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The Long Dark Night

December 21, 2025 //
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Happy Solstice. It’s here. The longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, is here. Another year over. Another winter has arrived.

I woke early and considered going back to sleep, but it was obvious I’d be fighting my sinuses and rather than wake everyone else, I got up. The sun won’t rise until 07:48 this morning. Less than 9 hours later, it will set. Short day. Long night. Ah, but seasons are cycles and the wheel keeps turning. It is time once again for the days to begin growing longer. I’m grateful to see another solstice. I hope I see many more.

Something like a view.

I park at the trailhead after a drive that was eerily free of traffic. I park with a view of the eastern horizon, and of the shallow seasonal lake that develops each year in the farm fields across the highway from this nature park. In the darkness, the reflected lights of the communities beyond give the appearance of a “waterfront location”. It is a pretty illusion. I sit sipping my coffee, waiting for the first hint of the sunlight of a new day. It’s a colder morning. I’m grateful for thinking to bundle up a bit.

… another Solstice…

Yesterday was the new moon, which seems fitting. A clean slate, a new beginning, a turn of the calendar page – all ideas to do with renewal. I like that. I sit sipping a hot cup of cheap coffee in the darkness. The cup is warm in my hands. The coffee is still too hot to do more than sip it carefully. The hot liquid is soothing on my throat.

Giftmas is only days away. Presents are wrapped. The lights on the tree illuminated the living room softly as I left the house, and the recollection of that merry glow fills me with joy. I sit awhile thinking about holiday traditions and rituals. ‘Tis the season, after all. I smile when I think about the basket of sharable treats assembled and waiting to be placed on the table. I reflect on community and sharing and a moment of light and abundance, a celebration of triumph over the winter and the darkness.

My coffee becomes properly drinkable after cooling a bit. The challenge now is to drink it and enjoy it before it goes cold. I breathe, exhale, and relax, hands warmly embracing the paper cup. I meditate, enjoying the scent of the coffee, and the stillness and quiet of a Sunday Solstice morning. There is no traffic. The geese, still asleep, drift on the fields covered in shallow water and on the marsh ponds. A lone coyote darts across my view. I love this part of Oregon for the characteristics of wild and rural spaces adjacent to suburbs and towns. Seeing deer wandering through McMinnville as if they belong still delights me, and I’m alert for cototes, bobcats, deer, and racoons as I drive in the early morning. I see them often. Well, all but the bobcats, lynxes, or cougars, which are not only much more rare, but also much less inclined to enter human spaces if they can avoid doing so. It would be rare indeed to see a wild cat of any sort wandering about in town.

I sigh contentedly. The temperature is still a chilly 38°F (3.3°C). I’m grateful for my cozy sweater and my fluffy warm cardigan. I reach into the gear bin in the back of my SUV and find my wool hat, scarf, and gloves, by feel and pull them out. It’s definitely cold enough for putting on a scarf and hat. The gloves would once have been left behind in favor of shoving my hands into my pockets, but I reliably take my cane along these days, so gloves are no longer optional on cold mornings, if I hope to keep my hands warm.

I bundle up, saving my gloves for last to finish this bit of writing. My left foot is griefing me with a bit of tendonitis, and I am wondering how far I’ll really go, today, but I don’t give up on the walk completely. I remind myself to stop by the storage unit and get more (better) pictures of an item we’re hoping to sell, and maybe take a load of smaller stuff over to the new unit. I’ll spend the day mostly creating order from chaos (doing housework) and writing to far away friends, and listening to holiday music.

A little more light, a little more view.

I notice that I can now see the ground pretty easily, although dawn is still almost 20 minutes away. Good enough for trail walking, and I won’t need my headlamp. I stretch and yawn, and rub my aching shoulders. It is the Winter Solstice, and a new day is dawning. It’s time to begin again.

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

Paths and Choices

December 20, 2025 //
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I’m at this morning’s chosen trailhead, waiting for the sun, listening to scattered raindrops, and – between coughs – thinking my thoughts. I’m definitely feeling better, not 100%, but definitely much improved. This morning I’ll walk at least some portion of this trail.

Stars twinkle overhead in the gaps between clouds. The morning is a mild one, although the rain could catch up to me at any time and potentially stop me from walking. The seasonal marsh trail is closed for the year, and with good reason; the entire marsh and adjacent meadows flood with the autumn and winter rain, and portions of the trail are now submerged. The year-round trail is on higher ground, and remains quite walkable without regard to the season. It’s no less lovely, as walks go, just commonly more crowded, though I often walk at a time of day few other people choose to for a casual walk.

…As if called into being by my thoughts, another car pulls into the trailhead parking lot…

Winter levels of arthritis pain have now set in, which means winter levels of effort to manage it, treat it, or disregard it through an effort of will. Vexing, but it is a real detail of this human experience. Pain, I mean. We’ve all got some, if only occasionally. I persist in trying not to let it define my experience. My results vary. My thoughts wander to the holiday ahead. There are gifts yet to wrap. I check online orders and confirm that everything I ordered has now arrived. It will be a modest cozy holiday spent with my Traveling Partner and his son, at home.

I feel fortunate that I am not burdened by FOMO, a competitive nature, or some weird need to keep up with what other people have or want. I’m grateful that I don’t feel forced to define my success on any terms but my own, and that I am able to leave others to do the same. Holidays are surely more stressful if there’s a lot of keeping up with other people going on in one’s head. I’m content to walk my own path and celebrate my own way – and I hope you are, too; it’s very freeing. I choose the holiday details with care. An example? This year I didn’t send holiday cards to a long list of people. I didn’t really have the energy for it, the will to do it with care, nor the money to splash around on elegant commercially made cards. Instead, this year I’ll write handwritten responses to the cards we receive, and send emails and texts to those dearest to me who didn’t send cards. It’s enough. I don’t think I keep company with folks rude enough to be demanding about receiving a holiday card. 😆

Most of my holiday efforts and resources are going into a small cozy holiday at home. Changing tastes force me to rethink some things. I can’t easily fill stockings with exotic sweets from far away places, for example, because everyone in the house has cut way back on sweets, and don’t want a lot of chocolate this year for various individual reasons. So… fewer sweets, more small, interesting, fun, or unusual things of other sorts. I didn’t have the time or energy to make a plum pudding this year, either (and being frank, I’m the only person in the house who enjoys plum pudding, mincemeat pie, marzipan, or fruitcake anyway). Change is.

I sigh quietly, feeling unexpected tears welling up. I think of elaborate family holidays of the distant past, and long gone friends with whom I might have shared some moment or bit of holiday fun. By far the worst thing about aging – worse even than pain – is that we lose people we love along the way. We are mortal creatures. Each holiday is a unique moment all its own, unrepeatable. We are fortunate indeed when we share them with those dear to us. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The rain taps gently on the roof of the car in the predawn darkness. I’m alone right now because I choose to be, and this solitude is precious – but I’m not made of stone, and I miss some of the people I’ve lost over the years more than I can say. I let grief “take a seat at the table”. There’s no shame in these heartfelt tears dripping onto my sweater. Emotions are also part of the human experience.

I’ve heard it said that the intensity of our grief is also a measure of our capacity for joy. I sit with that thought, feeling grateful. I must be capable of the greatest of joy to feel this poignant moment of sorrow so deeply. I smile at the thought. I know I am capable of great joy and love and deep delight, and get to feel those feelings often, in part because I do not stifle these moments of sorrow. The way out is through. The way to diminish the intensity of unexpected emotion is to feel it fully, honestly, and give myself a moment to “feel heard” by the woman in the mirror. The sorrow passes quickly, leaving behind other emotions and other memories.

…I remind myself to send well wishes and holiday greetings to my sister and my dear friends…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate. I look over my writing for obvious mistakes and correct those. I think about far away friends and household chores that need doing. More cars arrive at this trailhead, which seems strange, and I find myself wondering if there’s some event bringing people here (turns out it’s time for the annual winter bird count). I grab my cane and headlamp, hoping to avoid a crowd on the trail so early. I decide to get started. I decide to begin again, now.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, winter, women, Words

Sometimes “Enough” Looks Different

December 18, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee (hot, black) grateful to have it. The hot liquid feels soothing on my still-raw feeling throat, although the discomfort is no longer up high near my uvula, and is definitely showing indications of having moved into my chest instead of lingering in my sinuses. I’m still unwell, but I’m working today; there is much to do as the year winds down, and giving up on it is not an effective strategy for making more money at some future point. (I don’t much like that this matters more to me right now than my fucking health, but this is America.) The box of tissues on my desk, alongside the hand sanitizer, and me wearing a mask, gives adequate caution to others that keeping their distance is a good choice.

My Traveling Partner woke me this morning, early, checking whether I was okay. I mumbled something about being okay, because for most values of “okay” I surely was. I was dead asleep when his voice roused me, but having wakened and seeing it was nearly time to begin a normal work day, I went ahead and got up, dressed, and left for the co-work space I typically use when the university library is not open. There was no traffic at all, but it was also too early to get coffee on the way. It was fine. I was awake, and the rainy drive was much improved by how little traffic there was.

None of this really “matters“, it’s just the set up for the punchline to a joke that isn’t actually funny. I let that go. I’m grateful that I feel well enough to face a work day, honestly. I’m grateful for the hot coffee that was available when I got to the office. I’m grateful for the instant chicken soup which proves to be far more satisfying than the coffee. I’m grateful for a few quiet minutes alone with my thoughts before this co-work space fills with other co-working professionals, and grateful for a desk that puts considerable distance between me and others. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, who does so much to care for me when I’m not well. I’m okay for most values of “okay” now, and I definitely feel better than I did yesterday, in spite of the cough I’ve now developed, that will likely linger for days or even weeks after I’m fully over whatever ick took me down in the first place.

…I can’t say I feel much like working, there’s just a lot to do…

I savor the hot too-salty flavorful instant chicken soup. There’s an intense comfort to it when I feel this way. It’s enough to satisfy what limited appetite I’ve got, and enough to genuinely “make me feel better”, every bit as much as the cold remedies I also took. Funny how “enough” changes with the circumstances, eh? On a beautiful summer morning, on some beach or forested trail, there’s little chance this off-brand cheap poor quality instant chicken soup would be at all satisfying, but here, now? It’s definitely enough and I’m grateful to have it. That brings my thoughts to the Giftmas holiday ahead. I think over the unwrapped gifts stacked in an out of the way spot needing to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Are they “enough”? G’damn, I sure hope so. They seem less than I’d like to be putting under the tree this year, but… this is what we had to work with for resources, and anyway, it’s more about presence than presents. I do like presents, no need to be coy about it, but it’s not “the big deal” it felt like in some years past.

I sigh to myself, eager to see the other side of the day, though it should be quite manageable and pretty chill, generally. Pain and illness color my subjective experience of work and even this one moment of quiet, solitude, and peace. It would be ease to slide into anger, frustration, or despair – I’m one bit of bad news or moment of Other People’s Drama away from it almost all the time, these days. Frankly, I’m appalled by the state of American governance, and it lurks in the background of my consciousness however often I attempt to resolve it, somehow. That is one of the “secrets” of human suffering; how often we choose it. I don’t bother with looking at the news today; the president gave another one of his rambling ill-informed misleading fatuous self-serving narcissistic vile and cruel speeches yesterday, and the news feeds will echo that slop for days to come. Fuck that shit; I’d be stupider for every word of his bullshit I allow into my consciousness. I’ll wait for any rationally fact-checked breakdown of that nonsense that may surface, but I certainly don’t want to expose my mind directly to that fuckwit’s voice. (If I’ve offended you, dear reader, my apologies. If you voted for that grifter and his corrupt clown car of cronies, I can’t say I understand your choice at all, but this is a democracy – for now – and it is your right to cast your vote as you will and endure the consequences of your choices, however ridiculous or hateful those look to me. It’s a shame so many other people get hurt along the way.)

I correct my posture, and breathe more deeply. Breathe, exhale, relax. I meditate. I make a point of crafting detailed mental imagery of myself as a woman standing in an airport, setting down baggage and walking away. I feel lighter for doing so, even though it is only an imagined moment. This is a practice that can bring real change of perspective and subjective experience. “Visualization” works as a practice, but indulged without consideration and care, it can drag one into a nasty negative spiral, too. Still a good practice, but associated (as many things are) with an inherent risk. Visualizing trauma and negative experiences or feelings can bring those much closer, rendering them in a very immediate and visceral way that can cause further damage. Visualizing positive experiences and moments (real or pure imagination) similarly renders those in a more immediate and visceral way, seeming to make them “more real”, and incorporating those feelings into our implicit “sense of being” in a truly useful way. Choose wisely.

I read an article recently that touched on the concepts of positive visualization for dealing with anger. If you’re someone who struggles with managing your temper in relationships, flaring up over small things that likely don’t rate that sort of escalated reaction, this one may be worth a read. Useful and practical, the basic idea is that imagining positive interactions, and reinforcing positive feelings about an individual, will tend to improve the relationship with the real person in real life interactions. That seems worth knowing, doesn’t it? Worth practicing? We become what we practice. It may be a poor choice to practice being angry and hateful… It seems unlikely that any of us would actually want to become angry hateful people. I sit with my thoughts awhile.

I stretch and refill my coffee. There’s an entire work day ahead to get through and much to do. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Taking Care

December 17, 2025 //
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Tedium warning: this is mostly me bitching about being sick.

I ended the day yesterday feeling unwell, with a nagging irritated tickle in the back of my throat. ‘Tis the season, indeed. This won’t be the first time I’m sick near Giftmas. A lot of people are down with something, a cold, the flu, RSV, strep, measles, and yeah, COVID. Hell, norovirus is going around, too. It’s likely that the more we expose ourselves to people who are ill, or contagious, as we shop, and interact, the greater the chance of becoming sick. (This is especially true as the percentage of the population that is effectively vaccinated continues to decline – for fucks’ sake y’all, get your fucking shots.)

… Take care of yourself…

I woke during the night to a power outage. My CPAP machine shut off, which woke me. It took a moment to recognize that the deep unrelenting darkness was a power outage. I got up and called to report it, and dropped a note in the family chat. My Traveling Partner woke, as I was trying to remember where the small backup power supply for my CPAP machine was, and he retrieved it from wherever it was and gave it to me. I went back to bed. I sleep a lot when I’m ill.

The power came back at 05:00. I woke to all the lights in the house blazing – that’s the result when power is restored after an interruption. I got up and began turning them off, and went back to bed, again, after leaving my boss a note that I’m sick and taking the day.

… Take care of yourself…

I woke later, thinking maybe I felt better, only I was also feeling crazy overheated, and as soon as I sat up, I started coughing. I dressed and quickly left. No point waking everyone else with my coughing, and the fresh cool air outside was calling me. I got to the nearby trail I favor. Trees down all over. Access is blocked. Workers are putting up caution tape. I’m not actually well enough for trail walking anyway, I just didn’t want to start the morning coughing my fucking head off and waking the whole house with it. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and sort of fell back on long habit. I’m okay with that. The cooler outside air feels refreshing.

After the storm, the damage is done and the clean up begins.

I picked up a hot coffee on my way to the trail. It’s soothing on my throat. I take my medication and cold remedies for my symptoms. It’s not a particularly cold morning, and I’m comfortable for most values of “comfort”. I use up two entire packs of travel tissues, while I sip my coffee and marvel at the blue sky overhead. “This too will pass,” I mutter softly, eyeing the heavy gray storm clouds approaching on the horizon. This stupid cold or whatever is already moving into my chest. A coughing fit catches me by surprise and for a moment I struggle to breathe. ‘Tis the season. I chuckle to myself, in spite of the unpleasantness of being ill. I think about the work I’m definitely not getting done today. The plan is not the experience. I sigh and let that go.  I’ve got to “put my own oxygen mask on first” and take care of myself.

Ah, the holiday season! We stress ourselves out trying to create more delight from fewer resources, hustle and grind through year-end sprints and work that finally just has to be completed, and the resulting fatigue makes us more vulnerable to whatever passing pathogen happens to settle in to set up housekeeping in these fragile mortal meat sacks. I guess I’m saying…

… Take care of yourself…

… and happy holidays? 😆

I’ll finish this coffee, then return home and go back to bed. What was I even thinking leaving the house in the first place?! Today, I’ll just take care of myself. Tomorrow, I’ll begin again.

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Categories anhedonia, autumn, breathe, Free Will, health, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, winter, women, Words

Counting Down the Days

December 16, 2025 //
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It’s almost Giftmas time! I admit to counting down the days like a kid, just as eager for Santa to come as if I didn’t know the factual truth of the holiday; we are Santa, as much as we each undertake to be. All around the US, kids are eagerly counting down the days until the holiday – however it is celebrated in their home (if it is). Parents, on the other hand, experience that countdown differently, and they may be counting down the days to the next payday, a little concerned about whether the dollars will stretch for another gift or two under the tree, or whether the lights will be on, or the heating bill paid. Right about this time of year, I’d often hear my Dad’s vexation come through as “If you birds don’t knock that shit off there won’t be any Christmas!” (And oh, damn, the tears that would be shed following that announcement!)

…Our tree often sat in a bucket on the porch, quite bare, until Giftmas Eve, when my Dad would set it up, and make certain it was quite upright with my Mother’s help (she would hang a plumb bob from some point on the stairs, such that my Dad could see it alongside the tree, to trim this or that branch, or adjust the screws in the base holding the tree,and some water for it). We’d all go to bed, passing by the fragrant bare tree standing in the livingroom, wondering if Santa would really come.

Making holidays magical.

I can’t even wrap my head around how my parents made holiday magic every year. They stayed up into the wee hours, decorating the tree together after we kids had gone to bed. They’d assemble things with “some assembly required”. Last minute gifts would be wrapped in secret. All the gifts previously purchased and wrapped would be pulled from their hiding places, and placed under the now-decorated tree. Empty stockings would be taken down from the mantle, filled, and as my parent’s finally went to bed (sometimes closer to 4 am than to 2 am), they would gently lay the stockings at the foot of each kid’s bed – a neat holiday touch that also bought them a little additional time to sleep, since we were allowed to open our stockings quietly and enjoy anything we found, so long as we did not wake them before 5 am. I’m fairly certain that some years, it was our excitement combined with the quiet sound of their bedroom door closing that woke us. Not a lot of sleep-in time in that scenario. lol But wow… the holiday magic was intense, and has lasted me a lifetime.

… I believed in a literal real Santa Claus until embarrassingly late in life, still convinced at 15, reluctantly accepting the truth at some point before I turned 17…

A modest tree, every ornament has history. What stories does your tree tell?

‘Tis the season, eh? How will you be making someone’s holiday bright? What twinkle lights will illuminate your hearth and home with a soft holiday glow in the wee hours of the night? What memories will you make, and carry into the dark nights of your future? What experiences will you share with those dear to you? I call it “Giftmas” instead of “Christmas”, but the holiday is still one that is more about presence than presents. (I do love the presents… but there’s more to it than that, by far.) For me this holiday is a celebration of love and community and getting through our darkest times together; it’s no coincidence that this holiday is so near to the Solstice. The nights are long, dark, and in many places very cold. Resources begin to run low. We rely on each other for our shared survival – this is a time for remembering that, and also celebrating it with a meaningful exchange of gifts. I mean… I think that’s what this holiday is about. That’s what it is for me.

I smile and face another work day. I’m counting down the days, now… 8 more to Giftmas Eve! Will Santa come? Will there be gifts under the tree? A tasty Giftmas morning brunch? A too-early celebration of the day, over coffee or cocktails, still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes? Will there be carols on the stereo? Harry Potter, Home Alone, Christmas Story, Scrooged, and the Grinch on video? A roast supper that seems more elegant with holiday decor in the background? Unexpected packages on the front step? Visits from friends or family? General merriment, the chaos of torn wrapping paper, and the sudden urge to nap before noon? I don’t know. Yes? I don’t build my expectations on any particular detail; I just enjoy the season as it is, all the options, all the challenges, all the choices, and these precious finite moments together – or in solitude. (No wrong answers; we’re each having our own experience, and I have enjoyed some memorable, beautiful Giftmas holidays alone.)

My mind wanders to another magical Giftmas; the first I shared with my Traveling Partner. (If I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend my life with this man before that first Giftmas holiday together, I was definitely certain afterward.) He made that holiday happen for us – for me. It was a gesture of pure love. We didn’t have the means, we had just moved into an apartment together that was double the rent either of us had been paying before. We made a frugal decision to “skip it this year” (no children to disappoint). It kind of bummed me out, but I was “being grown up about it”. Then that cold afternoon that I arrived home… to a small holiday tree, lit and if I’m recalling correctly, decorated. I was moved to happy tears. I’ve never forgotten that loving gesture. It’s one of my fondest Giftmas memories.

I sigh to myself and realize I am distracting myself from physical pain with holiday merriment. I mean… okay. Useful. Handy. I’m okay with it, but the work day is not going to complete itself, and it’s already time to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, winter
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