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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

Walking In The Dark

August 21, 2026 //
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I was on the trail this morning in the usual way. The little circle of light on the ground ahead of me bobbing and swaying with my footsteps holds my attention, which is probably a good thing. I watch my steps, one after the other, eyes mostly on the ground. Walking in the dark can be treacherous and full of surprises. (It’s a useful metaphor, too.)

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

Yesterday went sideways abruptly, almost as soon as I got home. It was unfortunate, and dismaying. There were raised voices, door slamming, and an overabundance of hurt feelings. As with walking in the dark, there was more going on than we could easily see in the moment.

The resentment and anger that seethed beneath the surface lingered a long while for me. The hurt feelings, too. Still walking in darkness, metaphorically speaking. We did manage to get things sorted out. A mistake in medication, poor timing, individual frustration with circumstances had collided and become a problem. We’ve been through much worse, my Traveling Partner and I, which isn’t a surprise to me; I know through painful experience what I’m working with, and how much chaos and damage still remains on my path, creating obstacles on my path, often unseen in the darkness.

…”Wear a headlamp you silly bitch,” I think to myself as I walk in the actual darkness, wearing an actual headlamp. I think about metaphorical headlamps…

I get to my halfway point, still in darkness, and turn off my headlamp, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, before I begin to write. It must be overcast. No stars. I sigh to myself before I meditate. I feel a little out of sorts; it is recognizably the aftermath of yesterday’s unpleasantness. It will pass, I remind myself. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take steps to chase the blues with something more hopeful. It takes practice.

I am distracted by the sound of helicopters. I listen to the sounds of morning and watch the sky change color as daybreak arrives. I reflect on the importance of kindness and making room for failure, whether the failure is someone else’s or our own. I reflect on the importance of restoring peace, of reconnecting, and of healing each other’s hearts after conflict arises, and is resolved. I’m not actually very good at the part of conflict resolution that is “making things right again” and repairing an emotional connection. My beloved is more skilled. I’ve at least learned to be open to that process and to be accepting and approachable and willing to make things right together.

… There’s more to learn and more to practice…

I breathe the morning air deeply and exhale slowly. I remind myself to drink plenty of water today and to take my meds on time. It’s a start. (Still listening to helicopters, and wondering what’s up.) I breathe, exhale, and relax – meditation is also a practice. Sometimes it takes a couple tries to get it right.

Somewhere in the background, a ticking clock. Somewhere ahead, an opportunity to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Well That Happened

August 19, 2026 //
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I woke slowly, a moment ahead of the alarm. I shut it off, dressed, and left the house. Then, I went back in because I somehow managed to forget the fob for my car. This tended to cause me to be concerned about whatever else I may have forgotten, and as I went to grab my fob, I double-checked whether I remembered to turn off my alarm, my noise machine, and various little details that are part of my morning routine. I think I got it all.

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

I got a little more than 9 hours of sleep last night. I was tired and in pain and I laid down “for an hour” after my Traveling Partner and I enjoyed a genial meal together. That hour stretched into 3, and I got up briefly, enjoyed the company of my beloved while he worked on something. I went back to bed, unsure how I could possibly sleep more… and immediately crashed out. I certainly feel rested this morning. I clearly needed the sleep, my partner was right about that.

I grabbed my headlamp and cane eagerly when I reached the trailhead, and got started on my walk feeling light on my feet and merry. It’s a good start to the day.

A new day begins. What will you do with the opportunity?

I get to my halfway point and stop. The morning feels chilly. It reminds me that summer will end soon. Seasons change. The clock keeps ticking. The sunrise begins with a colorful display. I’m content to watch it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s hard to believe that the world is in such chaos – I let all that go. This is not the time for all that; these quiet moments are best spent on other thoughts… gratitude, love, wonder… I exhale, and let go of worry and doubt. The sky lightens as daybreak becomes the dawn of a new day.

“Nothing to see here,” I think to myself, contentedly. Just how I like it – calm. Quiet.  A small buck steps out from the vineyard rows and crosses the trail, heading into the trees. The western sky has become a pearly blue gray, clear and cloudless. A soft distant wooshing is audible from here. HVAC on the nearby water park building, probably, but in a different moment and place it might as easily be the sound of the seashore. It’s only a pleasant illusion, and I don’t mistake it for real. I yawn and stretch and fill my lungs with the cool air of this lovely summer morning.

… I almost feel like I could go back to bed! It’s a silly notion, and I got plenty of restful sleep last night…

I get to my feet, stretch again, feeling the movement as I extend my arms towards the sky. There’s coffee on the other side of this walk, and to get to it, I’ll need to begin again. 😁

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets, women, Words

Every Step

August 18, 2026 //
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I woke from complicated dreams feeling unbothered. They faded from my recollection before a memory of the details could form. I dressed and left the house, going back for my new headlamp, which I managed to forget in spite of the helpful note from my Traveling Partner.

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

I set off down the trail in the dark, my headlamp creating a well lit area ahead of me (or wherever I happen to look). It’s a much better headlamp than my old one. I’m not really surprised by that; my beloved recommended it to me. I smile to myself. I feel loved, with every step.

The humidity is 93% this morning, according to the weather app on my phone. Bleh. I feel it. It feels like other places I’ve lived… Maryland… Georgia… Alabama. Oof. I begin sweating before I’ve reached my halfway point. By the time I stop, I’m pretty damp. The air quality is some better today though, feels like. The temperature is mild and the air is calm. It’s a quiet morning. I sigh to myself and take a seat on a big rock. It’s not yet daybreak.

“Nothing to see here,” I think to myself. It’s not a criticism. I feel content and unbothered, and mostly pretty comfortable. Comfort is relative. I don’t escape the chronic pain very often at this point (hardly ever), but this morning it is a manageable 2 out of 10. I stare at the circle of light on the pavement just beyond the edge of my boots. Nothing to see there either really. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning for a quiet bit of meditation.

I rub my hands together, massaging my thumbs with particular care. I’d like to be painting and it feels unfair to be feeling arthritis developing in my hands. I find myself wondering if a paraffin wax heat treatment would help or only feel nice? I sigh out loud without meaning to, and notice that the air tastes a bit like fall, already. My mind wanders – maybe some time in the studio this weekend? That would be lovely.

I sit watching as daybreak arrives. I turn off my headlamp and let it hang from my neck. I’ll wait awhile longer, here with my thoughts, and then I’ll begin again. I can see the path ahead pretty well now. Here comes a new day. What will I do with it? I don’t know yet, aside from working. I hope I choose wisely.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words
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