Archives for category: Spring
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Reach

March 12, 2025 //
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Good morning, and hello, to Readers in Beaverton and Portland (Oregon), Dallas (Texas), Seattle (Washington), Toronto (Canada), Zhengzhou and Shanghai (China), New York City (New York), Lawrenceville (Georgia), and Lincoln (Nebraska) – where, apparently, most of y’all live. Welcome – and thank you. I like taking a look at the data on this blog now and then – figured I’d make a point of thanking you for being here (seems polite), and also pointing out that this amount of data does exist, and is being collected, most places. Choose your privacy settings with care, my friends.

I watched an interesting (for many values of “interesting”) and somewhat disturbing (eye-opening? informative?) video last night with thought-provoking title “End of Capitalism“. Absolutely relevant to current events, certainly worth watching, but rather disappointingly ending with a sponsorship for a service I find troubling, for reasons of its own – and there’s a useful video about that, here (or you could just read “Manufacturing Consent” with is disturbingly relevant right now). Both worth watching, both potentially distressing if you care about the future success of humanity. It’s not my role to tell you what to think, what to do, or how to live your life – but, it may be time to reconsider subscription services that feel convenient vs real things you can hold in your hand and truly own? You are worth more than your data, and your attention span – and if those things have so much value in this modern world, perhaps we should be directly compensated for them?

…Just thoughts over coffee, words on a page…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day, there are new choices ahead of me, new things to do and see and experience. There are verbs involved. I am making my own way, walking my own path. I don’t know what the future holds – and I don’t need it to be “fancy” or luxurious. I’m quite content with “enough”. I think about that for awhile. What really is “enough” (for me, personally)?

I sip my coffee and reflect with gratitude on “basics” like reliably potable drinking water, hot water at the tap, indoor plumbing, dishwashers, washing machines, and all manner of conveniences that it is so easy to take for granted – these things are not a given everywhere in the world (not even in every American household). I’m fortunate. No, there’s no “Lambo” in my garage. I don’t need one (don’t want one). There are no diamonds on my fingers (again, a frivolity I don’t need). I’ve got what I need day-to-day, though, and I can fill my gas tank when it’s empty, and count on groceries. It hasn’t always been that way. I’ve had times of struggle, scrounging in couch cushions and under the seats of the car hoping to find enough change to put a couple dollars of gasoline in the gas tank to get to work another day or two, wondering if I’d get to the next payday, and whether the rent check would clear. As I said, I’m fortunate to be where I am. Bills paid, pantry stocked, tank filled. I’m not bragging – I’m relieved, and grateful, to be where I am. There’s no guarantee I’ll be here, always. I make time in my morning for the gratitude. It’s a good way to begin the day.

I’ve got a doctor’s appointment today, then work, then home, then… life. It’s all part of living life, isn’t it? The working. The coping. The getting shit done. I remind myself to also practice good self-care, and to find time to take it easy now and then. This isn’t a sprint – it’s an endurance race without a finish line.

…It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

As If In Another Life

March 10, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee thinking about a strange dream from which I woke this morning, groggy and unprepared for a new day. (I really don’t like the change to DST at all; I’ll be groggy in the morning for days to come.) In this dream, I’d somehow made my way into the basement of a large modern museum, and from wainscot to rafters that space was hung with my art – but only that difficult-to-access basement space. lol Large work, small work, framed, unframed – crammed along the walls, a chaos of color, mostly unsigned. I recognized all of it – even the pieces I haven’t yet painted – and I could examine each one clearly, and recall when (and why) it was painted. I walked through the space, eyes wide with wonder to see it all – so much! There were other things to this dream, a shared living space elsewhere, other artists (with whom I am not yet acquainted), friends (some of whom had slyly snatched a favorite piece from the walls of that place to take along for their own personal joy). What had my attention was the art – so much of it! The pieces I hadn’t yet painted drew my attention most often, and most clearly. I examined them closely, hoping to understand the journey ahead of me more clearly… “When will I paint that?” I wondered as I walked.

Waking up was a bit disappointing; I wasn’t finished looking yet, and had just gotten into a deep discussion with an old friend about a particular piece he was making his own. I wanted to tell him all I knew about it, but he stopped me. “I want to keep the mystery of it,” he said smiling, “I want to love the work in spite of anything to do with the artist”. When I woke, the thought that lingered was “how much of an artist’s signature is simply ego, nothing at all to do with the work? What might the signature take away from the work?” A lot of my work happens to be unsigned, not for any lack of intention to sign it but only because it’s generally the thing I do last – after the piece is entirely finished, the paint dried, and the work ready to sell or to hang, and because I’ve more or less lost interest in continuing to work on it at that point… I forget to sign it, until it’s necessary because the piece has sold. lol Now I’m wondering if there may be value in not ever signing some pieces, at all, and leaving that mystery intact? I sign quietly to myself, and a bit cynically; if I took that approach, sooner or later someone else would likely claim some particularly good or interesting piece as their work… and my ego rebels. There’s something here to think about… maybe later.

I sip my coffee quietly. This morning it feels… medicinal. I’m so damned groggy. Head still foggy from my dreams, feeling not quite awake, yet, though it’s been nearly two hours since I woke. Everything seems to take longer, and feels somehow less “fluid”, less routine, and taking more than usual concentration and effort. Putting words together feels a bit cumbersome and awkward. My morning oatmeal is an exercise in will; it is 100% quite disgusting this morning, and I wonder why I bother. Nothing “sounds good”, and I am noise-sensitive, and a bit cranky – I’d rather be painting. lol I have in mind a particular piece I saw in my dream… my fingers itch to put it to canvas or paper, to see it come alive in front of my eyes. (Was I actually using the heads of thumb-tacks in that composition – or were those sequins? Where did I get so much gold dust??) I chuckle softly; now is not that time. Even as the thought crosses my mind, I recognize that trying to create that piece today would only be a dim copy; it is not of this moment. I don’t work in that style or with those materials, these days. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let the dream fade away as I sip my coffee. This coffee is so good this morning, and I am grateful to have it.

I look at my reflection in the window, a mirror in the predawn darkness. I look tired. (I feel tired.) I watch myself stretch, and gently rub the frown lines from my forehead. This too will pass, I remind myself. It’s already time to begin again, anyway…

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Categories Allegories, Art, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Perspective, Spring, The Art of Being, Words

It’s the Change, Not the Time

March 9, 2025 //
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The clock says 06:14, and I’m sitting at the trailhead waiting for daybreak. Daylight Savings Time began, again, today. I dislike DST fiercely. I don’t think that is unreasonable; twice yearly my timing and my body are given an additional helping of chaos and discomfort for no good reason. The seasons are what they are. DST doesn’t actually change the length of a day. The change to the clocks, though, is legitimately disruptive.

I set my alarm this morning, rather cleverly I thought, for 05:45 – an hour later than usual, so, for the usual time. It’s a Sunday, and I have no need to be up earlier. Figured I’d give myself a break from the chaos and start dealing with it on the other end of the day. The clock said 05:00 when I woke to… a noise? The sound of a voice, puzzled or bewildered? Something. Shit. Okay, I went ahead and dragged myself through my routine, although my body and brain insisted it was only 04:00 and I could have tried to sleep a bit longer. I was awake, for most values of “awake”. (Ah, DST, my old nemesis, you got me again!)

… I don’t actually care that I’m up so early. I often am…

I’ve got plenty of time.

As I drove up the road, I caught a glimpse of the moon half full, low on the horizon and quite huge. Beautiful and strangely golden in hue, I was tempted to pull over and watch her set, but chose to drive on. I regretted my choice almost immediately, it was just that beautiful and rare a sight to see. The morning is peculiarly spooky at the trailhead. There is a clear sky overhead, planets twinkling, shining brightly enough to be visible in spite of the glare of urban lights below, and there’s a dense mist clinging low to the ground here at the edge of the marsh. It’s an interesting effect. Chilly morning. I sit waiting quietly, feeling sort of sleepy, thinking thoughts.

I sit with my thoughts, sipping the coffee I picked up on the way, grateful to have it. Grateful for the quiet moment. Grateful generally, if I’m being honest. I’ve got a list of things to do later, but none of it needs my attention now, and I’m not in much pain today, so far. Win. I meditate. Sip my coffee. Let these quiet minutes tick by gently. I watch the sky begin to lighten ever so slowly as the mist thickens, obscuring other details.

Daybreak comes.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Soon enough, it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Frustration, gratitude, health, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

An Interesting Coincidence

March 8, 2025 //
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I’m watching the sunrise, preparing for my walk, boots on, between moments, when I am struck by an interesting coincidence in timing. It is Lent for many Christian observers. It is also the time of year many gardeners know as “the hungry gap”, that time between the last of the winter crops, and before the earliest Spring crops are ready, and during which there is little fresh produce available. (I pause to appreciate what an amazing thing a global supply chain and supermarket produce actually is for humanity.) It’s interesting timing that Lent happens to occur – with its ritual fasting – right at the time when the food supply is likely to be at its least plentiful. I don’t have anything to say about that. I just think it’s interesting.

Sunrise

I set off down the trail, walking with my thoughts. There’s work to do in the garden. The neighborhood feral cat that menaced my garden for the past four years died during the winter. My Spring garden (so far) is undisturbed by constant digging and cat shit, for which I am grateful. It vexed me having to deal with that. It bodes well for the flower beds, too. I proposed putting in a second raised bed this year and my Traveling Partner seems open to the idea. I mentally calculate the cost of the lumber, and the soil to fill it… These are times when there is profound benefit to growing as much of our own food as we can. I’m grateful to have that option.

I sit with my garden thoughts at the halfway point of my walk, enjoying the chill of a Spring morning and the solitary luxury of having the trail to myself. A small herd of deer step past me quietly. I pretend I don’t see them, and avoid sudden movements. This is a lovely moment and I savor it. I’m not in any hurry. The overcast morning sky is streaked with blue-gray clouds. It’s doesn’t feel like rain, it’s just a rather gray morning, now. Geese and ducks drift quietly on the marsh ponds. Nutria go about their business at the edges.

I walk on.

I stop later, it’s a longish walk, and sit for a little while on a fallen oak. It’s a nice spot to rest. Not much of a view; scrub grass cluttered with sparse oaks, horizon obscured by nearby trees and brambles. I’m near the river, but I don’t hear it as it flows by quietly. I only hear the geese overhead, and the sound of distant traffic on the highway at the edge of the park. Robins ignore me, as they pick through the leaves left behind by autumn, looking for a bit of breakfast.

I sit quiet, aware, observing. Sometimes it’s enough to simply be, here, now. I don’t really need more. This is enough. I sigh quietly, contentedly. I enjoy the moment, the birdsong, the soft breeze, and the feeling of contentment and joy. I linger here awhile, understanding that moments are fleeting, and this one will pass. That’s okay. Still worth being here for it.

I’ve got a list of things to do, later. I get up, stretch, and brush off my jeans. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

What the Future Holds

March 7, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about the future. I wonder what it holds? I mean, besides uncertainty… It’s not yet written. I’m making it right now (so are you) with every choice, every action, and my participation in any circumstance in which I may be involved (and perhaps some in which I am not directly involved at all). The future is… complicated. We can’t see what is on the path ahead, but we keep right on walking toward the next bend. We have to; the journey is the the destination. Even standing still (metaphorically) doesn’t halt our forward progress through time. The clock is always ticking.

I’m 97 days away from my next birthday. There were years in my life when I could not imagine being in this place, or having come this far. I couldn’t even begin to plan for a future I felt fairly certain (at some points) that I would not live to see. I did a pretty shitty job of being prepared for this place in life… older. Aging. Feeling my capabilities descreasing as my wisdom and joy in life increase. Wanting to retire but needing to continue working. “Complicated” doesn’t begin to explain it in any simply way, it merely obscures the nuances of the truth. I’m not even complaining – I’m just thinking about it and feeling rather mortal. My time is finite. I wonder how much I have left? Would I choose to “live forever” if I could? I think I might, actually, yeah – even as unprepared for that as I am. I rather enjoy living this life, and seeing each sunrise. I’m definitely not bored with it, and there is so much more to learn and do and see and experience.

I’m not feeling discontented this morning. I’m not even in much pain – quite manageable, and I’m grateful for that. I got a good night’s rest, after a rather trying day yesterday, and I’m feeling fairly relaxed and on the edge of feeling actually… merry. Joyful. Grateful. Almost… happy. But I still wonder how many grains of sand remain in the hourglass… and what lies beyond?

There are things to do – I have a list – and I’m looking forward to most of them. The weather has been tempting me out into the garden, and it’s a lovely way to occupy my time productively, and happily. I smile when I think about my childhood resentment of having to spend time on my hands and knees weeding the garden, or preparing the soil, or moving things from here to there to help out in a garden I had no particular fondness for. I think I was only about 19 when my perspective on that changed. Certainly by the time I was 22, I was eager to create and nurture a garden of my own. I remember my very first roses fondly (Mr Lincoln, and Olympiad, which were part of the landscape of a little house in Texas I’d moved into). They changed my mind about roses, and I’ve grown roses ever since. Isn’t it strange how our perspective can change over time? How what matters most evolves over a lifetime of experience?

Roses on a sunny day. Impermanent. Like moments.

Beyond the garden, my to-do list is all practical things, part of taking care of hearth and home. I’m yearning to paint, but there are things that come first as priorities. I’m hoping perhaps to make a trip to the coast over the vernal equinox, to relax for a few days and paint, and get some solo time…but… there are costs to consider, and I’d very much like to avoid “Spring break” crowds (just not my thing, too much noise and chaos). I frown at my calendar… when is Spring break, anyway? I feel almost relieved to see that Spring break is the week following the equinox…but… can I make it work? I sigh to myself. I can remember being less “responsible”, but while that seemed to be “more fun” in some ways, it was a rocky path and one that I don’t care to walk these days. I’d rather plan with care, and choose wisely, and work within the limitations of my resources in a practical way. Less stress. Weather permitting, I’m pretty comfortably equipped for plein air painting, and there are some lovely spots for it locally. I could just take the time, stay fairly close to home, and make day trips to see things from a new perspective, paint awhile, and return home. I sit with that thought and sip my coffee as the sun rises. It starts to sound like a real adventure of a sort I rarely indulge. My mind wanders the map in my head of places I could go, handy picnic tables with pleasing views… will the weather cooperate?

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.

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Categories art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60
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