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Something for Me

September 19, 2026 //
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It’s a foggy morning. On the other side of a short list of errands, I’ll head to the coast for a few days for some solitary time, painting. I’m eager, but not anxious. There’s no hurry. I planned with care and stayed mindful of my current capabilities and limitations when I did so.

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

I’m sitting at a favorite trailhead, waiting for the gate to open. A short walk will be enough this morning. I want to leave myself enough energy at the other end of the day to easily enjoy hanging out with the ghosts of Claude (Monet), Vincent (Van Gogh), and Peter (Max). I’ve already got my pastels packed up, ready to load into the car.

… Definitely eager…

When the time came to end the work week and pull my head out of the spreadsheets and tool portals, yesterday, I found it difficult. I’m definitely for sure over that, already! My thoughts now are of colors, hues, shades, tones, and the challenges of bringing light into pigment, and giving life to an image on paper. I am expanding into the sense of self that feels the most me. It’s comfortable and familiar, and natural; there’s no need to mask anything or operate from some pretense of whatever is defined as properly professional this year, for this or that industry. It may take hours to really sink in, that the next three days are wholly about where inspiration might take me. This is my time.

I breathe, exhale, relax. Some things don’t change. Some practices have value no matter what may be on the calendar. Meditation. Writing in the morning. Enjoying a pleasant walk. We become what we practice. Taking myself to some other physical place to paint doesn’t change what I need to do to care for myself, manage symptoms, and preserve my emotional resilience. I reflect on the successes and failures of various practices over the years. They don’t all work out, and there’s been some trial and error to “finding my way”.

… Shit… I already miss my Traveling Partner and I’m not even gone yet! 😆 Well, I knew that would be a thing. I adore him. We’re deeply connected. Our lives are intertwined. I feel obvious “separation anxiety” when we’re apart – but there is value in the reminder not to take love for granted. We get the benefit of perspective from a chance to miss each other, and reconnect more deeply when we reunite.

So much of life is about love and loving.

At the halfway point of my walk, I sit with my thoughts of my beloved, sleeping at home. I could have set things up to take off for the coast at first light. I didn’t set up my plan that way specifically to run these couple of errands and take the time to hold each other a moment before I go, and do some little things to make him more comfortable and less inconvenienced by my absence. This doesn’t just feel like the right thing to do for him, it meets needs of my own, to support my partner. Without these courtesies, I’d be distracted the whole time I’m away, wondering about his experience, instead of living mine.

… I think about that for a little while…

Daybreak comes. The fog muffles the sound of traffic on the highway adjacent to this nature preserve. The darkness lifts slowly, revealing more fog, and the dark silhouettes of the grand oaks on this hillside. It seems a good setting for self-reflection and meditation. Inspiring. Lately I have been feeling so deeply inspired to paint, it spills over into other things. I’m looking forward to giving in to it for a couple days.

Daybreak comes.

I hear voices, approaching from up the trail. When they come into view, I wave and call out a good morning greeting, to avoid startling two photographers, approaching preoccupied with their conversation and their gear. They return my greeting and walk on past, towards the photographer’s blind out on the marsh. It’s a good time of year for it; migratory birds are passing through, and the weather hasn’t turned shitty yet.

I sigh to myself and bring my thoughts back to my own experience. Here. Now. Nice moment to be. I sit with my thoughts a short while longer, finding it a luxury to do so. I consider my pain, and pain management. Look over my shopping list one more time, before admitting to myself that it’s probably time to begin again. I smile like I know a secret, as I get to my feet, stretching.

… Travel tissues! I add them to my list and get going.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

We Made This

September 17, 2026 //
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This world we live in – we created it. Together, all of us. It’s a strange thought, isn’t it? Every choice, every action, every mistake, every great new idea; it is through us that we make our world. Choose wisely, eh?

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

This morning I read that Peter Max had died. Monday it was. There’s a little less color in this world with his passing, but realistically, the colors he juxtaposed on canvas (or on envelopes), were not enough to render the world as beautiful as he saw it. I wipe away a single tear with a sad smile and think of Van Gogh for no particular reason.

…I offer them both a silent salute, raising my water bottle to the starry night sky, before I head down the trail…

I rub my hands together a bit for warmth as I reach my halfway point and take a seat for a moment or two. I think of Monet’s failing eyesight, and feel the pain in my thumbs. He kept painting. No doubt I will too, for as long as I’m able.

I sigh to myself feeling the threads connecting my work to theirs. These are more pleasant thoughts, generally, than contemplating the mess humanity has made of the world. Artists and makers know, perhaps more than most people, we are creating this world we live in, all of us, together. So, what are we choosing to make? Is this really what we want? Can’t we do better, relatively easily? I think about that awhile, watching Orion slowly rise in the eastern sky. He’ll vanish from view when daybreak comes.

What exactly are you doing to make the world a better place? I mean the easy stuff, close to home, like treating your partner and family well, and being helpful to a friend, a neighbor, a stranger of another ethnicity. I mean the somewhat harder stuff, too, like speaking truth to power, like standing firm on explicitly calling genocide “genocide”, even if doing so seems to be at odds with national pride or political interests. I mean the obvious stuff, like picking up trash, and keeping things tidy, too. It all counts. It adds up. We could do more, and better.

I think about the weekend ahead. My beloved Traveling Partner programmed the marine traffic radio frequencies into my radio, so I can try listening to the shipping traffic while I’m on the coast. I grin to myself, feeling very loved.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate on gratitude and wonder. I reflect on painting inspiration as yet unfulfilled. I reflect on love and prematurely experience a pang of wistful loss and absence – I will miss my Traveling Partner (I always do). He is my beloved, my muse – why not just paint at home? Why not bring him along? It’s honestly this; I need some solitary time to thrive, and more than that, my passion for my partner is both deeply inspiring, and also an incredible distraction. 😆 When he is near, I will reliably choose his company over most other things, however needful, urgent, or pleasant, those things might be. (It’s admittedly not ideally emotionally healthy, and I am frankly unconcerned.) Since I need to paint and write to be emotionally and mentally well, this sets up a bit of a self-care conflict, internally, so vacations and getaways with my partner are quite a separate thing. This has worked for us. Your results may vary.

I breathe in the autumn scented air. I watch a brightly lit farm machine moving back and forth among the vineyard rows, a way off. Earlier a heavily loaded, slow, quite long freight truck pulled through, on the narrow agricultural access road that cuts through the vineyard. It’s bright colorful lights made a merry display as it bounced slowly along. There’s a hint of sweetness in the air… grapes? Am I imagining the scent?

It’s a lovely beginning to a new day. I slept well. I hope my beloved did too. I think about dinner later – leftover enchiladas. It’s not fancy but the company and conversation will be excellent. My partner is working on a new (work) project. I hope he has a fantastic day working on it. I’m eager for him to tell me more, over dinner.

We live in the world we’ve made. Let’s make it a good one, for everyone. We can begin again. We can do better.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

Well, Hey, How About GFY

September 13, 2026 //
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My morning began the usual way, with waking up. It seemed fine. My headache is pretty bad, my arthritis less so. I get going and get gone, and head to the trail along the river. Seems like a good morning for it.

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

I had the trail to myself when I got started. That’s a nice treat, for me. The morning was off to a lovely start. (Do you hear that sound? A metaphorical shoe dropping…)

I set off in the darkness, headlamp on. Cloudy morning, and the darkness is thick, the air is still. I walk, alert and present, watching for hazards within the bobbing circle of light ahead of me. The trail is muddy and slick. I skid sideways a couple times, losing my footing in some bit of mud. I slow down. Take my time. Even late in the summer, the Willamette River is very cold. If I did fall in, it’s quite likely I would drown. I keep my steps cautious, grateful for my cane.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting. The “good” part of that doesn’t last much longer, which sucks. There’s not much point breaking it down any further. Humans being human. (And that other shoe drops.) A missed opportunity to communicate yesterday becomes a problem today. I sigh to myself. What a shitty development. Feels as if this beautiful morning was wrecked over coffee beans, which strikes me as really peculiar, since we didn’t run out, and there was a new bag of good quality coffee beans available.  My recollection is that we hadn’t yet used up the last batch. Doesn’t matter.

In any case, this morning the magic eightball says… “Go fuck yourself.”

… Fucking hell, being human is complicated…

What matters is that my Traveling Partner started his morning with frustration and annoyance, and I lack the personal discipline to ignore the notification when he pings me while I’m occupied with other activities, and as a result, my morning peace is also wrecked (or at least interrupted), and my safety is at risk because I try to walk and text at the same time. Human. Fairly stupid, to be sure, but also very human.

So… This morning all is not well in paradise. I hurt too much to deal with anyone else’s crap this morning, even my beloved, so I’ll have to find something to do that puts plenty of distance between me and everyone else. Maybe that sounds “antisocial”, I look at it as self-care on a difficult day.

Right about now 100% of everyone who isn’t the woman I see in my mirror can fuck right off. It isn’t personal, I just don’t have enough in reserve to take care of anyone else, presently. I’ve got shit of my own to do, a great mountain of which I’ve allowed to pile up unattended over the two years of intensive care my partner needed then. He reminds me regularly these days to put more energy into my self-care, and that he’s doing much better. I know he’s right – about both those things. 

I sigh to myself, sitting in a quiet glade along the trail, alone (and enjoying that). There are chipmunks playing in the berry thicket. Robins are scratching in the muddy soil looking for a convenient breakfast snack. The air smells like autumn, and the leaves are beginning to turn. The clock ticks on. The season is changing. The sunlight of a new day catches the treetops. Whatever else I may do today, I’m definitely going to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

What a Wonderful World This Would Be

September 12, 2026 //
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It is the dawn of a new day. Yesterday’s mistakes and stepped on boundaries are in the past. This is a completely new and different moment. I walk down the dark marsh trail, following the circle of light provided by my headlamp.

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

I get to a pleasing stopping point. A favorite fallen log at the edge of a grassy hillside dotted with oak trees makes a decent seat. I wait, watching the eastern horizon for first light on this cloudy morning. I sit with my thoughts, reflecting on a theory my Traveling Partner shared with me recently, about a recurring theme in my artwork, “the nightmare city”. It is my rendering of a dream, a nightmare, that I have had on a recurring basis for many years. I maybe don’t remember not having this nightmare (more often than occasionally).

“The Nightmare City” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas w/glow

The dream itself is simple enough. I am in a city. It seems peculiarly “hollowed out”, as if the buildings are all fake, just facades standing in neat rows. There is a background glow, but it’s hard to tell if it is lights left on, or fire, or warfare. I am walking briskly towards some point in the distance, then running breathlessly but wanting very much to stop. I usually wake before I reach that distant point, heart pounding, breathless, and frightened. Sometimes I’m in it, trapped, hurtling towards some point, when a loud blast of noise hits me with physical force, and there is a sort of popping noise and a flash of light, and so much pain. I wake, grateful to have found my way from the nightmare city, again.

The Nightmare City, some other night, different lighting.

I’ve painted the nightmare city several times. Sketched it. Painted in acrylic, with a ton of glow. Painted in watercolor, ephemeral and surreal. Painted in pastels, a city in flames and as a forlorn abandoned place that can’t harm me now. My nightmares draw me back into that strange city again and again, as if there is something unspoken that wants a voice…

Another version, “Urban Warfare”, rendered in pastels, in 2024, when old trauma and new wars collide in my dreams.

My Traveling Partner only shared his theory when I insisted I’d really like to know his thoughts. He shared his impression that it may be a remnant of “the last thing I saw” before (more specifically as) I injured my head. I don’t recall my injury with any clarity, at all. Hints of partial recollections of fragments of vague memories that generally my consciousness mind has difficulty approaching. A sense of…flight? A gasp, like a final deep breath before plunging into darkness? A distant point of perspective that rushes towards me without properly changing as the distance draws near. An explosion of light? Nothing useful. The official version, when anyone would discuss it with me at all, much later in life, was that I fell down some stairs, maybe (and now can we please talk about something else?).

“Daylight Comes to the Nightmare City”, in pastels, 2026.

My Traveling Partner finally admitted, he sees something characteristic and distinct about my nightmare city paintings; to him they can also potentially be seen as a staircase, or bannister finial, from the perspective of hurtling towards it head first. “Once I realized, I can’t unsee it,” he said. Since he shared that with me, I see it too. I touch the small triangular “divet” I feel on my forehead, and trace the cracks I feel under the skin that radiate out from there, to my hairline, and down into my right eye socket.

… And I wonder…

… Trauma is weird. I still see the city, the road leading away, and feel a strangely nauseous feeling when I contemplate walking down that peculiarly dark street as it seems to narrow towards a point. In my dreams, I never quite reach whatever waits at the other end of the road…

For no obvious reason, I hear a Sam Cooke song in my head as I sit with my thoughts,  “… What a wonderful world this would be…”. I sit in the stillness of a summer morning betwixt meadow and marsh, waiting for the sun. Waiting to understand something just out of reach of any clear memories. There’s rarely much anger left over this broken brain – there are more important things to be angry about, these days. I’m okay with who I am, most of the time. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, for his kindness not rushing to put ideas in my head out of compassion and love, and for sharing his thoughts willingly and gently when pressed. Considering I really don’t remember my injury, having hints and insights helps me process the unknown, and even the potentially unknowable.

… I’m okay with the uncertainty; I am loved. I can begin again, as often as I need to, in order to heal and grow, and walk on.  I look down the path fearlessly. I am awake, and safe, and life is pretty good. I smile, thinking soft happy thoughts about my partner, my best friend. I get to my feet, grateful, humming some tune that is stuck in my my head…

… What a wonderful world it would be…

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Art and Laundry

September 8, 2026 //
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I spent beautiful hours in my studio yesterday, productive, creative time. More importantly, it was time spent painting things I lack words for. Art is good for that.

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

There are many people who think they “don’t like” (visual) art, or don’t understand it. When I hear that, I often wonder if they have ever given thought to the idea that art is quite personal. Between the work as a practical thing and the perspective on the piece that each individual brings to seeing it, the understanding exists as a thing of its own. Every piece is not for every person. Don’t like Jackson Pollock? Okay. There are many other artists. Can I interest you in Monet, Van Gogh, or Peter Max? How about Ronnie Gold or Rothko? Each artist communicating their own way, about what matters to them, and putting it out into the world where a multitude can see it. Each person with their own thoughts and perspective, and potentially taking something from any given work that even the artist did not understand from the piece. That’s how art functions as communication, but whether a particular piece leaves any one individual unmoved is…fine. Also the way art works. Some pieces are not for us.

“Seeing Red”

… I paint things that “aren’t for you” all the time. Sometimes I paint things that are not for me, as well. 😆 I often paint to express something difficult or to process emotions, as a way of getting something “off my chest”, and to say it, to transform it, or to rob it of power over me. For me art is an act of self-care.

I walk down this morning’s trail, thinking about art and eager to be back in the studio again. My Traveling Partner also knows how important time spent painting is for me and he kept nudging me gently toward the studio yesterday, helping me avoid self-care self-sabotage traps (like housekeeping tasks that can wait a day or two). This morning I feel lighter of heart and more contented. I keep walking.

A wispy autumn mist envelopes me as I near the creek. It’s cooler this morning. I’m grateful for the cozy sweater I chose this morning. Laundry is something I can do “while I paint”, but I didn’t finish the task; it is unfolded, still in the laundry basket. This sweater just happened to be on top. lol That seems very human. And isn’t that the thing about art? It is uniquely human. Human ideas, human emotions, human complexities, human stories… “Art” created by AI isn’t actually art.

“Skyline Sunset”

I breathe the chilly morning air. It definitely smells of autumn now. Somewhere in the distance, someone has recently had their fireplace lit; I smell a faint hint of wood smoke in the air. Daybreak comes as I reach my halfway point. Chased by Venus, the crescent moon has been rising as I walk. She’s still visible, but as daylight fills the sky, the moon fades from view. I stop to write, reflect, and meditate. It’s a new day.

My thoughts are filled with paintings I’d like to paint… my studio is waiting on the other side of the work day… it’s a good time to begin again.

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