That Ticking Clock

September 4, 2026 //
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Damn, mortality is a massive buzz kill, sometimes. I heard at work yesterday that Gloria Steinem had died. I sat with that awhile, then. I’ve been thinking about it this morning.

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

She was an important figure in the feminist movement, sure. She was an important figure in a lot of the progress women have made in the past 6 decades. That’s a lot of influence in the lives of women.

Gloria Steinem was all that and probably more. I never met her, but she was important to me on a more personal level than purely as an icon. In 1995, sometime shortly before I left my violent first marriage (finally), I read Moving Beyond Words. I read it again, my first solitary weekend in my new apartment after I left that marriage (and after my Granny had returned home from helping me move out – and move on). This book got my attention and really moved me. It reignited something inside me that had been collecting dust a long time.

I wrote Gloria a letter. It wasn’t a fan girl missive, so much as a quick and vulnerable thank you note. She replied, eventually, and I was surprised and grateful. She wrote telling me it might be hard, this journey that is one woman’s life, and to honor myself and trust in my worth. I’ve continued to treasure that letter, in the years since. Taking it from its envelope gently now and then, and reading it again. Gloria knew that the clock is always ticking.

… I know it, too ..

I was saddened to hear that Gloria Steinem had died.

The weekend is ahead. I very much want to spend it painting. There’s also housekeeping chores to be done. Grocery shopping. Errands. The new SDR my beloved Traveling Partner got for me calls to me for my attention. My RC car wants to play. Life and love want my attention, too. The clock keeps ticking. Everything is a distraction from something else. Choose wisely.

I sit by the side of this rainy trail at daybreak. The changing colors of the morning sky, cloudy and gray mostly, distract me from the night as it passes, too.

… And I still want to paint…

What are you going to do about it?

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Rain spatters my rain poncho. The clock ticks on. This is a finite mortal lifetime, and choices are necessary to narrow down the options some little bit.  So what’ll it be? I sigh to myself. I rub my aching hands.

I’m making plans for an autumn trip to the coast, to paint and celebrate the equinox. Remembering that intention stops me from fretting about the weekend at all. I like to plan ahead. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I notice the time and get to my feet. I’ve been sitting here for a little while and it’s time to begin – again. There’s a whole new day ahead. What will I do with it?

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

Listening to the Rain Fall

September 3, 2026 //
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As I stepped through the front doorway, I saw the wet pavement and smelled the scents of recent rain. I shrug it off happily; I’ll pick up a coffee on my way to the trailhead, in case I find myself waiting for a break in the rain.

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

Good call. The rain began to fall as I got into the car. It’s still falling as I pulled into the parking lot. It’s still falling now. I’m okay with it. I like the rain. I sit with my coffee, contentedly waiting for a break in the rain, sun roof cracked open to let in the fresh scent of rainfall and petrichor. I enjoy the sound of rain falling on the car.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking time with meditation, letting the rain fall without stress or concern. Beyond the rain, I hear distant HVAC. I am serene and unbothered. Feels like a good start to the day.

…It keeps raining…

I sigh to myself. If it’s going to rain like this indefinitely – and maybe it will – I’m going to want my rain gear where I can get to it more easily. This morning it is neatly packed away in my gear bin, in the back of the car (SUV), and in the time it will take to pull it out and put it on, I’ll be soaked. The break in the rain I’m looking for only needs to be long enough to find and put on my rain poncho.

… I think about that rain poncho for a moment. It’s the same cheap IKEA rain poncho I’ve kept stuffed with my gear since… 2014? How is that thing even still water resistant? I remind myself to check it carefully and be certain of its continued usefulness, and maybe replace it…

Nothing lasts forever, least of all these finite mortal lives. I sigh to myself and decide to get on with it, in spite of the rain. It’s Oregon, and fall is almost here, it’s going to rain… maybe a lot. I mentally walk through the steps of getting my rain poncho out of my gear bin. It’s raining pretty hard right now. I put my headlamp on and let it hang from my neck. It’s still dark. It stays dark later each morning by some small amount. I reach behind me grateful that I’d flung my fleece there yesterday morning. Handy. It will keep some of the rain off while I dig around in the back of the car. As if on cue, it begins to rain harder.

Out of curiosity, I look at the wildfire map. On the map it looks like the entire west coast is on fire, with a small thin slice along the western edge untouched. I feel grateful to live within that slice of my state that is not on fire. I’m grateful for the rain, too. I hope it drenches the land and quenches the fires.

…Of course. I check the weather radar map showing the precipitation. Looks like it’s only raining over the areas that are not on fire. Cosmic humor isn’t reliably amusing to mere mortals.

I sigh to myself. I’ve stalled long enough, and it’s time to begin. Again.

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Categories Allegories, 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, women, Words

When the Rain Comes

September 2, 2026 //
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It isn’t raining yet. My arthritis, the forecast, and the scent of the air suggest it definitely will. I’m okay with that. I like the rain.

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

Blue hue at daybreak.

I’ve been sitting here at my halfway point for some while now, just sitting with my thoughts, no point or specific purpose, allowing minutes to pass unnoticed and uncounted. Some mornings are like this, quiet and lacking in clear purpose or any particular drive to do anything any differently. I’m okay with this, too.

…We create a lot of our own bullshit and drama simply by resisting what is in some moment, when we could face the challenge with acceptance, first, before we consider fighting it at all…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nothing to see here. It is an ordinary enough sort of morning on a cloudy day late in the summer. I take time to meditate in the darkness, watching the blue hue of the morning develop slowly, revealing the gray sky instead of a sun rise. Somewhere beyond what I can see, the sun still rises. There’s a metaphor there. I reflect on that awhile.

I get to my feet, grateful for a new day, and a chance to begin again. Maybe I’ll make it back to the car before it begins to rain?

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, 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

The App Is Not The World

September 1, 2026 //
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The air feels somehow heavier than usual. Daybreak is yet to come. My bones ache, and years of arthritis tell me it’s going to rain sometime soon. Today? Tomorrow? I have no idea. The sky is blank smooth darkness, no visible clouds, and also no stars at all. This suggests a dense cloud layer overhead. I step out on the trail, turn my headlamp on and start walking.

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

I get to my halfway point and stop to write and to meditate.

… I had an interesting idea in mind for this morning’s writing, yesterday evening. It’s gone now…

I’m peculiarly groggy this morning. I check the app for my CPAP machine to see how I scored as a representation of how I slept. It looks nearly perfect. I scored 100. So, I would appear to have gotten enough sleep. That’s the sort of silliness that comes of trusting a fucking app. 😆 I slept okay, based on my subjective experience. I’m also groggy. These experiences coexist in this moment. An app has nothing whatsoever to say about it.

Making assumptions based on what some app says, or clinging to expectations obtained through some app is just as foolish and fraught with problematic consequences as any other means of acquiring expectations and assumptions. The app doesn’t make a poor practice better… and if there are verbs involved (and there nearly always are), an app isn’t going to do them for me. The effort to walk my own path is mine.

Scrolling through some feed on some app? Do you really not have better, more entertaining or educational, ways to spend time? Seriously; the app is not the world, and it is not the experience, and it is not a gateway to human connection. I think more people are catching on to a better understanding of all that they lose by becoming dependent on this or that app. I’m encouraged to see it, and I hope it continues.

… there’s so much AI slop and algorithmic bullshit in the world right now…

… Maybe make a point to go outside..?

Daybreak comes, confirming my suspicion that the day would be quite cloudy. There is only the thinnest sliver of pale blue sky down low on the western horizon showing through the dense gray clouds. The rest of the sky is gray. The clouds to the east are quite dark and stormy, and sitting here in jeans and a T-shirt no longer feels like an appropriate choice.

I stretch and get to my feet with a sigh and get ready to begin again.

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

Cloudy With a Chance of Imperfection

August 31, 2026 //
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Yesterday was a mixed bag of joy and aggravation. I really wanted to paint after returning home from coffee with a friend. I was in so much pain that I was uncomfortable to be around, even for me.

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

I couldn’t make it work, and inspiration got hung up in my Traveling Partner’s irritation and my own discomfort. I took more pain medication and laid down for awhile.

My beloved kindly woke me some time later, so I wouldn’t miss the entire day. I got some laundry done. We hung out a bit. It was fine. It was a quiet, mostly pleasant evening together. I went to bed early (crazy early, like 6:30 pm) still dealing with pain. I slept through the night, waking only once, briefly. I must have needed the rest.

This morning I woke rested, mind empty, heart serene, feeling content and unbothered. I dressed and left the house, seemingly without waking my beloved. I hope he sleeps deeply and wakes rested.

Heading down the trail, the morning seems almost spooky it is so quiet. I gently touch my left ear, checking that I actually do have my hearing aids in. Yep. It’s just an unusually quiet morning. My footsteps seem quite loud, generally I don’t notice them at all. My breathing, too, is audible. My tinnitus? Not as bad as usual, seems like. I do a simple “body scan” as I walk. Vertigo? Nope. That has thankfully cleared up. Headache? Mild. Arthritis pain? It’s there, but not yet bothersome, today. My gait feels steady, and if not effortless, at least comfortable. Good enough. Generally speaking, a mostly comfortable Monday.

The first hints of daybreak reveal the trees, silhouetted against a dark sky, not yet at all blue. I’m also not blue, which is a nice feeling, although I know my Traveling Partner would ask me irritably to rephrase it in terms of what I am feeling, which does seem reasonable. I guess this morning I am feeling…calm? Calm. Contented. Yesterday I felt the weight of considerable sorrow, though I never really sorted out why. Sleeping it off was probably a good choice.

So… here I am. Today. I get to my halfway point and stop to meditate and to write. It is an ordinary work day. I don’t really have anything on my mind at the moment, and don’t feel like digging around in my brain trying to find some worthwhile kernel of an idea to get started with, so it’s just me, and this moment. That’s fine, too. It’s enough. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

As I watch the sky lighten and change colors, dawn becoming day, I think about the powerful advantage (and convenience) offered by having dedicated studio space again. I can paint after work, any time. I smile; the thought feels like a quick shot of high potency joy straight to my soul. I grin to myself and fidget excitedly like a kid about to receive a gift they just know is exactly what they wanted. I chuckle aloud. I’m pretty easy to please. My Traveling Partner is right; I need to take better care of myself, and do more things for me. He is far more capable than he was after his injury, and I can trust him to tell me when or if he needs help. That’s a huge weight off my shoulders, and peculiarly, I am having some difficulty adapting.

I breathe deeply, and as I exhale I visualize releasing my stress and baggage. It’s a simple, perhaps slightly silly exercise, but I find it effective. I relax and return to meditation. I write. I watch the sun rise. I begin again.

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