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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

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

Quiet Skies

August 14, 2026 //
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For now the sky overhead is quiet. Later, the annual air show will shatter the peace with a fun display of military might in the sky. Don’t misunderstand me; I enjoyed seeing the Blue Angels as a kid. These days it’s just very costly wasteful noise interrupting my ability to focus on whatever I’m trying to do.

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

I’m admittedly a bit of a buzzkill about air shows (noisy, wasteful), parades (traffic, crowds), fireworks displays (noisy, wasteful, crowded)… You may be getting the impression I dislike noise, crowds, and the chaos and expense of public celebrations, entirely. You would be correct; not my thing at all. I rarely even go to concerts to see artists I truly love. I don’t like the noise and the crowds. Hell, I don’t like it if the grocery store is busy enough to feel crowded. 😆

Most of my trauma has been at the hands of another person, directly. The result? I mostly don’t trust people with my safety, least of all my safety from direct harm by another human being! Viewed through that lens, it is probably not hard to understand why I am cautious about people and a bit averse to crowds. The noise sensitivity I live with (PTSD, head trauma) is its own thing, but we are interesting creatures built of systems, and it’s not easy to tease symptoms apart and assign them to this or that, independent of each other. That’s not really how we work.

I’ll endure the air show the way I generally endure such things: I’ll stay away from the event and associated traffic, and I’ll refrain from being a dick about my dislike of such things, and choose instead to just let folks have their fun. They aren’t hurting me, and the air show isn’t a personal attack on my peace. 😆 In fact, one of the best things I have gotten from practicing non-attachment is learning to embrace how very few things are ever “personal”. It’s a very impersonal universe, and it does not give a damn about one artist of middle-aged years living quietly between town and farm fields, I promise.

I set off down the trail at daybreak. I wasn’t sure this trail would be accessible today, with the air show going on. I had a plan B ready to go, if it weren’t. I’m grateful to be able to walk this familiar trail. It begins the morning well.

I reach my halfway point ahead of the sunrise. Looks like a cloudy day ahead. I yawn and stretch, and my muscles remind me that I’ve resumed strength training. It’s a healthy soreness, but still uncomfortable. I rub my aching shoulders and distract myself from the discomfort by scanning the underbrush slowly, looking for details I may have missed…or bunnies. 😂

The air is a little hazy, again, but the AQI is still in a safe range. The weather feels mild, and the cool of the morning hints at autumn. I stretch again, and look to the smooth gray sky overhead. The clock ticks on. It is a journey of miles and of moments. As with any practice, it’s about the verbs. I sigh as I get to my feet to begin. Again.

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

Every Dawn Is a Beginning

August 9, 2026 //
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Pretty morning. Quiet. I’ve got a manicure appointment later, and maybe I’ll spend time in the studio working on a new piece. My approach to painting is slower these days, contemplative and unhurried, and inspired by thoughtful slow consideration before turning my attention to the easel and beginning the work. This is a profound change from large abstractions executed quickly from a passing emotion. I have three unfinished canvases from my acrylic work that may never be completed; the feeling has passed, and I no longer understand the work from the original perspective. I’ve lost those moments. In each case, this is a good thing, for me, subjectively.

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

Another sunrise, another day, another moment to begin from.

I arrived at the trailhead in darkness. I waited long enough to make out the trail without a headlamp; I need to replace my old one, which finally gave up on me while I was camping last month. I can’t complain; it was a cheaply made headlamp I didn’t pay much for, and it lasted for a decade (more?) with just one change of batteries. I won’t be walking in darkness for awhile though, until I replace my headlamp.

Alone but not alone.

Shared experiences are strange. They don’t all happen simultaneously. As I start down the trail I see that someone has placed a pair of child-sized sunglasses on a rock. No doubt lost by some child. A bit of human experience left behind by some human being who shares the experience of walking this trail with me, though we have never met. We each have our own experience of this trail, our own recollection of it, and our own understanding afterward of what it meant. Same trail. Different moments. Shared but different experiences. I think about that as I walk.

I enjoyed a quiet pleasant evening with my Traveling Partner yesterday. We shared the experience of our life together from different rooms doing different things for most of the day. No harsh words or hard feelings, we were simply doing our own things. We both had difficult nights, and the fatigue (and steps taken to address it) kept us both wary of missteps that could cause drama. We were gentle and careful with each other. I hope he felt as loved as I did when the day ended.

“Human” is messy and difficult sometimes. It is worth it to give people room to fuck up, fail, make it right, and grow from the experience.

… I wonder what color to get my nails done this time..?

I sit at the river’s edge, on the bank well above a wee bit of something beach-like that shows signs of being favored by fishermen, thinking my thoughts and watching the water flow past, still and glossy on the surface, reflecting the trees of the far bank. There’s a bit of mist visible, as the sun rises.

Summer morning perspective on a moment.

Minutes later, sunlight illuminates the treetops, changing shadowy greens to bright green and gold. Time passes without a clock, like the river flowing past below me. I sigh to myself, ignoring the awareness of the sense of a ticking clock. I have a better relationship with time than I did in my twenties. I can mostly ignore that fucking clock and just enjoy the moment as it is. I smile to myself and watch as a single yellow leaf falls slowly from somewhere above.

…Time still passes, whether I watch or not…

I smile to myself a little wistfully, fragments of memories tap at my consciousness wanting my attention, but I’m not interested in swimming in those nostalgic waters this morning, choosing instead to leave the surface of my consciousness untouched, calm, instead.

A new dawn, a new day, a new moment; where does this path lead?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Plenty of time for meditation. I’ve got the day ahead of me. I hope my beloved got the rest he needed and enjoyed a gentle night. I breathe the summer air deeply. I consider the day and the path ahead. “Choose wisely,” I remind myself.

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

Reflections

August 3, 2026 //
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The morning feels chilly on the trail as daybreak comes. The forecast says the day will be hot. My short sleeves manage to feel like a poor choice for the moment, right now.

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

The weekend was pretty amazing. Not easy, not comfortable, not entirely peaceful or joyful, but certainly heartfelt, deeply connected and meaningful. A necessary step on a long journey together, I suppose. Weirdly, I am missing my Traveling Partner intensely this morning, though he is no further away than home. Funny how subjective our emotions and perception of reality can be. We really are each having our own experience.

I’m thinking about one detail of the weekend that matters greatly to me. For context, many years ago, living in Germany, I bought an RC car kit. I was excited about it. It was a very detailed kit that required me to build it more or less entirely from a box of parts. When it was built it was amazing and ran beautifully! I was so excited. My then-husband helped me a bit with some of the electrical pieces I didn’t understand, but in general seemed not exactly uninterested, but watchful. Very little time passed before he stomped my car to pieces in a fit of rage. I only got to drive it once. Since then I haven’t considered RC cars as a hobby. I pushed the whole issue – car, enthusiasm, trauma, tears, and lingering baggage left behind – into a tiny box in a dark corner of my mind and memory, and marked it “do not open”.

… This weekend I opened the box…

More specifically, my Traveling Partner did, without planning to. It started some weeks ago with him buying me a drone and sharing time together learning and taking the TRUST test to safely and legally fly recreationally. It started with the first time I flew my drone – and realized quickly that I’m maybe not personally ideally suited for hobbies that include actual flight. (A combination of neck pain, poor eyesight, and cognitive limitations that make remembering all the many rules and restrictions difficult make flying difficult, nothing tragic.) I said something about having once had an RC car, and quickly realized my mistake; the box was open. I tried to close it up again, only to find myself standing in a big pile of stinking rotting baggage that had to be cleaned up at long last.

The way out is through. It was one more bit of trauma to work through. I like cars. I like driving. I like the fun and delight of miniatures. I like tinkering with small machines. My Traveling Partner gently forced the issue into the open. We talked. I gave up my drone with an emotionally difficult admission that my interest in flying a drone was more about loving him and sharing the time and fun with him. I admitted I prefer cars. He was encouraging and supportive and even pointing out that we could still enjoy that fun together; him flying, me driving.

I know there will still be reflections of past trauma to heal and old baggage to unpack… but I’ve taken a big step. I watched numerous videos with my beloved. We talked cars for hours and looked at videos. He likes cars, too, and has a love of, and affinity for, machines generally. So many choices. We looked at all kinds of RC cars in a variety of scales and styles. I found one car that really captivated me. Again and again, it turned up in moments of “ooh!”, “ah!”, and “wow!”. He talked about driving to the hobby store together and I was an eager yes. At some point he gently asked if I might find value in going alone, and independently making my choice and purchase, having settled on a budget (he has an astute sense of such things and reliably takes steps to support my autonomy and emotional wellness). I definitely knew which car I wanted. Calling the shop had confirmed they had one. I admitted I’d enjoy going by myself. He assured me he had work he needed to get done and kissed me sweetly, all love, before I left.

Zoom zoom.

… I have an RC car. I drove it that very evening after charging the batteries. She’s super cute and crazy fast (even on the lowest speed I was blown away by how fast she zips along). I stared a piece of profound emotional damage in the face and said, at long last, “you have no power over me”, and meant it. That’s a powerful step on this journey.

… and I even got the laundry done…

I smile as the sun rises, thinking about life, love, drones and RC cars. I think about beginnings. I think about the next time I get to drive – maybe after work today? I think about building a display diorama to park my car in when I’m not driving her. 😆 I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful for this partnership and the beautiful weekend of deep connection and heartfelt conversations. I forget, momentarily, that it is Monday.

There was more to the weekend and to the work and changes that will come out of it, but this is representative of the character of the weekend generally. Loving partners working honestly through a variety of issues together in a meaningful loving way. Beautiful.

I sit smiling in the summer sunshine filled with gratitude, contentment, and love. It’s a nice beginning to a new week. August already? The clock is ticking. I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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