Restful night. Pleasant morning. Good walk down a familiar trail. I feel prepared for the day ahead, organized, calm, and comfortable in my body. It’s a good starting point for the (day and the) week. The weekend was a good one, although nothing stands out as noteworthy; it was well-spent in the good company of my Traveling Partner. I got a few things done without exhausting myself.
The colors of morning.
A colorful sunrise greeted me as I reached the trailhead. The parking lot was empty (it generally is at this hour). I enjoyed the trail to myself and watched the sun rise as I walked. It’s a lovely Monday morning, two days before my birthday.
…There’s no significance to this particular birthday (61), and I have no particular plans. I’ve already received my birthday presents; my Traveling Partner loves making me smile and seeing my joy, and it’s hard for him to wait for the actual day. lol I don’t mind at all. I feel very loved.
I sit with the sunshine at my back, perched on a picnic table a short walk from the car, writing, thinking, and enjoying the start of this new day. We don’t know how many beautiful sunrises we may see in one mortal lifetime… I hope I have many more, and take time to appreciate them all!
…Monday…
…A lifetime goes by so quickly…
The season is beginning to be more summer than Spring. This morning I’ll begin watering the lawn and garden on a summer schedule. Working from home makes such things pretty easy to stick with. Last week I took some of my meetings (remotely) in the garden, and it was delightful. It also brought my attention to a couple tasks I’ve fallen behind on; I’d let the salad greens bolt, and the weeds are getting out of hand. I spent some weekend time putting things right. I brought in a noteworthy harvest of fresh peas.
…Time spent in the garden seems to run on a different clock…
An ordinary enough life, on a contented joyful Monday morning, feeling purposeful and prepared. This is an experience built over time. Built on carefully chosen practices, and principles of resilience, sufficiency, self-care, mindfulness, and non-attachment. I work at this, and my results vary. I’m for sure going to enjoy it when things are truly going well, and I am feeling good. Pain? Not relevant this morning, and it fades into the background as I enjoy the moment. (“This too will pass.” Change is.)
…So much of my day-to-day joy and contentment is built on steady practices and incremental change over time. It’s achievable. Reliable. There are verbs involved…but it is possible to get from “there” to “here” through those means. Start. Practice. Fail. Begin again. Repeat. Don’t take the required effort personally, just do the needful.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel the shadows of bad dreams in the night dissipate in the morning sunshine. I’m here, now, and it’s a lovely morning to begin again.
This morning I woke gently, aware of what a good day yesterday was, in spite of its difficult beginning (which, honestly, “wasn’t all that”). I found myself musing briefly over how easily a day getting off to a good start can “go off the rails”, and how often a seemingly poor start nonetheless finds its way to a pleasant day. The beginnings do not determine the outcomes. There are so very many choices and opportunities along the way, it seems a poor practice to insist on an entire day being whatever some one moment happens to be.
The morning is off to a promising start. I don’t read anything into it, and refrain from setting myself up for failure by expecting all the moments ahead to be as this one pleasant moment happens to be. I’m also not looking for disappointment or anticipating chaos. It’s simply a moment and I am enjoying it as it is.
As I leave the house to head down the road to a favorite trail, I’m greeted by a peculiar piebald sky. Past daybreak, which comes quite early this time of year, the sky is pale, a faded blue-not-quite-white, and scattered patterns of small dark gray clouds that crowd the northern horizon. Stormy looking, off in the distance. As I drive, a pink and magenta sunrise peeks out from among the distant hills, and I delight in the boldness of the colors with each glimpse. It doesn’t last, and I never quite get a view of it that lasts long enough to snap a picture. Some experiences have to be enjoyed as they happen, and there is no opportunity to save these for later, outside our fleeting memory.
Perhaps rain later…?
I get to the trailhead, put on my boots, and step onto the trail with a smile and my thoughts and a promise to finish this later.
Nice morning for it.
The air is mild and the morning very quiet. I had the trail alone this morning – a pleasant luxury. I walked with my thoughts, which were mostly rather practical.
I began tidying up my studio yesterday, and there’s a bit more to do. Because I had the option of working from an office in the city over the past 8 months, (and with my Traveling Partner injured), necessity and convenience slowly turned my studio into something more like storage than a creative work space. lol It makes sense to get that sorted out, and my studio returned to a clean and tidy work space, now. No office to go to presently, and my partner’s son moving in soon (temporary and welcome), I need this space for artistic endeavors, but also for work (doubles as my office), and even as a “personal retreat”, when I just can’t deal with people and need some solitude. It isn’t intended to be storage space, aside from the closet, in which my stored artworks are kept until they sell or hang somewhere.
…Yesterday was a lovely productive day…
I walked and thought. Nice morning for it. I saw nutria playing along the marsh, at the waters edge. The young ones born this year are exploring their world with playful curiosity. I walked past a small herd of deer, which quietly watched me back as I walked past. (They were gone when I returned down the trail heading for the car.) There were little birds everywhere, squirrels too. The meadow flowers made the air sweet with their scents. The lupines are done blooming and are going to seed. Other flowers take their turn blooming. The trees are all fully leafed out now, and signs of summer are everywhere. Seasons change. Change is.
I get back to the car too early to head right home. I’d like to let my Traveling Partner sleep awhile. I take time to finish my writing and to meditate.
Sitting with my thoughts.
I think ahead to what my next bit of away time might be? I sigh impatiently when I recall I’ve never yet spent even one night home alone in our home. I yearn for that small luxury, but it hasn’t worked out any time my Traveling Partner has made plans to be away. Four years of projects, business, and camping trips cut short by inclement weather, or deferred by illness. Travel plans derailed by injury or circumstance. It just hasn’t worked out; I’ve never been home alone here for more than a few hours, and even then in steady contact with my Traveling Partner throughout. We may as well have been in the living room together. lol Sometimes frustrating. Sometimes disappointing. Mostly I just feel loved. I hold out hope that I may yet experience the luxury of solitude at home, here, eventually… I’m for sure not holding my fucking breath, though!
…I’m not even bitching, really, I’m fortunate to have other options to get the solitary time I need…
So… yeah… sometime in these upcoming summer weeks maybe another camping trip? Maybe a weekend on the coast in a favorite little hotel? Maybe a road trip to see distant friends, with the solitude being a nice interlude between visits? I know the busy-ness and chaos of getting my stepson moved in later this month will take a lot out of me, and potentially leave me scrambling for any kind of alone time at all, grateful perhaps to find even 10 minutes alone behind a closed bathroom door, or in my office during the work day during an uninterrupted hour. I know how such circumstances affect me. I also know to plan ahead in summer months.
…I think about late July and wonder…
…On the other hand, I don’t know that I will be free to travel, at all; my partner has surgery coming up, not yet scheduled but expected to be scheduled soon for a date as early as available (not an emergency, but a high priority)… could be I will need to be home to care for him (and of course that needs to come first).
I sigh and catch myself grousing silently about the inconveniences and difficulties of adulthood… but I silence myself; I’m fortunate that these are the challenges I am facing. It could be ever so much worse. I take a moment for gratitude. Happy to be in the partnership I’m in, with a human being who lives me deeply, and looking ahead to enjoying the summer at home, puttering in my garden, and living my life gently. It’s enough.
I smile, breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the blue sky spread from horizon to horizon. I look over my rather practical list of things to do today and add a reminder to cut back bolting greens in the garden and harvest peas for dinner. Looks like a lovely day ahead and it’s time to begin again.
I’m in a wretched vile mood, twisted with pain, angry with… humanity. Feeling pretty over “everyone’s” bullshit, greed, and negativity. It’s not my best look. This morning I would happily give the whole world a giant middle finger, a “fuck you” as a greeting, and pull up a chair to sit back and watch the world burn.
…Did you even know I had it in me?…
I woke fairly comfortably, feeling level-headed and mellow, in a good mood and not in much pain. I was barely dressed to head out for a pleasant morning walk when that all went screeching off course, abruptly veering into a seriously shitty mood, neck and back spasms, my headache roaring to its full potential, and just not in a good place at all. Does it matter why? Not really. Humans being human.
…And here I am…
I get to the trail after a drive that could have been quite pleasant if my head were in a different place. The sunrise was gorgeous. I saw it. Traffic was light. It’s a Saturday. I hit the trail without any lingering. It’s rather crowded this morning, and having to endure the presence of other people, and hear the sound of voices, grates on my nerves. Aggravating. I am feeling so fucking over humanity this morning. I don’t want to share the trail or the moment. My steps come down hard as I walk a more aggressive pace than usual. I’ll probably pay for that later.
There’s more to the moment than my emotions.
I walk on, trying to reset my experience and begin again. It’s not always easy. I am still seething. I breathe, exhale, and walk on… one step at a time, and trying to let go of my irritation each time I see someone on the trail or hear voices approaching. I’d very much like to be quite alone, right now, but that’s clearly not going to happen.
…Emotions are not facts…
…The plan is not the experience…
…The journey is the destination (and it has to begin where I actually am)…
…I can choose not to endure “second dart” suffering…
…There are verbs involved…
…My results vary…
…This will pass…
I breathe in the fresh Spring air. I exhale as a slow sigh. I’m “not there yet”, but I keep walking. Eventually I will get somewhere. One step at a time. Incremental change. Practicing the practices. Beginning again.
Our behavior in the world and in our relationships affects everyone we interact with. I reflect as I walk… How can I best process my experience without adversely affecting other people, including my Traveling Partner? How do I proceed by being the person I most want to be? If I were comfortably able to process my anger effectively without expressing it explosively or pushing a lot of negative energy into shared emotional space, what would that look like? How is that done? (It’d be nice to have a fucking “user’s guide” for managing emotional skillfully. )
I walk with my thoughts, making a point of being politely appreciative of pleasant greetings from passers-by and returning a wave or a smile. I don’t really want to deal with people, but shitty moods have an element of potential for “contagion” – we are social creatures – and I really don’t want to be a force for evil and negativity in the world, not even on a small scale. No one benefits from that; life is already difficult enough. So… I walk with my thoughts and work on getting past my bullshit, so I can enjoy the day.
I get to my halfway point and sit down to write a bit.
By the time I get to this paragraph, the sun is well up in the sky, warming my shoulders and back as I write. I feel some better. My emotions, at least, are tamed. I’m not seething with unexpressed anger, now. I’m not having to force myself to view the world through a positive lens by some act of will. I’m not immediately annoyed to see another human being on the trail. Aside from the physical pain, I’m mostly okay. “Fine”, for most values of fine.
I take my self-reflection further, and make room for gratitude; it’s a beautiful morning, and I will see a specialist this morning who reliably manages to alleviate a good portion of my pain, if only temporarily. It’s enough and I am grateful for the skilled care. I give a moment to soft feelings of love and care for my Traveling Partner, too. His day got off to a difficult start. We’ve each got our own challenges, each having our own experience, but there’s no shortage of deep and abiding love between us. He’s a worthy traveling companion on life’s journey.
I sigh, sitting in the sunshine, watching a chipmunk approaching me from the side, hesitantly. I watch, trying to avoid being obvious about it. She darts away when I move ever so slightly. “I get it”, I think to myself, “humans are the worst.”
…I breathe, exhale, and relax, and make the effort to let that feeling go…
I look at the time. If I timed this right, it’ll be time to head to my appointment, just as I get back to the car. It’s definitely time to head back down the trail, and begin again.
As I left the house for my walk this morning, the scent of the Spring garden filled my senses. It was just barely daybreak. I could smell the roses, mostly, and hints of other flowers – the thyme is blooming, and some of the salad greens are bolting. Their wee delicate flowers are not particularly numerous, but they do have a lovely delicate fragrance that mingles with the scent of roses in the wedge where the front of the house meets the side of the garage. I love that spot, and often simply stand or sit there, breathing in the scents of the flowers in my garden. Later, when it is warmer, the sunshine will bring out the savory spicy scent of the curry bush. Delicious.
“Baby Love”, a favorite rose, a gift from my Traveling Partner the year we moved in together (14 years ago).
When I returned home, the scent of roses, fresh mown lawns, and spring breezes greeted me. I smiled at the roses blooming along the walk. The theme of my garden is “love and memory”, and I’ve tried to select the roses based on two criteria; will they do well in my climate, and are they a good fit based on their name (and to a lesser degree I consider their appearance, growth habit, and scent). Each rose in my garden has its own character. Some are related to each other. Some are apparently incredibly tasty (to the deer that wander through), others are less so. Some are quite thorny, though I’ve tended to avoid that painful challenge mostly. Nearly all of them are very fragrant.
“Baltimore Belle” trails lazily in her place by the walk, fragrant and lovely, she was planted just last year – one of my newest roses.
Any time I am in my garden, I find my thoughts wandering to love, and fond memories of friends, loves, and life with my Traveling Partner. It’s a lovely way to step away from the routine, and one of the most delightful advantages of working from home; I can take my break in the garden.
“Alchymist” blooms on the other side of the stepping stones into the garden, along the walk. Lovely and fragrant, bred from a wild-rose cross.
Every visit to the garden is a brief moment of rest, even on the days when I’m in the garden laboring over this or that (usually pulling weeds, of which there often seem many! lol). When I was a kid, gardening seemed to me rather more like “labor” than “rest” pretty reliably, and I faced my share of that work with considerable reluctance and some resentment – I could be playing! Wandering! Reading! Funny how my love of my garden developed in adulthood – and before I even had a “real garden”, still limited to plants in pots on rental balconies or patios. I smile, thinking about my very first roses – they were already in the landscape of the first home I ever owned, and I frankly tried to kill them (unsuccessfully). I was so impressed with their robust resilience, they were ever after a metaphor (for me) of beauty and survival and strength. I have, since then, always owned roses. Some in pots traveled with me over decades of living. When we moved in here, my oldest rose, with me longest, was Nozomi – which I’d had with me since 1993.
“Nozomi”, undisturbed by the neighborhood deer – likely due to her terrifying thorns!
My garden-as-a-metaphor delights my heart as well as my senses. The three roses planted in memory of my recently departed Dear Friend are unlikely to bloom this year. I plant only roses that are on their own roots (no grafted roses), and they are often quite “young” when they are planted. I try to give them a good start on building a strong root system, and I sometimes pinch off buds to prevent flowering the first year. That hasn’t been necessary for these three – they are not yet trying to bloom. I’m eager to see how they do as they mature. So far, “Celestial Night”, “Rainbow Happy Trails”, and “Whimsy” are strong and lush. I selected them with my Dear Friend in mind, to always remind me of her humor, her joy, and how she inspired me to live life eagerly and joyfully. She taught me much, and loved me dearly. I miss her greatly, but in the garden we are together, again, at least in spirit.
“Sweet Chariot”, a favorite bred by Ralph Moore.
When I first moved to California, many years ago and quite early in my relationship with roses, I had the good fortune to meet Ralph Moore in person, at his rose nursery in Visalia. He taught me a lot about miniature roses, and as I was still living in rentals at that time this was useful knowledge; minis fit in pots much more easily than larger climbers, vast sprawling ramblers, or large old garden roses. One of my first minis was “Sweet Chariot”, although the one in my garden now is not the one I originally purchased, which I rather foolishly planted in the ground in a community garden plot. It became so well-grown in that spot I couldn’t repot it at all, and I left it thriving there. It was some years after Ralph Moore’s death before I was able to locate a nursery that had Sweet Chariot for sale – but it was one I sought eagerly for all those years.
…There are metaphors buried in these details…
I sip my coffee and think about the garden, the roses, love, and memory. There are far worse ways to spend my time. In the garden, I’m often able to “let things go” and “catch up with myself” in a way I sometimes find difficult to do otherwise. Other times, the garden is simply the pure joy of being, in an uncomplicated way, surrounded by flowers, herbs, and veggies, listening to the breeze and the chirps of curious robins checking things out and looking for a tasty bite. Sure, I could find these experiences elsewhere – we find or make our own happy places – this just happens to be my way. My path. My garden.
A bee on the flowering top of an allium in the veggie garden.
…Where do you find your joy?..
There’s work to do in the garden (there always is). Weeds to pull. Bolting greens to pinch back. Peas to harvest for supper, later. Roses to deadhead, prune, and train. Tender herbs to pick and dry in the sunshine. Flowers to admire. It’s not a free ride, this sort of joy – it takes care and time and attention to cultivate a beautiful productive garden. There are choices to be made – what varieties? What vegetables to plant, and when? Does this or that spot need some kind of … object? A gazing ball? A wind chime? What will add a moment of wonder? What will feed the bees and butterflies?
I find the garden a useful metaphor. There are verbs involved. There are opportunities to succeed, to fail, and to begin again. It’s not about perfection so much as sufficiency, beauty, and balance. There are aesthetic concerns, and also practical concerns. There is learning what is “enough” and what is more than I can manage on my own. There is learning to ask for help, and becoming more self-sufficient through practice. There is love, and there is memory – and it’s all in my garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely day to be in the garden. It’s a lovely day to begin again.
I got my walk in early. I started just at daybreak on this mild Spring morning. I walked a bit aggressively, lost in my own thoughts, eyes fixed on some point ahead, but without really seeing. I felt cross about the way my morning started (with my Traveling Partner’s aggravation over being wakened and struggling to breathe, as I finished dressing to leave).
…Took me awhile to let it go…
I had wished him well and expressed my hope that he could get back to sleep. He didn’t seem to think he would and expressed that in a way that kept our exchange on my mind as I walked along, over-thinking it unsatisyingly.
…I seriously could have done a better job of letting it go, and letting small shit stay small…
I didn’t really begin to enjoy my walk or adjust my attitude until after he pinged me a cute sticker of a little cat tucked in for sleep, indicating he was going back to bed. Damn, I love that guy. At that point, I was easily able to settle down and sort myself out, with a sigh and a smile and a feeling of gratitude. Shit could be a lot g’damn worse in life (and love).
…We’re each having our own experience…
When I sat down to write, I took a quick look at the “page stats” for this blog (it’s not about numbers so much as insights into what people choose to read, and I often find new relevance in old writing). I found myself re-reading a post from almost 18 months ago, and reflecting further on perspective, change, and the importance of self-care. It gave me real clarity on the morning, and restored my sense of perspective generally, and how good things truly are. Reading a relevant older post is another way to “be there for myself”, and practice good self-care, and another way to regain perspective. (I say a silent “thank you” to the reader who read that post yesterday; reading it this morning was helpful.)
…My Traveling Partner is on his own journey, having his own experience, and taking that at all personally isn’t a helpful approach to partnership…
Here. Now. Perspective. Sufficiency.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a pretty morning. The temperature here is a comfortable 50°F or so. The sunshine lights the blades of grass and the trunks of the oaks in the grove where I sit perched on a picnic table enjoying the sunrise. It’s still quite early and I am not rushing back to the house. I’ve got a cup of coffee and this quiet moment to myself and I am enjoying it.
…Sometimes the best thing I can do to take care of myself is to simply take a few quiet minutes to breathe and reflect…
Later today I will take my Traveling Partner to an appointment with a specialist. I hope there is promising news about what can be done and what the long term prognosis for his recovery from his December injury may be. It’s hard watching him suffer and struggle. I feel so helpless so often. I definitely want to do more to alleviate his pain and discomfort than I seem able to. It’s not about me, though; I just want this human being I love so dearly to be okay.
I sigh out loud and catch myself picking at my cuticles anxiously. Yeah… still human. Still prone to worry and stress. I breathe the fresh Spring air deeply and exhale slowly. I can smell the hedge roses that are on the other side of the parking lot adjacent to this park where I am sitting, and the scent of recently cut meadow grass. I enjoy the smell of Spring, grateful that my seasonal allergies are nothing like as severe as my Mother’s allergies, or my Traveling Partner’s. They’re mostly pretty mild, and seem very specific to certain local flowering trees. That time of year is already beginning to pass.
I am in rather a lot of pain this morning. It’s been an issue all week. I take the medication I have for it. I cope the best I can. I remain unwilling to let my pain call my shots and I try to “just live my life” in spite of it. My results vary. I make a point of not complaining much about it, to the point of generally mentioning it only in passing, if I mention it at all, in conversation. It’s not that I find this to be a helpful strategy, it’s just that there’s nothing to do about it, really, that I’m not already doing, and I am very much aware that my partner is in a great deal more pain than I am. I don’t want to make that about me. I just want to do my best to support and care for him while he’s injured and working on recovering. He knows I am in pain, it’s a chronic condition. No point making that “a thing” – right now it’s just a distraction.
I sit with my coffee and my thoughts awhile longer. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.
Evening Light 