The sun is rising, shining beautiful hues of gold and brilliant white light into the office through these big windows. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel encouraged by recent developments in my life, and plans I’m making for camping in May. I feel “more well” than I have for awhile, and moment-to-moment, day-to-day, even my pain feels just a bit more managed – and manageable. It is “real”? I don’t know, but I enjoy the feeling in this moment as if it is. Why not? Savoring our small joys and moments of delight, pleasure, contentment, joy, and wonder fuel us for future moments that are perhaps less than ideal.
Taking a moment in the morning.
Minutes pass. I sip my coffee, contentedly. Pleasant morning. Looks like a pleasant day ahead. My tinnitus chimes, rings, hisses, and buzzes in my ear loud enough to obscure the sound of the ventilation. I sigh quietly; I can hear that, and it helps anchor me to the “hear and now”. 🙂
I think about the upcoming camping, eagerly planning details in my head, then replanning them, then considering new questions, other options, different details. This will continue until the weekend before I go, most likely. That’ll be when I pull my gear out of winter storage, and look it over for anything needing repair, or replacement. I’ll restock consumables, if necessary, and check things for “use by” dates that may have passed. I’m camping a Monday through Friday plan, and although I may not stay the full week, I’ll be ready to. I’ll pack up the car on Sunday, and leave early Monday morning after I wake, and maybe after coffee with my Traveling Partner (if he’s up, that’s a lovely way to start a day).
I glance at the clock. It’s already time to begin again…
I’m sipping on the very last of my morning coffee. It’s past noon. It was an iced coffee, though, so it’s still quite nice (if you like coffee). I’m taking a break, pausing my mind and giving myself a real rest for a couple minutes, before moving on to the next busy moment. The sky beyond the window is a brilliant clear blue, something between a “robin’s egg” and a cerulean hue. The sunshine reflects off the residential tower across the park and dazzles me. I consider drawing down the shade a bit to reduce the glare… but… later. For now, I’m enjoying the beautiful blue of the sky.
El Gato – my cat neighbor.
I sip my coffee and think about my garden. The neighbor’s cat started shitting in my damned garden again – ah, yes, signs of Spring! lol Yeah, for now I’m still laughing. El Gato (my nickname for him) is a cranky old half-feral tomcat much-loved by neighborhood children, and fed by my next-door neighbor. He’s not all that friendly, and very particular about any adult attempting to get too near, but he tolerates the kids pretty well. Unfortunately, kids at play are not reliable garden guardians, and given the opportunity, El Gato finds the soft freshly prepared vegetable garden beds quite nice for certain bodily functions I very definitely do not want being handled there. It’s annoying. I’m still laughing, for now, having once been fond of a cat of my own, and having a certain residual appreciation for the monstrous wee wicked carnivores. He’s just being a cat. Still… I can’t be having that nonsense in my food garden, so I sit thinking about my solutions. Once the garden grows in somewhat, he leaves it alone… in the meantime, his dastardly deeds limit how well my garden can grow, so steps must be taken! He’s already wrecked 1 square foot of planted veggies (carrots and radishes), and after I dig out the cat shit, all that has to be replanted. Fucker. For a moment I stop laughing…
…Just the other day I had the passing thought that it might be nice to have a cat around. I am not thinking so now…
Presently, I’m trying to recall whether I still have a bit of that portion of a roll of garden wire-fence material that I used to make the pea trellis last year. If I do, I am planning to resolve my difficulties with El Gato by making it unreasonably difficult for him to step on, or dig in, the garden at all. Problem solved. I do wish the little fucker were litterbox trained. That’d be nice. I guess it’s not a realistic expectation of a feral cat, though.
The deer visit regularly.
I’m reminded of my other garden visitation challenge; the deer love my roses (and some of the herbs, and tops of many of the bulbs)… perhaps another day I will do something about that. I may have to cage one of the roses such that they can’t get to it at all, just to give it a chance to survive. It’s the way of things, eh? There’s just this one planet, we share it creatures who live quite differently than we do, and we don’t share a common language, making boundary-setting conversations rather difficult. I’m not a fan of cruelty… so… there’s a bit of thought and effort involved in communicating boundaries with my four-legged neighbors. Good thing this garden is an endeavor I truly love. 😀 No stress, very little frustration, and tons of laughing, and time spent in the sunshine. That all sounds pretty good, actually. I certainly love the video footage of the deer in my garden, captured by the security camera. I get a lot of (s)mileage out of that. 😀 (I’d still rather they not eat my roses down to the bare canes!)
So… it’s almost here. Spring. My head is filled with roses and flowers and sunny mornings and afternoons in the garden. As my Traveling Partner continues to recover from his injury, and in spite of how lush and beautiful the lawn is, I’m thinking more and more of a second veggie bed, or a bench to sit under the redbud listening to the bees buzz and watching the grass grow. All in due time, I suppose. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the soft feel of the lush lawn under my feet.
…That blue sky, though, so beautiful…
Ah well. Coffee gone. Break time is over. It’s time to begin again. 😀
Appearances are funny things, aren’t they? I’m sipping my morning coffee late into the morning, because, honestly, why not? I am “on vacation”, taking some solo time on the coast to meditate, reflect, read, write, and walk. I’ve gotten some good pictures.
I am, in this moment right here, watching the tide turn from the low a short while ago, reversing direction, and now flowing back, with high tide expected at 13:48 this afternoon. Low tide reveals the mud flats of Siletz Bay, enjoyed by the many sea birds that inhabit the area. The birds traverse the mud flats in flocks and individually, seeking tasty morsels in the mud. People watching the birds (and the tides) walk the adjacent beach (and in some cases, right on across the mud flats, too), sometimes alone, sometimes with children or dogs.
Siletz Bay at low tide.
Funny that the water of the nearby branch of Drift Creek seems to flow backwards as the tide turns. Instead of subtle waves that demonstrate the direction that the creek flows into the bay, then on to the ocean just beyond (visible from my balcony), now the waves suggest that the water is flowing upstream… and… I guess it is, at least in the sense that the tide has turned and is now returning the waters to the bay that flowed outward only a few hours ago. My eyes deceive me just a bit; intellectually, I am confident that the creek continues to flow into the bay, and on to the sea, I just can’t see that it is happening, due to tricks of the light on the surface of the water showing me only the most surface movement, which is definitely the tide coming in.
What is “the truth of it”? Well, the bay is refilling as the tide comes in. That’s true. The creek continues to flow from it’s source into the sea. Also true. The tide comes in, the tide goes out, in a very regular predictable way – another truth. I value these small points of certainty in a very uncertain world. Ducks, geese, gulls, herons, and cranes enjoy the shallow waters. I enjoy them as they do. It feels rather as if even the joy itself …flows.
It’s been a lovely couple of quiet days here alone at the beach. This funny somewhat run-down hotel I favor here gives me the room for solitude that I need. They’re very accommodating and appreciative any time I come for a stay. This room is my “new favorite”… Room 310. It’s long past its glory. The upholstery is faded, worn, and dingy – threadbare in places, and of a tired sort of green that doesn’t hide dirt well. The carpet is also worn. The wood furniture is chipped, dinged, and shows signs of age and mistreatment over many years of guests. The walls have been repaired in places, and there are places on the ceiling that hint at past flooding from above. It’s a funny room with a wedge-shaped layout that is a bit more spacious than most rooms here. The small bathroom reflected the care taken by the staff; so clean it almost seems to belong in some other hotel, newer, more modern, perhaps. I feel lucky that the mini-fridge is not noisy (they usually are). This room also has “more view”, with one big window facing the bay, and then the balcony facing the ocean. Lovely. The views are spectacular and have occupied my attention thoroughly.
My days are filled with walking the beach here at the foot of the hotel, and sitting on the balcony, or at the table by the window, meditating, and bird-watching. My head is filled with my own thoughts – and the quiet of wind and waves, and the calls of gulls filling the silence. Pleasant. I could come here often and never get bored. I don’t need much more out of this experience than I am getting; it’s the solitude that I was seeking, and I definitely found it here.
I could have written more. Didn’t. I’ve been content to spend the days in quiet reflection, absorbed in my own thoughts, on my own time. It’s been enough. More than enough; it’s what I needed.
I watch the water continue to slowly fill the bay as the tide comes in. The pattern of sand, mud, water, and waves changes with each tide. It’s interesting to watch, and to note the variations. I find myself wondering, if I sat here by this window watching long enough, would I see the pattern repeat at some point? Are the variations finite? As the bay fills, I see seals in the deeper areas, playfully enjoying a swim. There’s a sandy bar on which they gather to rest and soak up the sun, across the inlet to the bay from the beach where local fishers like to go. The seals and gulls compete with the fishers for the various fish and crabs that are so desirable. It’s a popular spot. Early in the mornings, I walk down the beach in the direction of the inlet, and the ocean, listening to the waves roll in. In the afternoons, I take the same (or similar) walk. It’s convenient to the hotel, and the variety that comes of weather and the passage of time is enough to entertain me endlessly. I’m certainly a long way from being at all concerned about “boredom”. lol
The ocean, visible just beyond the inlet to the bay.
This morning was definitely an autumn morning. The deck rail was frosty. The air was crisp and cold. Afternoon is approaching. The day is still cool enough to be quite obviously autumn. The sunshine has a friendly welcoming appearance, but lacks real warmth. (I’m not even complaining, just noticing.)
One sunny morning.
I take a slow relaxed approach to my break. I spend some time thinking about far away friends, old friends, distant family, and letters I mean to write. I promise myself I’ll take time for that… I am doubtful of my commitment to it, although I love writing letters. Strange.
I take a deep, relaxing breath of autumn. I taste the fall leaves and hint of forest and creek on the breeze. I marvel at the blue sky overhead. For a moment, this is more than merely “enough” – it is “everything”. 🙂
I take time to soak in the moment. Then, I begin again.
The title sounds promising. It is, however, the truth and for the moment nothing more. It’s 2:11 am. I am awake in this moment. I was so incredibly sleepy, and feeling deep down tired when I went to bed, early, last night. I slept deeply, soundly, restfully… for two hours. Then another two hours. And another. This time, I meditated for a while but didn’t find myself feeling like sleep; I’m not anxious, so calming and soothing myself didn’t result in anything but a calm heart. Nice by itself, I’m not bitching. Yoga, too, did nothing to return my interest to sleep, but my back feels a bit more limber, and I am comfortable but for my throbbing ankle, which by itself would not keep me awake.
I wandered the house restlessly for a moment or two, and stepped out into the cool night air and looked for the stars. Living near a huge Intel facility that lights the night sky, seeing stars is not a given, and tonight the cloudy skies are illuminated from below; there were no stars to see tonight. I sat quietly in my studio (I love saying that!) for a time, contemplating the work in progress, and giving some thought to an idea developing in the periphery of my consciousness, and feeling ‘at home’. I am neither uncomfortably warm, nor feeling chilly. I am quite comfortable. I feel at ease.
Why the hell am I awake?
It’s a rhetorical question; there is no why. I am awake. The world is quiet and dark, at least from my current vantage point. No trouble-shooting required. I quietly amuse myself flipping through the evening’s Facebook feed. I am content with being awake, for the moment, and looking forward to the morning with friends at the Farmer’s Market.
Having read a considerable amount of the science available regarding sleep, I have my monitor brightness quite dim, and enough gentle room light to prevent the monitor from being a high-contrast light source. My intention is to prevent whatever I choose for entertainment or passing the time in the night from becoming something so stimulating that it actively prevents further sleep. I take a moment now and then for deep cleansing breaths, and a chance to observe the slow approach of the shores of dreamland. I’ve learned a lot about enjoying the wakefulness in the night without discouraging more sleep. I yawn. I smile. It’s coming…
I don’t know what tomorrow will hold, but poised wakefully in this moment between yesterday and tomorrow, feeling satisfied, balanced, and content, I’m feel ready for it. It’s been a lovely week.
It’s been a week of colorful flowers…
…blue skies…
…and beautiful summer flowers in uncountable numbers…
…mornings chilly enough to catch bumble bees napping…
…and hot sunny afternoons.
It was a lovely week, indeed. I find myself yawning and thinking sleeping sounds like a fine idea…I wonder what tomorrow holds?
Evening Light 