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Again.

August 27, 2026 //
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I woke groggy, struggling to fully wake, and feeling clumsy. My sleep was oddly restless, my dreams filled my mind to overflowing. My Traveling Partner communicated his own poor sleep as I prepared to leave for my walk. No harsh words or raised voices between us, just sharing. Uncertain that I really had the wherewithal even to walk a well-maintained and partially lit trail, I picked up coffee on my way.

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

I reached the trailhead still feeling so ridiculously groggy, I reclined the drivers seat, and closed my eyes for a moment, “just a quick power nap” I thought to myself as I closed my eyes.

… I woke an hour later, just as daybreak began to yield to the rising sun…

The dawn of a new day… I rub the sleep from my eyes, swallow about half of my now-tepid coffee. It’s not great. I grimace at the aftertaste and step onto the trail.

The eastern sky is a pale wash of peach and orange fading into blue overhead, swept with gray clouds. I keep walking until I reach my halfway point. My mind doesn’t wander far from the path this morning, and I’m still sleepy. Wtf? So groggy…

A cloudy morning, no rain.

The western sky is cloudy, with nothing much to see. A little like the clouds sweeping across the eastern sky reached the western horizon and hit a wall, crumbling there and piling against each other. I yawn unexpectedly, although predictably, still groggy. Thursday? Thursday. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and later a dentist appointment, too. Another yawn. For fucks sake, there’s an entire day yet ahead of me and I’m still struggling to wake up, a mile down this trail! I laugh to myself, grateful for a new day.

Watching the striped layers of clouds changing colors as the sun rises.

I yawn again and get to my feet. I may as well finish this walk and enjoy it. There’s more coffee on the other side… and I can begin the day from there.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

On Death and Impermanence

August 26, 2026 //
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Some time ago, I left myself a note scrawled in a notebook I keep tucked in my handbag.

Write about death, art, what we leave behind, how little anyone will care or remember. Talk about how we yearn, and take, and build, and how little it matters and all of our destruction for what? Admit to the hypocrisy of even writing about it. Ponder meaning and impermanence.

Yeah…or don’t? I read about Dolly Parton dying with little surprise and an unexpected feeling of real sorrow. I don’t listen to her music much, and she still managed to touch my life. How strange.

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

I head down the trail in the darkness. Sunrise is a way off yet. By the first hint of daybreak I reach my halfway point, still pondering Dolly Parton. She seemed to have been equally famous for her music and her genuine goodness, and I saw her relationship as a powerful model of what partnership over a lifetime could look like. How often are truly decent good people ever famous? She did a lot in life to spread that around, too.

…In a world where you can choose to be a Donald Trump or a Dolly Parton, wouldn’t being Dolly be by far the better choice? I’m just saying, clearly being a good person didn’t hold Dolly back at all. Choose wisely. The path ahead is your own.

I sit thinking about choices, and kindness, and being the best version of myself I know how to be, in spite of physical pain, in spite of chaos and damage, in spite of circumstances. Dolly made it look easy, but looking at those hairdos and those outfits, and reading some of her backstory, I very much doubt “easy” was part of the package. She did the verbs, though, and this does tend to support the idea that they can be done.

… And she leaves behind her art, as a musician, and so many memories for people whose lives she touched. As legacies go, that’s pretty big. Impermanence is what it is, and someday everything and everyone that ever existed on this earth, and even the very planet herself will be gone, and maybe then, Dolly will be forgotten, along with the rest of us… But for all the time humanity lingers, creating lives and memories on this mud ball hurtling through space, we have a chance to be better than our worst impulses, and to create a world that says something wonderful about who we were, once we’re gone. That seems worthwhile.

I sit with that thought awhile. Daybreak comes. It’s a bit cooler today. I’m grateful for the cool of the morning. It’s likely to be another hot day. I slept well and deeply, waking only once, and rather early in the night, for no obvious reason. I’m rested, but also uncomfortable. It’s mostly just arthritis, and I do my best to let it go with minimal success. I find myself a little aggravated that today is a work day, but also grateful just to have a job at all.

I sigh to myself. Sometimes life feels like an endless series of compromises between equally unpleasant choices, although I know that is an illusion. There are so many more choices available, and my choices to compromise this or that are my own. I smile to myself at the reminder and stretch, feeling my body welcome the movement. I feel okay for most values of “okay”, and it’s a lovely morning to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Art, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

I Dunno, Something?

August 25, 2026 //
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Weird morning. Routine, I guess, but my head is in a different place. This morning my tinnitus is crazy loud. My sleep felt interrupted, and my dreams were surreal. “Begin again,” I remind myself, but I feel a bit as if I’m standing on a narrow ledge in darkness.

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

I sigh to myself as I walk. The darkness of the predawn sky is already beginning to lighten. Daybreak soon. I feel strangely separated from my experience, like I’m not quite connected to the moment. I breathe the summer air, inhaling deeply, tasting the scents of summer, exhaling until my lungs empty. I keep walking. I pull my attention back to “now”, this moment right here, again and again. A few steps later, I’m lost in my thoughts to no useful purpose all over again.

… Some people call it “ennui”, rather poetically. A therapist might call it “anhedonia”. A simpler soul might admit that they “just don’t really give a shit”, and move on from there. I don’t think it matters too much how I label the experience this morning. That’s even part of it. The vague sense that “nothing matters”, was the characteristic that alerted me of “where I’m at” most clearly. So, okay, now what…?

I stop at my halfway point to write and reflect and meditate. My head is stuffy this morning, and the feeling of being somewhat breathless probably contributes to the unsettling background anxiety. I reach for my tissues, deal with my sinuses, and return my attention to the moment. Meditation is hard this morning. I’m used to caring deeply about these details and this precious quiet time. This morning? I don’t much care one way or the other. I’m here. I exist. I seem to serve no clear purpose. I sigh again, a little frustrated with my bullshit.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I repeat that again, and still again, and I sit quietly with my breath, letting that be enough. It doesn’t make me suddenly care about everything all over again, but it also doesn’t demand it of me. I let myself exist. I let that be enough. Another breath, another moment, and the clock keeps ticking.

I run my fingers through my hair. It feels soft. I watch the sky lighten slowly. I sit listening to my tinnitus, and feeling the physical sensations of being human. Sometimes the best I can do is just be, and to do so without creating problems for someone else. This moment will pass, and then I can more easily begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

An Impressive Effort

August 24, 2026 //
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The sky is clear and starry this morning. I sit with my thoughts beside this trail, at more or less the midway point of this morning’s walk. I reflect on the weekend, the high points and the occasional “wrong notes” in life’s symphony. Generally speaking, it was a good weekend.

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

Yesterday my beloved Traveling Partner was dealing with a lot of physical pain, which sucked for him far more than it affected me, because he did a masterful job of regulating his emotions and kept his communication comfortably emotionally neutral most of the day, even when frustrated. It was a powerful demonstration of how much work and discipline go into that effort, and why it is worth it. I felt relieved this morning to read a message sent during the night, letting me know he had gotten some relief after a most unpleasant day of pain, because I hate seeing him suffer and want only the best for him. I am hoping he has a better day today.

… I’m seriously impressed with how skillfully he prevented his difficult experience from becoming personal, and how much work he put into not lashing out at me over being in pain. His emotions got the better of him once or twice, and I certainly can’t criticize; under similar circumstances, I think I’d have struggled more and done less well…

…We become what we practice.

This morning begins a new day, and a new week. Monday. I can’t say I’m particularly enthused about work, this morning. My tinnitus is buzzing, chiming, and whining in my ears. My head aches. My back aches. My feet ache when I walk or stand on them. G’damn, fuck aging. 😆 I sigh to myself and admit silently that aging may have some unpleasant moments, but it still beats currently available alternatives.

The predawn gloom begins to lighten a bit. Standing nearby is a small herd of deer. Two does and three fawns nibble grass and choice green leaves in the tangle of drying weeds and wildflowers at the edge of the path. They seem aware of me, but unconcerned. I shift my position, trying to escape the arthritis pain in my spine. The deer move along down the path. The sky continues to lighten. Daybreak soon.

I begin the week with a persistent feeling that I’m forgetting something. The feeling is no indicator of truth, it’s just a feeling (an annoying one, for real). I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let that feeling go. It’s common on a Monday, and I suspect it has to do with the unstated difficulty of “getting back to work”, each week. I exhale, and let it go again. It’s not even time to start the work day.

I take a deep breath of the cool summer air. I’m grateful that the wind is carrying the wildfire smoke another direction. We’re basically surrounded on three sides by wildfires this summer, and the clear sky and fresh air are 100% reliant on wind direction.

I sit quietly with this pleasant moment, savoring the solitude and the peace. I feel fortunate to have this experience at all. I feel fortunate to be able to write about it. Fortunate to have you here reading it. The world is in a sorry state these days… I think about what I can do, myself, to make it just a little better, if only in my tiny corner. (I’ll definitely be voting, when the time comes.)

The sun begins to rise. An orange wash along the eastern horizon spreads out, silhouetting the trees along the bank of the South Yamhill River, beyond the vineyard. I watch, feeling calm and unbothered. It’s a new day, suitable for beginning again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Something a Little Different

August 23, 2026 //
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I slept in this morning (for some values of sleeping in), beginning the morning in the usual way, otherwise. I woke with a plan and a measure of real excitement. My knee has been bothering me, and my Traveling Partner suggested I give it a rest, and skip my walk (cane or no cane, 1-3 miles on it is a lot of demand when it’s clearly recovering from injury). So…

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

…I planned a different sort of morning, one that took advantage of temporary injury for other sorts of fun, and I packed up my RC car and added to that my GMRS radio , and my bag of fun was waiting for me in the morning, as I left the house. I picked up a coffee on my way up to the location I had in mind, and entertained myself with learning the features of the radio, and monitoring local channels. There’s a lot to learn – and a lot of “lost knowledge” to regain. It’s fun.

A little later I drove to a nearby town that has an RC car racetrack thinking I’d check it out. I got as far as the parking lot. 😆 The closest parking was still going to require a bit of a walk, partly down a steepish slope, on a barked path. I decide to stick with giving my knee a break and head back to my previous location, which has a big spacious parking lot that is empty on a Sunday. I drive my RC car awhile, enjoying myself immensely, practicing useful skills that make driving the car more fun.

…Even things like basic steering take practice, which I recall being the case when I was learning to drive a full size car for the first time, too…

Painting? Maybe later. I’ve got pastel-ready cardstock coming, and pastel “pencils” (they aren’t really pencils, but crafted such that they are more suited to lines than to shading), but it may be a couple weeks before they arrive. I smile, feeling fortunate and wrapped in contentment. There’s housework to get done, too. I keep postponing properly finishing moving back into my studio and outfitting my wee library as a functional space for quiet reflection and meditation. I shrug it off and go on with racing my RC car back and forth the length of this huge open space, zipping between and around the planted islands and working to improve the precision of my turns.

A sprinkle of rain prompts me to take this break, and I sit happily writing, and monitoring a local repeater on my radio. My beloved and I are both dealing with pain this morning. I’m not rushing back (certainly not any time soon), though I enjoy his company. I’m enjoying the morning on my own terms, racing my RC car and getting refamiliarized with radio procedures. The static reminds me how I most likely came by much of my tinnitus, and I feel a strange, warm nostalgia for a long gone chapter of my life that was mostly pure hell – but I was also serving my country, and still proud to be doing so. Funny how complicated our emotions can be.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The sprinkling has stopped. The pavement isn’t even damp. I probably could have kept driving, but didn’t want to risk damage to my car – it’s still new and I’m careful with it. I happily set the car onto the pavement again. I’ve got plenty of battery life left. I switch from my regular glasses to my shades to improve my distance vision as the brightness of the morning increases.

An older woman walking a dog and a child approaches and I bring the car back to me, stopping it at my feet (so I wouldn’t be tempting the dog to chase it. We exchange a greeting. She asks about the car as the kid squats down to get a better look. How hard are they to drive? Are they safe for kids? How much do they cost? Is there someplace local that has them? The kid has only two questions: how fast will it go and can they drive my car?

After a bit of conversation, and making certain the dog is well controlled, I run the car down the length of the parking lot at max speed and circle back, managing to drift beautifully on the turn (and totally fronting like that shit was deliberate and enjoying the excited squeals of the kid watching). I stop the car at my feet and give the kid, a chill youngster of 8 by the name of Ash, a turn driving after securing a promise to drive gently and to stay in this section of parking lot. Her grandmother takes down some notes about where the hobby shop is. She suggests to Ash that if her parents are okay with it she’ll take her there next weekend. She grins at me excitedly and hands back the controller, and they walk on.

… Sometimes people are okay…

I wave as they walk away, and turn my attention back to my car… can I get that drift in the turn down as a reliable skill? So much to learn… Time to begin. Again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being
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