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.
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.
Hot coffee, a bowl of grits, and the sun in my eyes… it’s the morning of a new day. My last in this office, and I’m grateful I still had this day here! I woke ridiculously early – shortly after 2 a.m. – and couldn’t go back to sleep. My head was stuffy (allergies) and I couldn’t breathe sufficiently easily to rest comfortably with my CPAP mask on (yeah, that’s a thing). I finally gave up at 3 a.m., dressed, and headed to the office to avoid waking my Traveling Partner – no reason we should both lose sleep because I’ve got a head full of allergies.
I got to the office too early to pay for parking. Too early for drinking coffee. Too early to take my morning medication. Too early to start work. It was just too damned early. I crashed out on the beautiful leather modern-style couch in the corner: cute, minimalist, simple lines – and very uncomfortable, but I managed to nap briefly (almost an hour) and woke feeling decently well-rested. Good enough to begin the day. Good enough to make coffee (and grits). Good enough to enjoy the sun rise. So far? A good morning, in spite of the early start.
I flip through my notes about this-n-that. The camping trip (I’ve got a packing list and some things yet to do)… the housekeeping and shopping (preparing for the camping trip and providing for my partner’s comfort while I am away)… things on my mind that want further reflection (saving those for the camping trip and the drive down to the camp site)… oh and work (time to tidy up any loose ends before being away for an entire week). I’m eager and excited. The time is short; this is my last work shift before my camping trip, and Sunday is the day I plan to hit the road. There are things to pack, things to charge, and things to pick up at the store, and my Traveling Partner delighted me with a new 3D print project (a marble run), and it may be ready to assemble today! I’m thankfully not feeling overwhelmed by all of it – just excited. 😀
…Although I’m super excited about this camping trip, on some level it’s only now setting in that I’m really going, and for four days!…
I’m pleased that my plan ensures I’ll make it back in time to enjoy a pleasant long Memorial Day weekend with my Traveling Partner, chilling at home and puttering in the garden. (No way do I want to go camping over a holiday weekend. LOL Too many people.) I think about that for a few pleasant minutes… I think about making waffles, and watching favorite animated shows, and sharing pictures from the camping trip and hearing all about the projects he did while I was gone.
I remind myself to get out into the garden tomorrow and give it a good watering after I cut back any salad greens that have begun to bolt after the heat earlier this week. I think about cutting a bunch of those tasty greens to take with me (instead of buying salad greens). Sounds delightful. Tomorrow should be a great day for it, too.
Thinking about the weather tomorrow, I pause to check the weather for the upcoming week at my camping location on the coast. Mixed reporting; each source I look at gives a somewhat different forecast. lol Looks like a good chance of some showers Tuesday night (they all agree on that), into Wednesday morning, and pleasantly mild otherwise. I remind myself to thank my Traveling Partner for suggesting I take the Moon shade for additional cover – super handy for cooking if the weather is a bit drizzly. I grin to myself as I think ahead to camping – I love sleeping in a tent listening to the rain.
The picture is not the experience. The map is not the world.
Regardless how well-prepared I feel I may be, reality will have a say. I make a note to keep an eye on the changing forecast, and to set up camp such that items needing protection from the rain get it and any firewood is kept dry. I find myself thinking about how differently I set up my camp when I bring along the solar panels, and the fridge and such… without those “extra” items I tend to put my tent well away from everything, and don’t think too much about placement other than distance. Bringing along the solar power, the fridge, a complete camp kitchen and the Moon shade (which anchors to my vehicle) changes things… I think on that for awhile, just amusing myself with thoughts of camping, and setting up camp with purpose and intention. I can’t really do anything about it until I really see the site I’ve chosen and put my feet on the ground there, and see details like where the sunlight lasts longest, and which way the wind tends to blow, and where the fire ring is relative to the picnic table (I already know the picture is unlikely to be “the true truth” – those tables can be easily moved by a group or a couple of people with the will to do so, but I have trouble moving one alone, these days).
…I make a lot of notes (it’s just a thing I do)…
I sit quietly for some minutes, sipping my coffee and smiling to myself contentedly, feeling grateful, fortunate, and well-loved – and also wondering what I’ll forget on this camping trip? (Always seems to be something.)
I glance at the clock. I’ve “caught up with the day” – and it’s time to begin again. 😀
My coffee is hot this morning, after weeks of taking it iced first thing in the morning. It’s just that I woke so very early that there was no coffee to be had on the route to work, and honestly it just didn’t really matter. I’ve been growing less dependent on having it with any “first thing in the morning” urgency, which is a nice bit of freedom. I brewed a cup of coffee when I got to the office, after a very relaxed drive (no traffic at all), and made myself a breakfast salad of fresh greens with a handful of cashews, and some lovely plump blueberries quite cold from the fridge. The combination of timing and circumstances has started the morning quite well. I heard from my Traveling Partner on my way into the city; he’s up early too, looks like.
The weekend was a lovely one. I got quite a lot done. My Traveling Partner and I shared an unfortunate bit of stress on Saturday, late in the morning; I’d managed to overlook taking medication that does affect my emotional volatility (or potential for it) if I don’t take it, and there we were dealing with my bullshit unexpectedly. I feel fortunate that I did notice relatively quickly, and grateful that he understood. He gets it. We successfully moved on from that moment, and the weekend was otherwise quite nice.
I got a few things done in preparation for my camping trip… just 5 days away now (okay, 6 if I count today). I do worry just a bit about how easily my partner can handle things and take care of himself while I’m gone. He’s recovering from his injury, and that’s been a slow process. He manages most stuff pretty well without much difficulty, but still appreciates help with a lot of things. I sip my coffee and think over ways I can “be there for him” while I’m gone. Things like making sure the bathroom is stocked with fresh towels, the linens on the bed are fresh, there’s plenty of iced tea made, and providing easy to prepare food options that don’t require a bunch of complex kitchen work or standing around, all seem like pretty standard things I can do… but… is it enough? Is there more, or other things, that I can do to make the experience a good one for him? The one inescapable challenge is that he’d definitely rather be with me than without me, even for a few days. At some point, I have to be okay with that, accepting, understanding, and grateful to be so loved. The away time is good for me, and I for sure need the rest and the solo time for meditation and self-reflection – I just want to also make sure it’s not a hardship for my beloved, as much as I can.
I didn’t see the aurora borealis over the weekend, though it was apparently visible in my community; too many of my neighbors have aggressively bright outdoor lighting on their homes and decks and the light pollution made it impossible to see the colors in the night sky from my home. The warm weather we’ve had (that may or may not be associated with the ongoing solar storm) certainly did splendid things in the garden! The salad greens are a dense and tasty assortment, ripe for harvest, the radishes are plump and spicy, and there are peas on the vines nearly ready to be picked. The roses – those mature enough to flower – have plump buds ready to bloom, and it looks like a good year for roses (if only the deer will please stop eating the tips of the new canes off!). “Baby Love”, a rose my Traveling Partner gave me after we moved in together back in 2010, is already blooming like crazy, and is nearly always first to bloom (and last to stop).
“Baby Love” in bloom.
One of the tasks on my list for the weekend had originally been to drain, clean, and refill the hot tub for the season. After the planning conversation with my Traveling Partner late last week, though, we decided to “decommission” the hot tub in favor of having it removed, repairing the deck (much easier without a 6 person hot tub standing on it!), and then replacing the hot tub with something more modern, quieter, and more energy efficient. I do love having the hot tub, and for just a moment I worried a bit that we might not ever get to that “replace the hot tub” place… it’s a costly sort of luxury, and resources are finite. That’s just real. I let myself think it over with greater care over the weekend days, and found myself comfortably acknowledging that I’m in a different place in life, in a more results-focused (and successful) partnership, with a human being who shares most of my values and goals. We both want this, and we planned the project together. Doesn’t seem likely to “just fail”, unless we change what we want to do, or what our priorities are. So. I drained the hot tub. It wasn’t a particularly poignant moment, just a bit of a chore that needed to be done to move on to the next step (which is to get it gone, ideally without destroying the lawn on the way out).
Change is.
“Benchmark-wise”, on my Ozempic journey, things seem… fine. It’s time to get a refill on the Rx. I’m still seeing steady (slow) progress, with no obvious side effects aside from mild acid reflux now and then (most often when I take other prescriptions on an empty stomach). I feel fortunate that this is turning out to be a “good fit” for me, as a treatment choice. I don’t yet see anything much in the mirror that looks any different, but my jeans are fitting a bit more comfortably, which is a win, and I’m not expecting to wake up a size 6 tomorrow with the blood pressure of a 21-year-old athlete, and the A1C of someone who’s never been at risk of diabetes at all. Incremental change over time is something I understand. 😀
…Another day, another sun rise. Another opportunity to become the woman I most want to be (with some practice). Another chance to begin again…
I had a peculiar thought about mortality the other day. Something along the lines of “you can’t take it with you”… but reconsidered. We also “can’t leave it behind” in a very particular sense; our memories and our experiences are ours alone. No one else has an identical experience of life to the one we each live, ourselves. Our memories – the record of those experiences, our perspectives, our thoughts and understandings – live in our own heads. There’s no real way to leave that behind for anyone else to enjoy once we’re gone. Sure, they have their memories of us, of shared experiences, of who they understood us to be, and what they recall of what we’ve said or done…but… this singular human experience that is mine? That is our own individual journey? That’s ours. Ours to keep. Ours to enjoy. Ours to attempt to share or communicate… but, ultimately, ours alone. Even for those prone to autobiographical endeavors, what’s left behind in those words on a page is filtered through edits, consideration of other points of view, and simply the limitations of seeking to share that are so difficult to overcome. Artists create art; the viewer sees it through the lens of their own experience. At some point, the artist’s own perspective is entirely lost. There’s so much of who we are that we can’t actually leave behind. What I’m saying is… enjoy your life. Do you. Be the person you most want to be. Keep practicing; the journey is the destination. You are here, now. It’s what you’ve got to work with – don’t let the moment pass, expecting your legacy to be something worth leaving behind. Maybe it will be. Maybe it won’t be. You won’t be here to know – or to share. Share while you can. Use your words. Connect. Love. Care. Choose your words and actions as though they will be what you are remembered by (because, mostly that’s what will remain; the thought of you, in the memories of someone else).
I sigh out loud and sip my coffee. I think of my Dear Friend, and other dear friends distant or who have passed. Time is short. The clock is ticking. Do your best to be the person you most want to be. Let go of petty resentments and bullshit and anger and hate – do you really have time for that crap? Love. Love because you can, and because it feels good. Care because it really matters. Make choices that improve your life, the lives of those you care about, and your community, your society, and the world. We’re all in this together, and this ball of rock hurtling through space is surprisingly tiny to support so many. Play nicely. Be a good neighbor. Apologize freely. Accept (and offer) help graciously. Do your best. Be kind.
…Keep practicing…
I think of far away friends and ticking clocks and how best to be the woman I most want to be. I watch the sun rise. I’ve no way of knowing how many sunrises I may have ahead of me. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 