Archives for category: Oregon Trails
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Strange World

September 30, 2026 //
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It’s a strange world we live in. AI recruiters interviewing fake job applicants while real people struggle to find work adequate to pay the bills. A government that doesn’t get anything useful done for the people being governed, because grifters and criminals own the Whitehouse. Healthcare that sick people can’t afford. I could go on…it actually does get worse.

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

I take a deep breath of the strangely warm mild autumn air. The morning is peaceful out on this trail. Quiet. As though all is well and right with the world (it isn’t). I walk on, pulling myself back to this moment, here, now, each time my mind wanders to troubling news reports. (How about the one where the US president explicitly threatens nuclear genocide against a foreign nation?) I think about work and haul my mind back from that, too. Now is not the time for any of that. Now is a time for peace and contentment.

… How much more wonderful would this world be if each global citizen faced each moment from the position that “now is a time for peace”? Something to consider. Where do you stand on peace..?

You may be inclined to say I am being naive, but I gotta say, I didn’t kill anyone yesterday. Did you? I bet not. So, clearly it is possible not to kill. Good start on peace is not killing people. Clearly it can be done. I’m annoyed by how persistently people refuse peace and the ridiculous excuses they make to justify their hate and violence.

I sit watching the night sky. It’ll be dark awhile longer. I reflect on the lovely connected peaceful evening I shared with my Traveling Partner yesterday. He bought dinner. We hung out watching miscellaneous funny shit together and laughed. We needed some good laughs. Laughter gets people through a lot of tough times.

… So does love…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take in the peacefulness of this quiet morning. I’m grateful for another day. For the moment, shrugging off chronic pain seems almost effortless (it isn’t really, I simply took appropriate medication soon enough to get ahead of it a bit). Meditation. Write a few words. Sit with this peaceful now. Enjoying the darkness before dawn. Gathering my resolve to face the challenges of a new day. Wondering for a moment what the day might hold…

Hints of daybreak lighten the sky slowly. I think about beginning again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words

Bad Dreams, But…

September 29, 2026 //
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Okay so, yeah, I’m having a lot of bad dreams lately. Even when they aren’t “nightmares”, they’re often deeply unpleasant.

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

I woke this morning, grateful for the bright light of my silent alarm; better than the dream I was having. Hell, I’m not surprised by the bad dreams – have you seen the state of the world? The shameless exploitative corporate greed? The thoroughly corrupt government? The war in Ukraine? The genocides? Oh yeah, more than one of those going on, it isn’t limited to Palestine. How can human beings be so incredibly vile?

I’m struggling to maintain perspective, I admit it. I feel disappointed (in humanity, generally) and I feel betrayed on an unreasonable personal level. I was stationed in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down. It was such a proud moment for humanity and I felt such hope for the world. I sigh quietly as I walk the dark trail with my dark thoughts.

I get to my halfway point and stop. I just stand there in the dark awhile, after turning off my headlamp, letting my eyes adjust, watching the stars. After a handful of uncounted minutes gazing into the eternal darkness of the vast night sky, I sit down and cry awhile. I don’t fight the tears. No shame. No guilt. Only emotions I can’t quite process without allowing for the grief. Grieving is powerful stuff and difficult to control or limit or reason with, and now and then I am flooded with tears over what we have all lost – all those lives, all the wasted potential, all the hurting and the sorrow.

…We could do better…

I was once a soldier in an army. I have been to war. I have looked directly into the eyes of my enemy and found that he was every bit as human as I am myself. No one walks away unchanged. We live with the consequences of our actions,  that’s just real. I sigh to myself. I’m grateful to have gotten out alive. I’m grateful to see another sunrise. I’m grateful to have my Traveling Partner’s warm, loving embrace when the weight of the world threatens to pull me down into the depths of madness and grief (and even when he’s dealing with his own shit, he is there for me).

Being human is hard. Being the best human being the resources and experience available permit a person to be is harder still, and it for sure feels like a lot of people aren’t even trying.

I’m grateful for this solitary time to just get shit right in my head before a new day begins. Most days this is the only solitude I have. The rest of my day is interacting with people at work, and out in the world, some days so continuously that by the time I get home to my beloved I have nothing left to give. That seems thoroughly unfair, to the two of us. I embrace the little bit of “me time” life permits me to have and try not to bitch about it not feeling like enough. …At least I don’t also have children.

My beloved pings me. We converse a bit. The clock ticks on. My head aches ferociously and slow tears fall for a moment and stop. At 14 I once felt very similarly, I think, sort of lost, and frustrated-angry-sad. I dealt with it by packing a small bag with everything I thought I would need (it wasn’t), and I walked away. (It would be weeks before I turned up and ultimately went back, but that’s a story for another time.) I hadn’t yet learned that we cannot escape who we are so easily. I’d hug her if I could and assure her it gets better…then wonder if I should also tell her it’s going to get so much worse, first?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The world is a pretty chaotic and sometimes grotesquely frightening place, but right here? Right now? This moment? It’s fine. A woman on a hiking trail looking at the stars. It is peaceful and beautiful. I make room to enjoy this moment as it is. A lifetime is built on moments; it important to savor the pleasant ones, whatever the circumstances.

The mild almost warm morning wraps me gently. The first hints of daybreak begin to develop. I watch the sky quietly. I think about these mortal lives and the place we hold in the cosmos. We are so tiny, so fragile and finite – how is it these moments feel so important? I sit with my thoughts until it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Spooky Quiet

September 27, 2026 //
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I set off down the trail in the darkness. There’s a full moon shining through the trees, and the trail is muddy, which I did not expect.

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

A full moon, a quiet morning.

My Traveling Partner is up early. He pings me several times. Conversation. I set expectations that the trail is muddy and lacks good stopping points where it follows the river. I still struggle not to respond to every message (from him, specifically) immediately. He returns with his own expectation setting; this is my problem to solve. He says he was hoping I’d stop responding to everything immediately and let him drink his coffee. 😆 Fucking hell, we’re an interesting pair. I turn off my ringer and continue walking.

… It’s definitely an improvement to give my full attention to the moment I’m in, and the trail I am on…

The moon sinks below the trees, and the darkness is …darker. It is spooky quiet on the trail this morning. There was one other vehicle at the trailhead this morning. Somewhere along the trail here is another person. I am alert and a little wary. I slip on a slick bit of mud and fallen leaves and stop for a moment to let my heartbeat slow back down to something more normal. That was scary.

I reach my halfway point still in darkness. No river picture this morning, not yet. It isn’t even daybreak yet. I sit thinking about my difficulty with disregarding that unique notification sound that means my Traveling Partner and no one else. There are times when it is hazardous or problematic in some way, to be texting. Sometimes it is important to hold focus on the task I am engaged with. Sometimes I may be having a conversation with a human being standing in front of me, or just juggling packages awkwardly. My beloved is such a high priority in my life, I forget everything else and grab my phone immediately when I hear that notification.  This does need to be corrected (he’s right about that); it affects my safety, and he is no longer needing continuous care (barely ever needs help).

… Turning notifications off temporarily does work (very well), but sometimes I forget to turn them back on (very human)…

It’s not as if I don’t check my phone often enough when I can. This is fine. It isn’t worth stress. It doesn’t need a more complicated solution than turning off my ringer when I’m hiking, driving, or in a meeting. 😂

I sit with my thoughts in the dark. Now is a good time to check messages; I’m sitting still. 😆 A new message from my Traveling Partner assuring me he’s not mad and wanting to clarify that. A flurry of loving cute stickers follow. I like the stickers, they reinforce the message in a loving way. I find myself nodding and smiling. Sometimes communication is hard. This morning it’s easier.

Daybreak finally comes to this forested hollow on the riverbank. The trees around me take on a strange lacey appearance, silhouetted against the paler blue-gray of the dawn sky. It still feels quite dark. The call of an owl somewhere nearby seems to agree. I hear footsteps (and a dog?) coming down the slope of the trail, just beyond the next bend, and draw back into the shadows reflexively.

I hear a male voice. He becomes visible as he comes around the bend, just a guy and his dog, leashed. I relax a bit, and I’ve forgotten I am camouflaged by the shadows. He’s almost even with me when the wind changes and his dog alerts on my presence and gives a woof and halts. I’ve clearly startled the crap out of this guy, because he exclaims “Oh fuck! You startled the crap out of me there!” “I’m sorry I startled you,” I reply, “and good morning! How are trail conditions further on?”, I ask, hoping to make things feel more normal once more. He relaxes. “Don’t mind Cody here, he’s friendly,” he says, “trail’s okay, a little muddy.” I thank him and he continues on his way with a wave.

I sit awhile longer, watching the sky turn blue, and the trees green and gold, and hues of autumn, as daylight comes. I’ll give the sunrise a little time to light the trail, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Yesterdays

September 25, 2026 //
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One very useful thing about yesterday is that it is reliably in the past. We can let that go, when we’re ready to.

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

I look down the path, back the way I came. The trees along the path, a strip that runs along a creek bank, are tossing about wildly. My choice of “halfway point” seems potentially regrettable, given the violent winds. I look down the path in the other direction, and contemplate the rainy hours in the forecast, ahead. I’m not wearing, nor did I bring, my rain poncho – another potentially poor choice. I sigh to myself, wondering what will come of it.

There’s a weather alert this morning; high winds. Yep. I see that with my limited human eyesight. The wind is definitely blowing quite ferociously. The trees near me are swaying. From somewhere nearby I hear the kind of cracking noises that suggest one or more of these trees may be felled by the wind. The sound makes me uneasy.  This seems reasonable.

… I somehow manage to doze off briefly, sitting here, upright, wind-buffeted, phone in hand. I wake with a start when my head begins to pull me forward as I nod off. Am I tired? I’m not certain of that, but my sleep has been interrupted and of poor quality for a few nights now. The lack of deep restful sleep since I returned home from the coast is already wearing me down. I’ll feel better after some coffee, I reassure myself. The wind keeps blowing, without comment.

“Seeing Red”, 2026

I sit awhile listening to the trees creaking and groaning as they sway in the wind. The work day yesterday was …fine. Predictably busy. The evening after work was mostly a whirlwind of errands, followed by a serious failure to connect with my beloved Traveling Partner in a meaningful way. The evening fell apart in a cascade of misunderstood remarks, hurt feelings, and not feeling heard. I went to bed early with minimal attention to self-care. At that point I just wanted to be alone with my pain and irritation, feeling peculiarly invisible, and having nothing leftover to deal with any of that.

Detail from “Emotion and Reason” 2012

…At some point my beloved stepped quietly to the side of the bed in the darkness, and touched me softly. He tenderly stroked my cheek with a favorite soft plush toy, a tiny kitten, and placed it near me.

Sometimes this can feel a very lonely journey; we are not alone. ❤ Detail of “Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic, 2011

Later, when he woke me because it sounded like maybe I wasn’t breathing comfortably, the little stuffed kitten was still in my hand. He said something about my fist being clenched around the hose of my CPAP mask. I mumbled something and got up to pee without ever really waking up, and taking an allergy pill as I went back to bed. It wasn’t surprising that I might have been struggling with breathing easily (and it wasn’t allergies); my clenched fist had covered all the little holes that help with exhalation. I do wonder a bit what I might have been dreaming about.

This morning I feel okay. Yesterday is in the past. I linger on the memory of my Traveling Partner’s tenderness.

The rain begins to fall. I wrap my fleece tightly around me, zipped up, and pull the hood over my hair. It’s no rain poncho, though.

…I get to my feet and head back to the car, quickly, taking a shortcut through the vineyard, by way of the agricultural road, to the parking lot…

I am not quite soaked when I reach the car, and I’m grateful for the towel in my gear bin, and my other hoodie, clean and dry. I towel my hair dry in the car, and change into the dry hoodie.  I’m glad it’s Friday. I’m glad I was prepared for the rain, in spite of being too stupid this morning to wear (or bring along) my rain poncho. I’ve managed to avoid most discomfort. My jeans are wet, but not so much that I’m in misery, and they should dry pretty quickly. I blot them with dry sections of towel, rather ineffectively, and without concern. I listen to the wind and rain, feeling the car rock, as I warm up. I’m okay for nearly all values of okay. It’s enough.

Weather changes. Storms blow in, and blow over. Very little in life is permanent – or personal. The world can be a callous and indifferent place. We have these few precious mortal moments, and each other. I listen to the rain awhile longer, reflecting on life and love, and feeling grateful that nightmares fade so quickly..

Every moment of growth is as a rainbow in a stormy sky; a promise of better things.

…A few more quiet minutes listening to the rain, then I’ll begin again…

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

One Step, First

September 24, 2026 //
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I’m groggy and out of sorts this morning. First day back to work, a lot to catch up on, short week. I’m not eager to get on with all of that.

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

I started down the trail in darkness, a nearly full moon peeking from the clouds now and then. It is a little chillier than it has been, and drifts of fallen leaves have begun to pile up in spots. Definitely autumn, now. I’m grateful for the choice of cozy sweater and a warm fleece.

One step after another, I made my way down the trail in the dark. It feels so easy some mornings. This morning, walking this trail feels easier than returning to work, but it is less than ideally easy, generally. I take it one step at a time. I remind myself to be grateful that I walk at all ( I refuse to allow pain or discomfort to be the whole experience). I keep walking. One step at a time.

… Progress feels slow today. I keep going, anyway…

Eventually, I reach my halfway point on this morning’s walk. I stop. I sit for a little while, just listening, and breathing, and sensing the world around me. I meditate, quietly, here in the darkness. Daybreak is still an hour away (maybe more). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I observe the painful left ankle. I wonder, again, what the hell is up with this right knee? My left shoulder feels like someone tried to pull my arm off with a twisting motion. It is sore and uncomfortable. Neck. Back. The weird shooting pain that runs from my hip down my leg and disappearing before it reaches my knee. The headache? Not a concern, yet, which is quite nice, so I focus on that awhile, until I am distracted by my tinnitus. None of this feels at all “unusual”; this is simply part of my experience.

…Pain and pain management are ordinary details in a lot of lives, not just mine (not just yours). Be kind to people; you don’t know what they’re going through.

Work? Right. There’s that, too. Fuck. I yawn, then break out in a fit of sneezing. I’m grateful for the packet of tissues in my pocket. Handy. I sigh to myself, acknowledging how little enthusiasm for the day ahead I really have. I’d rather go back to sleep. That’s not an available option, today.

I get to my feet slowly, with care. The trailhead feels far, this morning. Another sigh. I’m being ridiculous; it is the same distance it always is, and the pain I’m in is also pretty typical. I stretch and look down the path. The first hints of the sky beginning to lighten slowly appear. The night sky is now more of a deep charcoal hue, not truly darkness. I hear that clock ticking in the background. It’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words
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