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New Morning, New Day

August 11, 2026 //
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Well, here we are, another morning, another moment, another chance to begin again and to do better than we did yesterday. A little at a time, our actions and experiences, and the things we choose to practice, will change us. Choose wisely. 😁

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

Today feels better than yesterday, although neither experience of a lovely morning offers me real insight to the difference. This morning I feel calm, kind, and unbothered. Yesterday I was cross with myself and the world and didn’t really have any more reason for that than I have for feeling quite differently now. I say that as an observation that our subjective emotional experiences are sometimes not directly connected to some obvious cause – they simply are what they are in that moment.

…Sometimes what we do about how we feel is more important than the feeling itself…

I slept pretty well, and woke a little startled when my lights flashed on before slowly brightening. I woke seriously groggy and had to slow down and make a careful point of going down my morning checklist to avoid making some small mistake that might wake my Traveling Partner or mess with his morning when he wakes a bit later. I appreciate a good routine, settled, reliable, predictable. This one isn’t that, yet. It needs more practice.

The sunrise from the trailhead already hints at autumn. It comes later, and the colors are a bit different. I consider whether or not to get another camping trip in, maybe after Labor Day? (Less crowded, fewer kids.) I don’t know if I really want to, or if I’m toying with the idea instead of something else. Life’s menu is pretty big, and there is a lot I’d like to do or try or see.

… My mind wanders on…

This year is already half over. Seems strange that it has gone by so fast. Subjectively, in this moment, I feel as if I have “achieved nothing”, which would be a huge bummer if it were objectively true. Oh for sure, I haven’t cured a major disease, changed the trajectory of world events, or solved homelessness in my community, those achievements were never within my reach as an individual. Not my path.

I’ve been painting, working, and supporting my Traveling Partner’s return to working, too. I’ve walked a few miles (about 600 or so, I estimate). I’ve started and finished some projects. I’ve started and failed to finish a few projects, too. I enjoyed one celebratory evening out with my beloved that is still lingering in my memory fondly. I tried out drone flying as a hobby. I got an RC car and happily drive it (it suits me better than flight). I don’t know, none of that seems odd or particularly noteworthy, just snapshots from one human life. Still, isn’t it enough for most of us to live and love and hope to learn to do those things with some measure of skill, over time? Doesn’t that amount to an achievement on its own?

…I feel fortunate…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for the job I’ve got that supports the life I share with my partner. I’m grateful to be able to say I was able to provide caregiving to my beloved that helped see him through a major injury and recovery, to see him working in his shop once again. (Now that’s an achievement!) I’m grateful for our little house in a small town situated between suburbs and farm fields. I’m grateful for this well-maintained trail available to me each morning and for the sunrise I am lucky enough to see. Maybe it is all quite ordinary, it’s the experience I live, and I feel fortunate for the highs, and I try to learn something from the lows. It’s a very human experience. It’s enough.

I smile and breathe the summer morning air deeply. It smells nicely of mown grass and meadow flowers. The air is clear and still. The temperature is mild. It’s a nice pause before I begin a new day – again.

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

Reflections

August 3, 2026 //
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The morning feels chilly on the trail as daybreak comes. The forecast says the day will be hot. My short sleeves manage to feel like a poor choice for the moment, right now.

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

The weekend was pretty amazing. Not easy, not comfortable, not entirely peaceful or joyful, but certainly heartfelt, deeply connected and meaningful. A necessary step on a long journey together, I suppose. Weirdly, I am missing my Traveling Partner intensely this morning, though he is no further away than home. Funny how subjective our emotions and perception of reality can be. We really are each having our own experience.

I’m thinking about one detail of the weekend that matters greatly to me. For context, many years ago, living in Germany, I bought an RC car kit. I was excited about it. It was a very detailed kit that required me to build it more or less entirely from a box of parts. When it was built it was amazing and ran beautifully! I was so excited. My then-husband helped me a bit with some of the electrical pieces I didn’t understand, but in general seemed not exactly uninterested, but watchful. Very little time passed before he stomped my car to pieces in a fit of rage. I only got to drive it once. Since then I haven’t considered RC cars as a hobby. I pushed the whole issue – car, enthusiasm, trauma, tears, and lingering baggage left behind – into a tiny box in a dark corner of my mind and memory, and marked it “do not open”.

… This weekend I opened the box…

More specifically, my Traveling Partner did, without planning to. It started some weeks ago with him buying me a drone and sharing time together learning and taking the TRUST test to safely and legally fly recreationally. It started with the first time I flew my drone – and realized quickly that I’m maybe not personally ideally suited for hobbies that include actual flight. (A combination of neck pain, poor eyesight, and cognitive limitations that make remembering all the many rules and restrictions difficult make flying difficult, nothing tragic.) I said something about having once had an RC car, and quickly realized my mistake; the box was open. I tried to close it up again, only to find myself standing in a big pile of stinking rotting baggage that had to be cleaned up at long last.

The way out is through. It was one more bit of trauma to work through. I like cars. I like driving. I like the fun and delight of miniatures. I like tinkering with small machines. My Traveling Partner gently forced the issue into the open. We talked. I gave up my drone with an emotionally difficult admission that my interest in flying a drone was more about loving him and sharing the time and fun with him. I admitted I prefer cars. He was encouraging and supportive and even pointing out that we could still enjoy that fun together; him flying, me driving.

I know there will still be reflections of past trauma to heal and old baggage to unpack… but I’ve taken a big step. I watched numerous videos with my beloved. We talked cars for hours and looked at videos. He likes cars, too, and has a love of, and affinity for, machines generally. So many choices. We looked at all kinds of RC cars in a variety of scales and styles. I found one car that really captivated me. Again and again, it turned up in moments of “ooh!”, “ah!”, and “wow!”. He talked about driving to the hobby store together and I was an eager yes. At some point he gently asked if I might find value in going alone, and independently making my choice and purchase, having settled on a budget (he has an astute sense of such things and reliably takes steps to support my autonomy and emotional wellness). I definitely knew which car I wanted. Calling the shop had confirmed they had one. I admitted I’d enjoy going by myself. He assured me he had work he needed to get done and kissed me sweetly, all love, before I left.

Zoom zoom.

… I have an RC car. I drove it that very evening after charging the batteries. She’s super cute and crazy fast (even on the lowest speed I was blown away by how fast she zips along). I stared a piece of profound emotional damage in the face and said, at long last, “you have no power over me”, and meant it. That’s a powerful step on this journey.

… and I even got the laundry done…

I smile as the sun rises, thinking about life, love, drones and RC cars. I think about beginnings. I think about the next time I get to drive – maybe after work today? I think about building a display diorama to park my car in when I’m not driving her. 😆 I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful for this partnership and the beautiful weekend of deep connection and heartfelt conversations. I forget, momentarily, that it is Monday.

There was more to the weekend and to the work and changes that will come out of it, but this is representative of the character of the weekend generally. Loving partners working honestly through a variety of issues together in a meaningful loving way. Beautiful.

I sit smiling in the summer sunshine filled with gratitude, contentment, and love. It’s a nice beginning to a new week. August already? The clock is ticking. I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Luck and Choices

July 25, 2026 //
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Sometimes I find a moment of peace through happenstance, sometimes I make choices that create a moment of peace. Either way, I enjoy the moment.

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

This morning is a bit of both, I guess. I chose to set my alarm for an early hour, in spite of being Saturday, and in spite of an interrupted night’s sleep. I chose this particular trail, in a small state park. It is pure luck that I’ve got it all to myself this morning: no other walkers, no dogs, no talkative children, just quiet, and birdsong. It’s lovely.

A new day, a path I chose.

I start down the trail as the sun rises. The air is sweet and spicy with that particular fragrance of Oregon wildflowers that I love so much. My steps feel comfortable, my stride feels relaxed and confident. For the time being my pain is minimal, and I’ve got my cane to steady me if my energy runs out, or I stumble. It’s a good beginning on a new day, and I savor the beauty of the moment as I walk.

Wildflowers line the trail.

I walk. Breathe. Exhale. Drink in the sights and scents of this lovely summer morning. Granted, it’s easier to create and enjoy a moment of peace in a place such as this, but I’ve found similar peace in some unlikely places. The success is in the outcome, not the setup. I sigh to myself; I’m not fooling anyone. It definitely is easier to find (or create) a peaceful moment in a place like this. I smile as I walk. I’m grateful for this lovely easy peaceful joyful moment of solitude on a carefree summer Saturday morning. Moments don’t last, so I savor it while it does.

Be present; every step counts.

I peer over the edge of an odd gap between trees off the edge of the trail. Something clearly uses this as a route to somewhere… but it is treacherously steep. I don’t test my agility; I am too aware of my limitations, cautious, and reluctant to be injured in a location where I might not easily be found. Choices.

I walk on. The sun lights up the tree tops, green and gold. I get to a favorite spot with a lovely view and stop to watch the sunrise.

A nice spot to reflect on a new day.

I’m not really thinking about the day ahead just yet. I’m enjoying the moment I’m in. That’s enough. This beautiful moment is as fleeting as any other – all too brief – it makes sense to enjoy it as it is, and soak myself in this delightful feeling of peace. It will pass. I chuckle to myself. Good or bad, the moments pass. The clock is ticking on this mortal life. I don’t let the awareness fret me. I just walk on.

I get to my feet, feeling content and merry and ready for a new day, wherever my path may lead. It’s time to begin again.

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

Coming Home

July 20, 2026 //
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The car is unloaded. I’ve had a shower and mostly unpacked everything and returned my gear to storage. There are still thoughts to think, and some metaphysical baggage yet to unpack. It was a good getaway. Time well-spent. I’m glad to be home, though. As with most plans, reality got to have her say and I’m glad I’m an adaptable sort of creature – it came in handy. I’ll tell those tales over the next several days. Today is about coming home. It is everything, for now, and it is enough. 😀

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

At home in the forest.

No connectivity for three days. My walk-in camp site was too far to lug some of the gear I brought for this trip out into the trees. It was an oddly stripped down bit of time away, and the lacks of convenience served to push my focus to the moment I was in, without regard to my comfort. I needed that more than I knew. I spent my hours in my own good company, easily able to hear myself think.

…Friday I was too tired to bother with lugging my pastels and my tabletop easel to the camp site. Saturday I was in too much pain. By Sunday I had “found my way” – and it didn’t involve painting, or long hikes, or looking at the world through my camera’s lens. I spent my time in thought, giving myself the rare treat of my own undivided attention. Three days. Well, almost three days – more than two. lol The long drive to (and home from) this forest was definitely one of the nicest parts of the journey – what a beautiful drive! Very little traffic.

The best part of the trip, and the most wonderful part of my days of solitude? Coming home to my beloved Traveling Partner, for sure.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

An Unwelcome Presence

July 11, 2026 //
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I woke early, with my alarm. I dressed quickly and quietly, and watered the lawn before heading for the trail. I arrived just at daybreak – ostensibly when this park opens – and as I drove into the park to the trailhead, I passed one, then another parked car. Imagine my surprise (and, frankly, my irritation) to see random cars parked willy-nilly on the narrow access road. These were no early morning hikers, either, these were over night visitors or people parked out of view, sleeping in their cars.

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

I sigh crossly, grateful I don’t speed down this road in the twilight of dawn. I easily could have hit one of them, parked well into the road (there being no parking at all along the access road and no pullouts).

I get to the trailhead parking. Another overnighter parked in just the stupidest fashion in a spot very much outside the actual parking and blocking the path down to a lovely river view. I swear to myself, thoroughly vexed by this bullshit. I start down the path, stepping around the truck quietly, and find myself startled by the guard dog chained beneath the truck, who lunges at me barking furiously. Well fuck that shit. I turn back even more annoyed, but not wishing to risk a dog bite.

…G’damn, fuck rude people abusing park spaces with their entitled bullshit…

I turn down a different path as I wonder “who even does this shit?!”, but I don’t really want to know – I just want my peaceful morning walk. Disappointing start. I inhale the fragrant summer air as I walk down the path into the meadow. It had been dense clover, blooming with sweet smelling purple flowers only a couple weeks ago. It has been mown since then. The tidy arrangement of rows makes me wonder what sort of farm equipment was used for the purpose. The view isn’t as lovely as when the meadow is lush and blooming. An altogether disappointing start to the day.

I get to my halfway point on this loop trail.  The rock I generally sit on has a fat pile of dog shit dropped right next to it. Gross. “Fucking hell, people, clean up after your g’damned dogs”, I mutter crossly as I walk on. I have the recollection of a convenient rock or log somewhere along here… Now my walk becomes a vigilant search for somewhere to sit, instead of a peaceful, mindful, meditative progression of steps on a path. 

…I feel my awareness of my own disappointment begin to evolve into seething irritation, almost anger, that sits at the edge of becoming a feeling of entitlement…

I sigh and stop. I just stop on the trail and stand for a moment, listening to the birds chirping, peeping, and singing. I lean against a large-ish maple of some kind, resting my feet. My back aches already, today. My tinnitus whines loudly in my ears, and I focus on the birds singing to assure myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” and hasn’t actually deafened me. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

… It’s a beautiful moment, in a lovely spot along a wooded trail, on a cloudy summer morning. It’s worth redirecting my attention to here, now…

I let my irritation and disappointment dissipate. I watch robins foraging in the leaf litter at the edge of the trail. It’s a beautiful quiet morning. I hear Spring Valley Creek trickling past nearby, unseen beyond the thicket of shrubs and berry vines. Young chipmunks chase each other through the trees. The leaves of the trees shake and rustle in the breeze. The clouds hint at rain that may not come and I find myself wondering why I am in so much pain this morning? I have no enthusiasm for the work I committed to helping my beloved Traveling Partner with, today, but maybe I’ll feel more like it later. I don’t dwell on it, or on my pain.

I walk on down the path, and find myself in a pleasant glade near a bend in the path. There is an old picnic table tucked back away from the trail, in a regrettable state of disrepair, but adequate as a place to sit that isn’t on the ground (harder to get back up at 63 than it would have been at 30).  I sit awhile. I write. I meditate. I wait on a moment that hasn’t yet arrived. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s so easy to take shit personally that isn’t personal at all. Reality isn’t going to bother with correcting our mistakes for us, it will simply punish us when we’re incorrect. I sigh to myself and remind myself to do something about my pain when I get back to the car.

I don’t bother with the news today. Why would I? Ads. AI slop. Sponsored content. Cookies. Paywalls. Slanted opinions instead of clean emotionally neutral factual reporting, or honest authentic and explicitly stated personal biases revealed openly. All of it on repeat, and supplemented by copies of copies of copies shared across media groups and individuals. Completely pointless, and all of it seriously joy destroying crap targeted at getting all of us to pay someone for something. Bleh. No thanks. I sigh, feeling a little impatient even having the thought, and pull my attention back to “now”.

“View of the Willamette River” “7 x “9.5”, soft pastel on Pastelmat

It’s not reliably easy to find, make, or preserve our peace or our joy. There are verbs involved, and a willingness to persist. I’ve been finding it helpful to spend more time in my studio, painting. I smile to myself; the view I missed this morning is the view I painted from memory last night. I find some little bit of comfort, joy, and peace in that idea.

I take a deep breath of the cool summer air, smelling the scent of recently mown clover mingling with the scent of wildflowers. A bird of prey somewhere nearby screams about whatever is on their mind. The chipmunks all vanish. This moment may not be “perfect” (what ever is?), but it is mine, and it is enough. I think about the day ahead and wonder if my partner is also in more than usual pain this morning?

… Sometimes the best I can do is to keep walking, putting one foot after the other, until I get somewhere. Each day offers a new beginning, and each moment is a new chance at peace and joy. What will I do with it (besides “my best”)? The clock is ticking – today I feel it more. The clouds overhead are definitely threatening rain now – I guess it’s a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words
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