The air is still and cool. My steps are steady and even as I walk down the trail. It is a new day.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I walk along, letting my steps follow the familiar path, while my mind wanders elsewhere. Work later. Errands. Pick up prescriptions from the pharmacy. I remind myself to save some energy for later, so I can help my Traveling Partner with a repair that may need three hands. I get to my halfway point and observe that I’ve been so much in my own head, the walk itself has left no impression on me. My body was merely a vehicle. My mind traveled a different path entirely.

I sigh to myself as I take a seat on a big rock for a few minutes. I look around in the dim twilight. Daybreak soon. The treeline blends in against the darkness of the night sky. No bunnies or birds at this quiet hour. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

The peace is ruptured by screaming. Angry screaming, incoherent words , the sounds of rage reach me from the apartments across the creek. My whole body tenses up, and my mind tries to block the sound or my awareness of it. It’s real, though, and I’m suddenly deeply anxious, alarmed, and on alert. There’s no legitimate threat to my safety from this painful human experience happening on the other side of the creek in some apartment, but the sounds of it definitely affect my peace. More yelling, then the sound of breaking glass, and silence.

… The silence feels ominous…

… I breathe, exhale, and relax (as best I can), and repeat, until I feel my heart rate slow down again, and stop hearing my heartbeat in my ears. Nothing over there is happening to me. I’m having my own experience – and I’m grateful it isn’t anything to do with angry screaming or breaking glass. I’ve got it pretty good these days.

Daybreak comes while I sit wondering about things. I’m grateful for this peaceful solitude. I’m grateful to have survived domestic violence (it’s part of my distant past). I’m a little surprised by how quickly the years between then and now melt away so quickly; I’m still trembling, my body still feeling “ready to run”, although no longer full on triggered. I take a deep healthy breath and exhale, and repeat that a few more times, feeling the slow steady breathing begin to calm my body. I think about my beloved Traveling Partner – I am grateful to know love like this.

Gratitude is a good beginning to a new day. I watch the sky lighten and silently list things I am grateful for, allowing myself a moment to savor each detail and really appreciate the qualities in my life that make it a good one. It’s a useful practice, in spite of sometimes feeling a little forced or silly; the results are reliably good.

…We become what we practice…

My beloved pings me a good morning greeting. I’m grateful to be so loved. I smile to myself, also grateful for the pack of tissues hastily stuffed into my pocket as I got out of the car. Tissues that happen to be available to me through the love of my partner, who remembered from my writing that I had run out (or soon would) and made a point of giving me the extras from his truck.

(Well timed, my Love. Thank you!)

The sunrise begins with an unimpressive smudgy orange along the horizon. I’m fine with it. I’m definitely not criticizing since I can’t create an actual sunrise myself, at all, and have no useful tips for making a better one. I sit watching, grateful to see another rising sun.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Another day, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be. Another day to choose wisely. Another day to love and be loved. Another day to feel grateful and to be kind. Another chance to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Well That Happened

August 19, 2026 //
0

I woke slowly, a moment ahead of the alarm. I shut it off, dressed, and left the house. Then, I went back in because I somehow managed to forget the fob for my car. This tended to cause me to be concerned about whatever else I may have forgotten, and as I went to grab my fob, I double-checked whether I remembered to turn off my alarm, my noise machine, and various little details that are part of my morning routine. I think I got it all.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I got a little more than 9 hours of sleep last night. I was tired and in pain and I laid down “for an hour” after my Traveling Partner and I enjoyed a genial meal together. That hour stretched into 3, and I got up briefly, enjoyed the company of my beloved while he worked on something. I went back to bed, unsure how I could possibly sleep more… and immediately crashed out. I certainly feel rested this morning. I clearly needed the sleep, my partner was right about that.

I grabbed my headlamp and cane eagerly when I reached the trailhead, and got started on my walk feeling light on my feet and merry. It’s a good start to the day.

A new day begins. What will you do with the opportunity?

I get to my halfway point and stop. The morning feels chilly. It reminds me that summer will end soon. Seasons change. The clock keeps ticking. The sunrise begins with a colorful display. I’m content to watch it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s hard to believe that the world is in such chaos – I let all that go. This is not the time for all that; these quiet moments are best spent on other thoughts… gratitude, love, wonder… I exhale, and let go of worry and doubt. The sky lightens as daybreak becomes the dawn of a new day.

“Nothing to see here,” I think to myself, contentedly. Just how I like it – calm. Quiet.  A small buck steps out from the vineyard rows and crosses the trail, heading into the trees. The western sky has become a pearly blue gray, clear and cloudless. A soft distant wooshing is audible from here. HVAC on the nearby water park building, probably, but in a different moment and place it might as easily be the sound of the seashore. It’s only a pleasant illusion, and I don’t mistake it for real. I yawn and stretch and fill my lungs with the cool air of this lovely summer morning.

… I almost feel like I could go back to bed! It’s a silly notion, and I got plenty of restful sleep last night…

I get to my feet, stretch again, feeling the movement as I extend my arms towards the sky. There’s coffee on the other side of this walk, and to get to it, I’ll need to begin again. 😁

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets, women, Words
« Older Entries