I woke later than usual. No alarm. Sunday. I woke feeling genuinely better for the first time in many days. I got up, dressed, and slipped out of the house quietly.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
It’s been awhile since my Traveling Partner had a chance to sleep and wake without my (sometimes uncomfortable) presence first thing. I also prefer to wake alone and get myself together before I have to deal with people. Yes, even my beloved. I hope he sleeps in, and enjoys waking slowly.
I’m probably not yet up to a long walk, so I make a shopping list and head up the highway to a favored grocer to pick up a few things. I grab coffee on the way. I take my time with things. This is that delicate time between being ill and being entirely well where a morning of exertion could easily result in a relapse and days more being sick. I am taking my time. There’s no reason to rush.
Autumn is all around. I enjoy seeing the fall colors everywhere. I’m eager to take my recollections into the studio with me and paint thoughts of autumn, seasons, and change. A steady rain has been falling. My arthritis pain is well-managed and not vexing me. Good day to paint.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I finish my coffee and check my shopping list. It’s already time to begin again.
Being ill during the work week is bad enough. Thinking I might be over it, and discovering just as the weekend begins that no, no I’m definitely not over it, sucks so much more. I slept most of yesterday away, after I got home from work. I slept quite late into the morning (for me), waking to find my Traveling Partner already up, already drinking coffee.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I got up. Stretched. Took symptom relieving medication (I woke “during the night” around the time for my usual meds, and took those then and went back to bed). Washed my face and enjoyed the feeling of cold water on hot skin. I readied myself for the day, such as it is. I expect to spend it mostly just taking care of myself here at home. I went into the kitchen to make coffee, greeting my beloved on my way past him.
…He grumbles about my presence; I’m sick and unpleasant to be around. I take my coffee into my studio…
I ache all over this morning. Maybe from the sickness itself, maybe from being in bed so much over the past… week. Fuck. It’s been a week. No wonder my Traveling Partner was so firm about wanting me to stay home and just take care of myself. This shit has lingered. I take a couple Tylenol and wash them down with my coffee, hoping it helps. Seems a healthier choice that reaching immediately for the big gun Rx pain relief. I remind myself to drink plenty of water.
I’m only half finished with this cup of coffee (which is excellent), and I’m already thinking about going back to bed. I sigh to myself. Definitely still sick. I am glad I ran errands Tuesday, although I was already ill then, and deluding myself that I was “mostly over it”. The errands got done, and I could not have done them on any day since. I breathe, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs. I exhale slowly. I pay attention to my spine, my shoulders, my jaw, observing each notable point of pain (places I know I “carry my stress”), and coax them to relax, each in turn. Another breath. Another exhalation. Another moment to relax. I may go back to bed soon, but I’m in the studio now. That puts a smile on my face that feels like it lights me up from within. I’m not up to much, but painting is not especially physically taxing, these days; I’m set up for the painter that I am now, not that much younger, more limber, painter I was in my 20s or 30s. (I recall with some amusement, painting a rather large piece in acrylic, and just not being able to find quite the right perspective from which to work, until I stood up, looming over it from above. I painted it standing over it, leaning down, legs wide for stability, blood rushing to my head, and managing both balance and control of my brush. I could not do that now.)
I look around the studio. There’s some tidying and set up to do before I can paint, because I took my paints to the coast last weekend. It seems so long ago now. I barely unpacked. S’ok. It’s something to do on a sick day at home that will keep me pleasantly occupied and feel just a bit like I’m doing something, instead of “wasting” the weekend taking care of myself. I sit with that for a few minutes. Why does self-care feel like “wasted” time, this morning? Why did it ever? Why does it now? Do I always experience self-care as a “waste of time”? I don’t think I do. Why now? Is it down to feeling resentful that I’m sick? These fragile mortal vessels are endlessly breaking down over some virus or microbe or injury – but the care needed to restore them to good working order isn’t wasted. It’s utterly necessary. There’s always so much to do in one mortal life. Being ill is what feels most like “wasted” time. I’m annoyed that I’m ill. I have other shit to do.
…And room for more…
I move around a bit. Set up the easel. Unpack the newly arrived Pastelbord. Put the brushes in their holder (which my Traveling Partner made for me). Unfurl the cotton dishtowels I use to protect surfaces (and other art) from pastel dust. Open the paintbox that holds my precious pastels – so many colors! I sigh contentedly, and for a moment being sick is irrelevant and I’m filled with joy. Odd that a box of colors can create such a feeling of wonder and joy. I savor the feeling while it lasts. (Feelings, like moments, are fleeting, impermanent.) I chuckle at the disarray. I foolishly left my paintbox open as it appears in the picture, and one day it got knocked to the floor by mistake. Pastels went everywhere, breaking as they fell against edges. I didn’t really sort them by color when I picked them up and put them back into their neat slots. I didn’t have it in me at the time.
…I don’t know which is more visually pleasing and artistically inspiring, the mad chaos of colors, or the carefully sorted arrangement by hue. My brain enjoys them differently, I suppose. As it turned out, becoming more used to painting it pastels, it became progressively more clear that sorting pastels into neat categories, rows, trays, color gradations, are all just ways to fiddle with the colors when no painting is going on. It’s not particularly necessary, nor useful (this is an opinion, your results may vary).
I finish my coffee. I finish my writing. It’s clear I’m still unwell. I contemplate going back to bed. I think about painting. The medications have all done their thing…good for what it is, but it leaves me feeling sort of dumb and slowed down, too. I think I’ll give in to that, go back to bed, and begin again later.
I woke with a certain feeling clinging to me as I pulled myself free of my dreams to face a new day.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I noticed the pain in my hands as I woke. Then the neuralgia in my face. I snarled silently at Thursday morning, thinking to myself “so it’s going to be like that, is it?”, as I dressed.
As I left the house, I stared at the starry sky with wonder. It still fills me with awe and delight. I recognize Orion overhead and smile; that was the first constellation I learned to recognize. The starry night sky inspires me.
I walk the familiar trail thinking about art, starry night skies, new moments, and inspiration. Nice morning for it. It’s dark but not cold. We haven’t yet had our first frost. That’s not strange here, only an observation. I pause on the trail at a spot with a particularly good view of the night sky, a little vexed by the pointlessly bright lights of the nearby construction site. I star gaze for a few minutes, rubbing my aching hands and enjoying the view before walking on.
I spent some time in the studio after work yesterday. I’m grateful that I could, and that I have dedicated space for creative work. That is an incredible luxury and I am fortunate.
“The Drain”, soft pastels, 2026
At my halfway point, I indulge myself with a long look at a picture of the piece I painted yesterday. It evokes something for me that I can’t quite name. I’m not entirely clear whether the art flows from the emotion…or creates it. At least, that is the case with this one. I felt pulled into the studio yesterday, as if drawn towards a painting not yet conceived, and walked out with a sense of something certain and final. Completed work, yes, and also as if I’d said something I didn’t have words for.
… What is that emotion called..?
I sigh and stuff my phone back into my pocket. I let my eyes readjust to the darkness. I rub my hands – more specifically my thumbs, where the newest arthritis has turned up. It seems likely that over time, perhaps quite slowly, it will become progressively more difficult to paint, as it becomes more difficult to hold pastels or brushes comfortably. I sit with the awareness awhile, not picking at it, not trying to wish it away or argue with it, simply aware, observing the sensation of pain and feeling the poignant hint of sorrow and maybe future disappointment. No reason to drag all that into this moment from a future that hasn’t yet occurred. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let the moment pass.
I meditate under the stars. The morning here is peaceful. For the moment, that is enough.
I catch myself squirming and twisting slowly, trying to find physical comfort. Yes, the arthritis is sometimes an absolute motherfucker to deal with, but…it could be worse. So much worse. I stretch and adjust my seated position and my posture. I silently acknowledge to myself that it’s the best I can do for the moment, and take my morning medication. That will help, too.
I write a bit, and watch the sky slowly begin to lighten. I love seeing the various gradual changes as night becomes day. Another sigh. I get to my feet. May as well begin again.
I get to the halfway point on my walk and take a seat on the bench that happens to be here. I breathe the autumn morning air deeply, filling my lungs then exhaling slowly. It’s a pleasantly mild morning. My breath is not visible.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning feels pretty good so far, although I’ve been slow to get going. I was awakened from a deep sound sleep and dreams that seemed snatched from another, other, life. Very real. Strangely practical. This morning feels better in spite of chronic pain, and in spite of my tinnitus. It feels better for what is missing more than what is going on in this moment; no feeds, none at all. I haven’t even looked at my calendar. It is telling how much difference it makes.
… I’m not telling you what to do, I am sharing what is working for me…
Scrolling feeds in the morning definitely fucks up my headspace, reducing my resilience and filtering my experience of “now” through all kinds of negativity and drama, and general bad news. It’s not actually good for “keeping me informed”, and hasn’t proven necessary at all. Any FOMO that develops reliably turns out to be as dumb as that acronym. People can and do live beautifully rich lives without doom scrolling through AI slop and advertisements.
I smile in the darkness, feeling light. There’s nothing newsworthy at all going on right here, right now… and that’s fine. It is a quiet, relatively dull moment. Life is full of such moments. Enjoy them! I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a nice spot to meditate and to reflect. I also don’t need feeds for that.
I see hints of daybreak in the lighter shade of the night sky. Cloudy. I wonder whether it might rain? I sigh to myself. I’d like to get my GMRS mobile radio installed in my car, weather permitting. I meant to yesterday and wonder where the time went? I remind myself again that I have an appointment this afternoon. I wonder what the traffic will be like? Oh sure, I could answer all those questions and more by opening one app or another on my device, but g’damn I am enjoying these “answer free” moments greatly, and really don’t care about the answers to any of those questions. It’s fine to wonder.
I sigh contentedly. I meditate. I reflect under the cloudy starless sky. It’s enough. I can begin again later – and I still won’t need a feed for that.
This morning I am reflecting on beauty. Thoughts and recollections of beautiful sights are one useful strategy to manage pain; if my mind is focused on beautiful recollections, it is not preoccupied with the experience of pain in that moment. Simple, right?
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Like a lot of simple ideas, it is more complicated than it sounds and requires steady practice to be really effective – but today my thumbs don’t hurt. I have been feeling deeply inspired lately, and it makes thoughts of beauty easier to focus on. I can explore inspiration in real depth, for a long while, and the pain seems to recede, no longer dominating my awareness. When my thumbs, specifically, are also hurting it becomes difficult to think about beauty and art, because the thoughts themselves redirect my attention back to my pain.
… Not this morning…
This morning I walk down the path more or less comfortably (less, much less), and the morning is slightly warmer. I’m dressed for it, that helps. Knee pain on the right, and a painful little hangnail on my left foot that I only noticed after I stepped out of the car to begin my walk. Arthritis pain up and down my spine. Nerve pain down my left hip. Rough morning for pain and pain management, so… I distract myself from it with thoughts of beauty, and paintings not yet painted. It works, mostly. My results vary.
Fall colors
Autumn colors excite me, and I enjoy the scent of autumn on the chilly breeze: fallen leaves, damp earth, and somewhere a warm hearth and the hint of a crackling fire last night. I am eager to be in my studio again, painting scenes of autumn. As I walk I think about recent sights. Beautiful sunrises. The glimmer of the setting sun across the ripples and slow currents of Siletz Bay. The vineyards becoming neat rows of yellow under cloudy skies. The oranges, rusts, and reds of deciduous trees mingling with the deep dark greens of various evergreens and pines. It is an outstanding season for painting.
I get to my halfway point and stop awhile. No starry sky this morning. Cloudy. Chilly. A quiet reminder of how vulnerable we are, as human beings. We have no fur, no claws, no savage fangs, no poison. We are fleshy and naked to the elements, and only our intelligence and adaptability keep us at or near the top of the food chain. I’m glad dressed warmly. I think awhile about humanity inventing clothing, and continuing to improve it over time. I shiver a bit in the cold in spite of my warm fleece over a warm fleece lined Henley.
I breathe the chilly autumn air and exhale it as a visible breath. I let my body relax. I repeat the simple practice for several minutes. I’m feeling pretty good, now, although chilly. Oh, look, it’s not meditation carrying the weight on this, as good as that sounds. I also remembered to take my meds on time and the Rx pain relief picks up where meditation leaves off. Sometimes ya gotta do both.
I gather my thoughts and get to my feet. I note happily that I’ve managed to stay focused on my own thoughts without giving any thought to work at all. That feels like an achievement, but acknowledging it feels like I just lost the game. 😂 I stretch and feel tension leave my body. It’s a good beginning. I wonder where today will take me?
