Well, Hey, How About GFY

September 13, 2026 //
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My morning began the usual way, with waking up. It seemed fine. My headache is pretty bad, my arthritis less so. I get going and get gone, and head to the trail along the river. Seems like a good morning for it.

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

I had the trail to myself when I got started. That’s a nice treat, for me. The morning was off to a lovely start. (Do you hear that sound? A metaphorical shoe dropping…)

I set off in the darkness, headlamp on. Cloudy morning, and the darkness is thick, the air is still. I walk, alert and present, watching for hazards within the bobbing circle of light ahead of me. The trail is muddy and slick. I skid sideways a couple times, losing my footing in some bit of mud. I slow down. Take my time. Even late in the summer, the Willamette River is very cold. If I did fall in, it’s quite likely I would drown. I keep my steps cautious, grateful for my cane.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting. The “good” part of that doesn’t last much longer, which sucks. There’s not much point breaking it down any further. Humans being human. (And that other shoe drops.) A missed opportunity to communicate yesterday becomes a problem today. I sigh to myself. What a shitty development. Feels as if this beautiful morning was wrecked over coffee beans, which strikes me as really peculiar, since we didn’t run out, and there was a new bag of good quality coffee beans available.  My recollection is that we hadn’t yet used up the last batch. Doesn’t matter.

In any case, this morning the magic eightball says… “Go fuck yourself.”

… Fucking hell, being human is complicated…

What matters is that my Traveling Partner started his morning with frustration and annoyance, and I lack the personal discipline to ignore the notification when he pings me while I’m occupied with other activities, and as a result, my morning peace is also wrecked (or at least interrupted), and my safety is at risk because I try to walk and text at the same time. Human. Fairly stupid, to be sure, but also very human.

So… This morning all is not well in paradise. I hurt too much to deal with anyone else’s crap this morning, even my beloved, so I’ll have to find something to do that puts plenty of distance between me and everyone else. Maybe that sounds “antisocial”, I look at it as self-care on a difficult day.

Right about now 100% of everyone who isn’t the woman I see in my mirror can fuck right off. It isn’t personal, I just don’t have enough in reserve to take care of anyone else, presently. I’ve got shit of my own to do, a great mountain of which I’ve allowed to pile up unattended over the two years of intensive care my partner needed then. He reminds me regularly these days to put more energy into my self-care, and that he’s doing much better. I know he’s right – about both those things. 

I sigh to myself, sitting in a quiet glade along the trail, alone (and enjoying that). There are chipmunks playing in the berry thicket. Robins are scratching in the muddy soil looking for a convenient breakfast snack. The air smells like autumn, and the leaves are beginning to turn. The clock ticks on. The season is changing. The sunlight of a new day catches the treetops. Whatever else I may do today, I’m definitely going to begin again.

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

What a Wonderful World This Would Be

September 12, 2026 //
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It is the dawn of a new day. Yesterday’s mistakes and stepped on boundaries are in the past. This is a completely new and different moment. I walk down the dark marsh trail, following the circle of light provided by my headlamp.

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

I get to a pleasing stopping point. A favorite fallen log at the edge of a grassy hillside dotted with oak trees makes a decent seat. I wait, watching the eastern horizon for first light on this cloudy morning. I sit with my thoughts, reflecting on a theory my Traveling Partner shared with me recently, about a recurring theme in my artwork, “the nightmare city”. It is my rendering of a dream, a nightmare, that I have had on a recurring basis for many years. I maybe don’t remember not having this nightmare (more often than occasionally).

“The Nightmare City” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas w/glow

The dream itself is simple enough. I am in a city. It seems peculiarly “hollowed out”, as if the buildings are all fake, just facades standing in neat rows. There is a background glow, but it’s hard to tell if it is lights left on, or fire, or warfare. I am walking briskly towards some point in the distance, then running breathlessly but wanting very much to stop. I usually wake before I reach that distant point, heart pounding, breathless, and frightened. Sometimes I’m in it, trapped, hurtling towards some point, when a loud blast of noise hits me with physical force, and there is a sort of popping noise and a flash of light, and so much pain. I wake, grateful to have found my way from the nightmare city, again.

The Nightmare City, some other night, different lighting.

I’ve painted the nightmare city several times. Sketched it. Painted in acrylic, with a ton of glow. Painted in watercolor, ephemeral and surreal. Painted in pastels, a city in flames and as a forlorn abandoned place that can’t harm me now. My nightmares draw me back into that strange city again and again, as if there is something unspoken that wants a voice…

Another version, “Urban Warfare”, rendered in pastels, in 2024, when old trauma and new wars collide in my dreams.

My Traveling Partner only shared his theory when I insisted I’d really like to know his thoughts. He shared his impression that it may be a remnant of “the last thing I saw” before (more specifically as) I injured my head. I don’t recall my injury with any clarity, at all. Hints of partial recollections of fragments of vague memories that generally my consciousness mind has difficulty approaching. A sense of…flight? A gasp, like a final deep breath before plunging into darkness? A distant point of perspective that rushes towards me without properly changing as the distance draws near. An explosion of light? Nothing useful. The official version, when anyone would discuss it with me at all, much later in life, was that I fell down some stairs, maybe (and now can we please talk about something else?).

“Daylight Comes to the Nightmare City”, in pastels, 2026.

My Traveling Partner finally admitted, he sees something characteristic and distinct about my nightmare city paintings; to him they can also potentially be seen as a staircase, or bannister finial, from the perspective of hurtling towards it head first. “Once I realized, I can’t unsee it,” he said. Since he shared that with me, I see it too. I touch the small triangular “divet” I feel on my forehead, and trace the cracks I feel under the skin that radiate out from there, to my hairline, and down into my right eye socket.

… And I wonder…

… Trauma is weird. I still see the city, the road leading away, and feel a strangely nauseous feeling when I contemplate walking down that peculiarly dark street as it seems to narrow towards a point. In my dreams, I never quite reach whatever waits at the other end of the road…

For no obvious reason, I hear a Sam Cooke song in my head as I sit with my thoughts,  “… What a wonderful world this would be…”. I sit in the stillness of a summer morning betwixt meadow and marsh, waiting for the sun. Waiting to understand something just out of reach of any clear memories. There’s rarely much anger left over this broken brain – there are more important things to be angry about, these days. I’m okay with who I am, most of the time. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, for his kindness not rushing to put ideas in my head out of compassion and love, and for sharing his thoughts willingly and gently when pressed. Considering I really don’t remember my injury, having hints and insights helps me process the unknown, and even the potentially unknowable.

… I’m okay with the uncertainty; I am loved. I can begin again, as often as I need to, in order to heal and grow, and walk on.  I look down the path fearlessly. I am awake, and safe, and life is pretty good. I smile, thinking soft happy thoughts about my partner, my best friend. I get to my feet, grateful, humming some tune that is stuck in my my head…

… What a wonderful world it would be…

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Something Like That, But Different

September 11, 2026 //
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Weird morning… but, not really, I guess. That is part of the sensation of strangeness; the morning has been so utterly ordinary it feels rather strange.

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

I reached the halfway point of my walk in good time. My thoughts are my own.

Very bright (excessively) outdoor lights on a nearby farm building have all been turned on, and they irritate me a bit, but I imagine the farm workers prefer not having to work in the dark. I was grateful when the path turned and put those lights behind me. Walking towards them, they were blinding me a bit. Walking with these very bright lights at my back, the trail ahead is well lit, and my headlamp is not necessary.

Here at this spot along the trail, I can still see those lights, but they are neither helpful nor blinding, only specks of light in the greater darkness. I think about that awhile. A useful metaphor.

I yawn and stretch. How am I this stiff and sore?! I feel like I was in a fight, or endured hours of intense exercise – and I have had no such experiences recently. I definitely could have slept longer. I sit with that thought for a slow moment, doing nothing else. I’m looking forward to a few days of painting on the coast, and watching the tides come and go, over the Equinox… and sleeping in. I’m definitely looking forward to sleeping in.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate. I reflect on this and that. More breathing (best to keep that going, yeah? 😆).

This is one of those quiet, easy to take for granted, sort of mornings on which everything seems…fine. Pleasant. Quite enjoyable all around, save for the subtle nagging sensation that it won’t last. I chuckle to myself at the very idea that it could be any other way. That’s the tempting lie; imagining that life might ever be other than it is, (which is generally fraught with trauma and turmoil, and challenging circumstances) for anything more than a moment. I smile feeling a little like I know some notable secret that unlocks the mystery of life (I don’t). “Go with it,” isn’t much of a secret. Neither is “be kind to yourself,” nor is “enjoy the moment you’re in”. These are potentially mere platitudes with limited utility. It matters greatly how (and whether) I put them to some kind of use.

…Verbs…

It was nice to get into the studio for a little while yesterday, after work. Productive time for and about me – and considering how good that felt, I should clearly be doing it more often. Hell, I even ended the day with enough left in me to cook a proper meal! (I make an excellent and thoroughly delicious stir-fry.)

…I forgot to grab my lunch as I left the house…

I barely notice daybreak when it comes, sitting here with my thoughts. I sigh and get to my feet. Like a child pulling the covers up over me to be warmer, finding too late that my feet have become cold, I consider beginning work early to end the work day earlier. I laugh at myself. I’m familiar with how that tends to work out in practice; working longer for no good reason, and with little value. I commit to relaxing with my thoughts a few more minutes.

…Then I begin again. I’ve got a whole new day for being and becoming, and practicing practices. I hope I choose wisely.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

If It Were Stars

September 10, 2026 //
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I’d give last night only 1 star, if I were asked to rate it. I guess I’m grateful I don’t have to write a review of a crappy night.

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

The news is grim, and mostly outside my control, so I attempt to shrug off the worst of humanity: the genocides, the corruption of powerful people, war, the high cost of groceries and gas, and even general ignorance and incivility. None of that reaches me on the trail in the morning. I’m grateful to get a break from all that crap, even if only by being alone for awhile.

I slept badly. My sleep was poor and interrupted, broken into basically two hour chunks. That kind of shitty night does not result in adequate rest, at all. So… here I am, not well-rested, on a Thursday morning. A work day. This is less than ideal… but it could be worse.

… Later, I see the dentist 😆…

I get to my halfway point, fatigued and frustrated. The walking is an effort this morning. I feel as if I’m pulling myself along, while also pushing myself reluctantly down the trail. My boots feel heavy. I feel slow. I sit down on this bench, grateful it’s here. I look at the night sky. No moon. Few stars. The dismal darkness is already color shifting to something a bit more blue. Daybreak soon. G’damn I’m so tired.

Bad nights happen, eh?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation. Writing. Watching the darkness dissipate, becoming a new day. It’s a familiar routine, and in the familiarity, I find some comfort and a new beginning. Fatigue? More coffee! Stupid and a temporary solution at best. It’s not sustainable. Fortunately, it’s rare for me to have a profoundly poor night’s sleep these days, although they often cluster together. I stare at the peculiar predawn blue hue of the sky, no longer quite night, not yet day.

My mind wanders into the surreal space of a brief “micro sleep”. I don’t realize it until I shift abruptly back to being quite awake. My CPAP machine is quite effective, but its power to improve my sleep does not do anything to prevent me being wakened by my Traveling Partner’s own difficulty with sleeping. I sigh to myself.

… For an extra bit of “fun” (it wasn’t), I clumsily managed to toss my morning medications into the air with a twitch of my wrist. With the help of my headlamp I find most of them. The ones that have gone entirely missing, I have backups for. Not my first time at this. 😆

I’m still yawning when the first hint of the sunrise comes. I shrug to myself. Things could be worse. I’ll deal with it, with some patience and self-compassion – and a lot of coffee.

I sigh again, as I get to my feet.  Blah blah,  something about beginning again. 😆 I’ll do my best – that’s all I’ve got. I squint at the rising sun. This path won’t walk itself. Time to get on with it.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Sometime In The Morning

September 9, 2026 //
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I woke gently, got up, dressed, and kissed my beloved on my way out. It was dark (and very early) then, and it is after daybreak now.

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

My walk was pleasant, and the miles passed quickly. It’s a work day, and I guess on some level I am feeling purposeful. I say so, noticing that I didn’t stop at any sort of halfway point this morning. I walked and walked, lost in thought, until my walk was over. Shit. That’s a little strange, but not a problem at all (just a difference).

I get to the car and sit comfortably, writing, my random musings still banging on the latched screen door of my consciousness, like a friend who won’t let me sleep in on a summer morning, peering in from the closed door, calling my name. I write easily, about nothing. Mornings and coffee, walks and changing seasons, merriment and sorrow – all just words on a page until someone (maybe you?) connects some point I’m making with their own experience, and finds comfort or insight there. I think about that for a little while.

Sunrise comes. I’m still thinking my thoughts. Insignificant stray thoughts about nothing particular, mostly, and my writing pauses to let some thoughts move on along without comment. Like pedestrians in an intersection, the signal changes, traffic flows, and stops continues, then pauses, over and over again. Same with my writing, I suppose. Some mornings the words pour out of me like a busy freeway, other mornings my mind is stop and go traffic during some mental rush hour, slow and not getting anywhere any time soon. 😆

I yawn and watch the pink and blue gradient of the morning sky slowly change. A new day, eh? I guess I’d better be getting on with it, then. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I begin again.

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