Archives for category: War and News of War

It’s freezing this morning. Icy. 28° Fahrenheit. Quite cold. I’m grateful for the base layers, gloves, scarf, and warm clothes keeping me mostly comfortable as I walk the foggy trail.

Winter, or something very like it.

I spent part of yesterday painting, but my inspiration was a bit gloomy, I guess, and it crept into the work. Still, getting the submerged fears about the world out of my head is probably helpful anyway.

“Urban Warfare (world on fire)” 5″ x 7″ pastel

The rest of the day was spent finishing the dishes after Thanksgiving (I finally got to the pots and pans!) and decorating the house for the Giftmas holiday ahead. Later, in the evening, the new tree went up, and in spite of my plan to decorate it today, I found myself getting most of the ornaments hung as the evening faded to night. I woke to see the glow of the holiday lights down the hall this morning, and it delighted me to see the tree first thing this morning.

It’s Giftmas time again. Feeling merry.

Today? Routine. There’s housekeeping to do, and another work week to prepare for.  My Traveling Partner spent a good portion of yesterday in the shop actually working. Without help. I’m so proud of him and so impressed! I know it isn’t easy. It’s so good to see him doing things he loves. I expect he’ll be in the shop again today, things to do that keep him motivated. New tools. New projects.

We talked some yesterday about my PTSD challenges this holiday season. It helped to share and have his understanding. Doesn’t make it “easier”, exactly, just…yeah, okay, maybe easier. lol

It’s cold this morning. My fingers are stiff now and writing is difficult. I feel the cold more, sitting here watching the sun rise through the fog. I guess it’s time to walk on. There’s stuff to do and it’s time to begin (again).

Sunrise, foggy morning, Mt Hood in the distance.

Sharing that important opinion? Don’t bother. I mean, okay, your opinion matters to you. It feels good, maybe even important, to “be heard”, and social media gives that sensation a tremendous immediacy, as though you can actually share your relevant (seeming) opinion with the important (seeming) people you perceive as capable of making changes, or needing to be informed of your (“obviously”) critical thoughts and perspective. Only… mostly? No one is actually listening, and generally no one gives a damn about the random commonplace utterly ordinary (often ill-informed) opinions of the average Everyperson on social media. Maybe you go viral because what you said is sufficiently amusing or poignant or well-stated – but mostly you won’t, and mostly no one is listening, and generally no one gives a shit. Hilariously, we’ve mostly (as a society) given up on snail mail, though it sometimes carries real weight. Even that, though, often just amounts to more “screaming into the void”, and trust me, most of what you feel most inclined to say with such urgency isn’t even novel or noteworthy or of any great import. It’s been said by someone somewhere already. Most likely. Human primates tend to be fairly conformist thinkers with limited imagination (in my opinion).

Posts on social media often just sound like someone shouting at their television. It’s pretty pointless and not even very gratifying. lol This? Right here? It’s an example of that; it’s my opinion. I didn’t do any actual research. I don’t actually “know more” than someone else does. It’s just my own impression, based on my own experience. Is it worth sharing? I’m willing to be sufficiently honest with myself to admit that I don’t know that it really is worth sharing; it’s just my opinion, and I’m choosing to share it without any certainty that it matters at all. Hell, it probably doesn’t, and it’s likely that very few people will read this, and fewer still will care.

I write because I write, it’s really that simple (for me). I’d be writing anyway, and this I do know for a fact based on my lived experience over many years. It’s too easy to get caught up in the bullshit drama and artificially inflated sense of importance on social media – so I left social media. I still talk back to thumbnail titles and news headlines, because so often the content isn’t worth actually watching or reading; everything I need to know is in the bullshit click-bait title, right there up front trying to get my attention, and seeking my engagement. I “engage”, more often than not, by commenting aloud whatever my personal bullshit opinion is, and I move on to the next item. This amuses me without inflaming anyone else, and it’s every bit as likely to “move the needle” on some issue (which is to say, not at all). Less time wasted of these precious limited mortal hours.

I’m feeling a tad cynical, I guess. I need to paint, and walk trails with my solitary thoughts, and distance myself from the many disappointments of humanity – and oh good g’damn there are so so many. Humanity kind of sucks, and our best efforts to do better are not nearly enough. Please keep trying though; the effort does matter. I silently remind myself to do my best, and that the journey is the destination. It’s not about what anyone else wants or needs from me. It’s about what I want and need from myself; to be the person I most want to be, the “best version” of myself that I can become over time.

I sigh quietly, looking out into the morning fog. It’s a chilly autumn morning, and this morning I am waiting for the sun. It’s Saturday, and there is no hurry. The morning is mine.

I sit with my thoughts and my coffee. Later, I’ll begin again. It’s my path, and I’ll walk it my way.

Disappointment and sorrow are part of the human experience. So are misogyny and poor decision making, I guess. I feel sad this morning. It’ll pass. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take time for gratitude.

I’m fortunate. I’ve got a nice little house in a good neighborhood. I’m married to a man I adore and who loves me unreservedly with his whole heart. I’ve got a good job and my health is better than it’s been in a long time. My commute each morning is a pleasant one, and I enjoy long walks on lovely trails nearly every day. The bills are paid. The pantry is stocked. My stepson helps around the house. It’s a good life and I am fortunate. Four years feels like a long time, but it will pass, and the future is unwritten.

It isn’t generally helpful to waste time on anger that can be better spent on joy. It isn’t generally helpful to grieve horrible shit that hasn’t actually happened yet. I do my best with it, sitting here quietly before my walk, thinking my thoughts.

Another breath. I lace up my boots. It’s time to begin again.

Memory is a funny thing. Mine can be a little hit or miss (probably a consequence of head trauma and brain damage). Visceral detailed memories of places, events, and people are often triggered by qualities of light, or some scent on a breeze, or some little thing that seems entirely unrelated, until the memory unfolds to the point at which the dots are connected. Sometimes troubling, often delightful, the memory pours forth and I have a new opportunity to remember and reflect.

… I take a lot of notes, keep a careful calendar, and for many years (decades) kept an exceedingly detailed journal, just to cope with my shitty memory…

Yesterday, as I sat with a coffee at a local cafe, the recollection of a sidewalk cafe on a sunny morning in Paris surfaced. I sat enjoying the recollection for a pleasant while.

A couple days ago, as I walked through the small local library, the smell of books mingled with the librarian’s fragrance, and the late morning light filling the room called to mind some very different long ago place – a visit to the Dom Cathedral in Augsburg, Germany, which I visited several times as a young soldier.

These aren’t particularly rare memories. Hell, I doubt they are even unique to my own experience, considering how popular these places and experiences are. I just happen to have them (also). Other days, other recollections. I sometimes find myself thinking I should write them down,  otherwise, when I go, they go with me…

… But I’m not certain they even “matter”, really, they’re simply a small part of who I am…

I sit quietly with my coffee letting the recollections flow by. Recent memories like sharing dinner last night with my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer. Chili – it was good. More distant memories, too, like elaborate Thanksgiving dinners at Grandmother and Grandfather’s house, which were a really big deal with the cousins from Texas and the Dakotas coming for the holiday. The Christmas Market in Augsburg. Softcrab sandwiches at the harbor in Annapolis. Long walks in the mountain foothills near Grants Pass, Oregon. Orienteering with my unit at Ft AP Hill in the summertime. Hunting with my Dad on cold autumn mornings. The war. My first paycheck.The first time my now-Traveling-Partner ever touched me. That afternoon he asked me if I wanted to get married.

…So many memories make up a lifetime…

I sip my coffee grateful for my memories. I put on my boots and grab my cane to go make another before the work day begins.

… Isn’t it time to begin again?

So far pretty nearly everything this morning has gone at least a little bit wrong, starting with the restless night of poor quality sleep that preceded the start of the day. Realistically, I know to expect some days will be like this, and this one is certainly one of those.

I woke up on time, and even remembered the errand my Traveling Partner asked me to handle before I went to the office (getting the mail), while kindly expressing reservations about asking me to do more, out of concern for my fatigue and the amount of pain I’ve been in day-to-day. That was a pretty good start, and I would leave it there and overlook the smaller stuff (I tried), but as shit started going wrong, it got harder…

… I’d failed to lay out clothes for the work day and stumbled through my morning routine self-conscious about the noise I was obviously making…

… I spilled iced tea all over the floor while setting up my partner’s morning beverages…

…as I was picking up the mail, i dropped it into the street as I returned to the car and then shut my hand in the car door while trying to put my seatbelt on, to return the mail to the house…

… the coffee place I prefer (lowest price, best black coffee) was closed – the opening barista never showed up…

… the backup coffee stand was slow, and the coffee is pretty awful…

… traffic was bad and I got stuck behind a line of cars all stuck behind a truck going 40 mph on the highway during the commuter “rush”…

…I got to the trailhead too late to get a walk in at all (or write)…

… my medication alarm went off as I prepared to give up on my routine altogether, startling me, and my shaking hands fumbled my pillbox, tossing my entire day’s meds all over the floor of the car, much of which I never did find at all…

The drive to the office was thankfully entirely uneventful in every way. I’m not sure I could have endured another misstep this morning!

A less than ideal start to the day, for sure, and I’m “still dealing with it”, like ripples on a pond after throwing a rock into still water. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The office is quiet – and also uncomfortably cold. G’damn, what is with this day?? I sigh, and think of my Traveling Partner’s voice, saying “I’m worried about you. I depend on you. Slow down. Take care of you.” He’d be right to suggest that I slow down, although I don’t feel any sense of moving quickly, it surely couldn’t hurt to slow down and be measured and considerate with my movements, decisions, and even my thoughts.

I take the time to make a pour-over in the office break kitchen – a properly good cup of coffee will help, just by being a comforting ritual, and a pleasant moment. I remind myself, for perspective, that there will be other sunrises, other walks, and more pleasant easier other mornings – no need to take this one so personally. It definitely isn’t personal, just circumstances. Another breath, and a renewed commitment to non-attachment is also helpful. I make time to meditate, and let the morning’s aggravation fall away. It’s behind me now. I can begin again. It’s so easy to burn through limited emotional resilience in a few minutes of aggravation over small shit – and it can be challenging to restore what has been lost, but it’s for sure not impossible. I slow down, slower, and let myself have a few minutes to write and reflect and gain perspective. I breathe, exhale, and relax – and repeat as needed. I make a point to notice that I arrived at the office very much “on time” in every sense of the word, and in theory this puts the whole day back on track, aside from the spilled pills.

…No use crying over spilled milk pills…

I smile, and feel some of my tension dissolve; I’ve got a small assortment of “back up meds” that I keep in the office, mostly to ensure I don’t miss them if I forget to grab the day’s medication on my way out of the house some morning. Part of coping with a brain injury is an assortment of “tactical practices” that anticipate common challenges. My results vary – but I’m familiar with my most common “fail points”, and it’s a small thing to plan ahead for such occurences, so I do. (I mean, I try; my results vary.) My sense of “timing” still feels a little off, and somehow this cup of coffee tastes vaguely like curry (which is super weird, but fortunately I don’t find that to be an unpleasant flavor). I’m okay for most values of “okay”, and restarting the day feels within reach.

…So I do that…

It’s a new day. There are no bombs dropping on my town. There are no wildfires burning nearby. The autumn weather is relatively mild and rather pleasant. My pain seems to be at a relatively ordinary and rather manageable level today. I missed my walk, sure, but the sun will rise shortly, and the office is in a safe neighborhood; I can walk over my lunch break. I have a good sense of what I need to get done today at work, and that feels manageable, too. I make some oatmeal, sip my weird coffee, and begin again.