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Number 9

July 21, 2026 //
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I wrote this Saturday morning, after getting some sleep and looking back on the first day of my recent camping trip.

The work day ended on Friday in a purposeful push to finish everything and remember each commitment, each loose end. I managed it, and it felt like an achievement unlocked. My attention immediately turned to finishing loading the car and saying sweet loving goodbyes…

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

… I always forget something. This time it turned out to be batteries. Well, more accurately, when I checked my gear I failed to test my headlamp or my little camp lantern. Dumb. I’m getting ahead of myself – that discovery was later.

It was not a given that I’d find a suitable camping spot. Without exaggeration, every reservable camp site within a three hour drive from where I live was reserved, for all of the dates I had available! My next step was looking for camp grounds that are exclusively first come/first served. There turn out to be several in the big state forest north and west of my home. Okay, so it’s an adventure, and I set off eagerly.

… you’re not waiting for an “and then…” twist, are you? It was a lovely drive, and almost no traffic. I arrived when I expected to. I circled one loop, then the next. I could hear my Traveling Partner’s doubtful tone when he advised me that everything would be full. I stayed hopeful. I’d try the walk-in tent sites, and hope that they aren’t half a mile into the forest, all down hill.

I stopped at the pay kiosk and took a slip, and filled out everything but the site number and started walking. At long last, and feet already hurting, I see one that isn’t occupied! I start toward it. A frantic plump woman of a mommy age rushes past me and quickly clips her receipt to the numbered post and turns to me simultaneously challenging and somewhat embarrassed. “I already saw this, I went to get a slip is all. I was already here!” I shrug and walk on, limping a bit. I was already resigned to finding a more remote site in the disbursed camping area when I walked up on an empty site from behind. For real?! I’m almost relieved but also a little wary. I check the post. Nothing. I clip my receipt there after writing the site number on it.

So relieved. I sit down at the picnic table and drink some water.

Number 9

A woman approaches me looking frustrated and waves the white slip of her receipt, telling me in broken English that she had seen this site first and only walked away to get her receipt. I drank water, and pointed to the numbered post with my receipt clipped to it. I had read the camp rules; no reservations, first come first served, someone must be occupying the site to claim it, or their gear must be present, no holding a vacant site for someone else. I felt her frustration, I had felt it myself moments ago. I definitely prefer being able to reserve a spot.

The painfully slow process of getting my gear to the site on one foot with plantar fasciitis and the knee on the other leg being quite obnoxiously unpredictable, began with real determination. It was slow going, and before I’d made two trips I was already tired and really feeling the limitations pain places on my abilities. This is one of the exceedingly rare circumstances when I truly regret my lost youth. I definitely could have done more, better. We don’t know what we don’t know. That 27 year old powerhouse physique would come in handy right now. Hell, roll the clock back to 55, this wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Today? I find myself wondering if this may be my last solo camping trip altogether…

… Beginnings imply endings, and we are mortal creatures…

Getting my basic gear to the site took three trips. Then two more because I forgot stuff I’d definitely want tonight or first thing in the morning. Another back and forth for coffee beans, and my portable grinder. It was after all that, that I discovered neither my headlamp nor my camp light would light up. In one case, the batteries were exhausted. The other had no batteries at all. I made the trek to the parking lot again, and a trip a mile down the road to Lee’s Camp Store. I’m glad I did. My beloved sent me his love and told me he misses me, and it finally reached me. (No WiFi or connectivity in the forest.) A nice way to end the day.

Lee’s Camp Store – worth a stop anyway, and peculiarly magical.

Oh, it wasn’t actually late, I was just fucking exhausted. 😆 I knew I’d get a fresh start in the morning. For the rest of that Friday evening, I focused on getting off my feet and getting some rest. Beginnings could wait.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, 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, Words

Why Planning Matters

July 15, 2026 //
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I think I might like to go camping this weekend. I look over favorite options, sitting in the summer sunshine at the halfway point of my walk. Damn. Booked. Closed. Reserved. No space available. I sigh to myself quietly. It’s mid July, I don’t know why I expected this to be easy.

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

Like a lot of things in life, planning matters. Spontaneity has a place in life, no argument, but… If I had planned further ahead, I’d have better options. That’s just real. I put the idea aside for awhile. It can wait until I’m at a computer on a browser. I let my mind wander on.

It’s a lovely day. I don’t really feel like dealing with people, but my calendar is full of meetings and work groups and various discussions on various topics. Work. Well, shit, at least I’m getting paid for my time and attention. The sunshine reaches the oaks, standing tall along the trail. I catch myself daydreaming about other trails and other places.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditate. Write. Reflect. My mind wanders. I look down the trail toward a dust cloud. Probably farm workers in the vineyard. I’m curious but unbothered. The clock ticks on.

… Eventually it’s time to walk on. I get to my feet and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Feels Like Summer

June 22, 2026 //
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No surprise that it feels like summer, I suppose; it is. What is more surprising is that we’ve got another extreme heat warning for our area (two already this year). I guess we’re fortunate. It’s only expected to be in the 90’s.

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

An orange dawn greets me at the trailhead.

I head down the trail with a song in my head. I mostly don’t mind summertime, but it isn’t my favorite. I do have a lot of nostalgic feelings about summer. Memories of hot summer mornings, stifling humidity, swimming lessons, icy cold root beer or sweet tea on the screened-in back porch, and fireflies at twilight fill my thoughts as I walk. I have recollections of so many sticky sleepless nights, and the sweet relief of the cold flowing from the window AC when we were permitted to use it.

This is a very different time and place in my life. My feet carry me past towering oaks until the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard. I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a log left behind after a fallen tree was cut up and hauled away. I wonder, again, why this section was left behind? Doesn’t really matter, it’s a good spot to sit, to write, meditate, and welcome a new day.

The weekend was a thoroughly pleasant one. I didn’t paint but the studio is now set up for it, and I feel as if I could step into the studio at any time on any day and begin to work. It’s a nice feeling. It will require some changes of habit and timing to make skillful use of the opportunity. That’s fine. Life doesn’t stand still. Change is.

After some time passes, I realize that my mind has wandered far away to camping trips and plein air painting. I’d ideally like to go somewhere that presents me with huge vistas and open skies, maybe the high desert down south a ways, or some mountainside with views of hills beyond hills… Do I really want to camp, or just drive far with my camera, stopping for viewpoints and short hikes to see sights? There are so many beautiful and interesting things to see on this continent. I don’t have to go far to see something new or wonderful – Oregon is big. I haven’t yet seen it all.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I pull myself back to this moment, here, now. The work day will begin shortly, but that time is not now. This moment, here, in the early morning summer sunshine, is mine. I watch the sunlight illuminate the tops of the oaks, slowly reaching the edges of the grape vines. I contentedly sit, watching the changing light. (I admit, it doesn’t take much to entertain me.) I’m grateful to have this moment of solitude and joy, satisfied to watch a sunrise. Grateful to have another mortal day.

I take a breath, and then another. I soak in the beauty of the morning, before the heat of the day settles in. It is a deliciously pleasant moment, in spite of pain (which isn’t too bad this morning), in spite of tinnitus (which is shrieking loudly in my ears), in spite of the (likely to be) busy work day ahead. I’m okay with all of it. I’m feeling relaxed and unbothered. I feel like summer. 😆

I smile to myself and stretch. The trail is bathed in golden morning light. Beautiful. I squint towards the rising sun and get to my feet. It’s time to begin again – a new day is waiting for me.

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

Caring and Coffee

January 2, 2026 //
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This morning I’m writing from my home office. It’s later in the morning than I usually wake, and I’ve a short work day between me and the weekend, but it begins a bit later. This is time I’d usually spend out on a trail somewhere, walking with my thoughts. This morning I am at home. Still dealing with lingering symptoms of illness, especially first thing, and yesterday evening my Traveling Partner took notice when I described my plan for the next morning.

“What kind of symptoms are you still dealing with?” was quickly followed by “I don’t like the idea of you being out in the freezing cold and dark when you’re sick, please stay home tomorrow and take care of yourself.” So… Here I am. Taking care of myself, and enjoying an excellent cup of coffee at home. Of course, I managed to wake my Traveling Partner when (or after) I woke. He greeted me in the kitchen as I attempted to prepare coffee quietly, and checked on how I was doing. My congestion, weak voice, and occasionally coughing validated his concern (and confirmed his suggestion that I stay home was a good one). He doesn’t grief me over waking him; he is sympathetic, caring, and concerned for me. I retreat to my office space to drink coffee and deal with my symptoms, and work on breathing comfortably. I go through a few tissues. I drink my coffee.

…Before the work day even begins, my Traveling Partner checks on me, and notes that I “sound awful” and that he really doesn’t want me wandering around out in the cold early in the mornings, encouraging me to just stay home for a couple days and take care of myself. He reminds me that either he or the Anxious Adventurer can go to the store for anything we need and handle whatever has to get done, while I put my energy into getting well. I know he’s right. He gives me more suitably useful advice, which I am grateful for; my thinking isn’t too clear, and the longer I’m up, the more aware I am of how much I’d rather be in bed. LOL

… I decide to call out sick and just rest and work on getting well…

… My Traveling Partner encourages me to take a hot shower to ease my congestion. It’s a good idea and I’m grateful to have clean water, reliably hot, whenever I want it. I’m fortunate. It wasn’t so long ago that indoor plumbing for bathing, drinking, and cooking, were real luxuries only available to a privileged few. I stood in the steam under the running water, wondering how many people in the world still lack safe drinking water, and indoor plumbing. Too many, I’m sure (since, ideally, that number would be 0 in any truly fair world in which resources were appropriately distributed to maximize quality of life for all). I knew people who had only a well for water, and an outhouse for waste, when I was a kid, though it was becoming rare anywhere in the US besides way out in the country by that time.

I felt some better after a hot shower, for a little while. Eventually, my body reminds me I am not well yet, in the form of fatigue. Yep, I tired myself out taking a shower, putting on clean clothes, and sitting up for half an hour. I don’t actually fathom how I thought just pushing myself harder/further day after day was going to be the best approach to taking care of this fragile vessel. That was dumb, but holidays are special and I “wasn’t sick enough” to just skip it and go back to bed… and so, here I am, three weeks into what began as a relatively mild flu, now forced to take it seriously, because my symptoms haven’t cleared up and even seem worse this morning. Fucking human primates – we are pretty bad at admitting we’re ill and properly taking care of ourselves. Well, a lot of us are. lol I am. I meant to do better by the woman in the mirror, but I failed.

S’ok. It’s a journey. I’m having my own experience. I can choose, change, and choose some other change some other time. Today I’m choosing self-care, and going back to bed. I’ll begin again later.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, winter

Turn That Noise Down!!

June 10, 2025 //
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My tinnitus is loud this morning. Distracting and annoying. I get my walk started early, close to home, but the sunrise had already begun. The sky is shades of orange, pink and dusty blue, and the western hills in the distance are soft shades of blue and gray. Feels like another hot summer day ahead, maybe not as hot as the past couple of days have been. Hot enough to feel like summer, and even the cooler morning temperature hints at the afternoon heat to come.

Sunrise, a new day, a new beginning, a new opportunity to choose.

I walked with my thoughts accompanied by assorted little birds hopping and flying along. Chickadees mostly, and robins;  though I hear the songs of other birds I don’t see them. A small herd of deer bolts into the trees when they hear me approach. The lovely morning might have a certain sparkling Disney sort of vibe if it weren’t for the sound of traffic nearby, and my damned tinnitus ringing and buzzing in my ears. Still, it’s a pretty morning, suitable for all manner of beginnings, and I’m grateful to see another sunrise.

I spot a woodpecker on the trunk of an oak tree, in that instance before he begins drumming away at that bark, either communicating or seeking a tasty morsel. He’s loud too. I laugh and startle him, he flies off to a different tree. I keep walking, until I reach my turn around point, where I stop awhile.

I sit in the early morning shade of the trees along the creek, smelling the scents of Spring flowers. The sun continues to rise on the new day. I think about doing a couple days of camping next week while I’m off, and maybe some painting. I make some room for my mixed feelings. I very much want my time to be wholly my own while I am painting, but I also experience strange pangs of separation anxiety when I contemplate it. That’s odd for me. I don’t really look forward to sleeping on the ground, getting up is more difficult every year. On the other hand, I’m yearning to sit quietly, gazing into the trees without being aware there are dishes to do, or errands to run, for endless seeming unmeasured minutes. I don’t expect to sort myself out on one morning walk. I sigh to myself and let my thoughts move on.

… G’damn my tinnitus is annoying…

Camera or pastels? Camping light, or glamping? A remote site that requires a bit of a trek to reach, or car camping with amenities? Well equipped camp kitchen and outdoor cooking, or freeze dried hiking meals that require little prep or clean up? Effort or ease? What do I really want for (and from) myself with my time? I watch the sun rise and think about it. I’ve got all the gear and most of the needed supplies whatever options I choose. It’s the choosing that is so difficult; it requires a level of frankness with myself about my current needs and limitations that feels mildly uncomfortable. I sigh quietly. There’s time to consider the options.

I get to my feet and turn to face the sun. It’s time to begin again.

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