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But What Will You Do About That?

March 22, 2026 //
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I’ve started including a disclaimer on new posts asserting my refusal to use available LLM tools for writing. I’m annoyed to feel that doing so is necessary, but here we are. I like writing. Why would I cheat to be faster or more frequent, or worse – to camouflage a lack of anything to say? Ridiculous. No thank you. Keep those crappy LLM “tools” away from me. I’ll just write, thanks. 😆

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

In all seriousness, adding that disclaimer is at least a real action I can take to express my objection to having bullshit “AI” garbage forced on me everywhere. I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I’d prefer to keep my own mind sharp, and also to take the time to learn new things myself.

Getting an early start on a new day.

Brunch with a friend, later, on the other side of this trail.  I’m eager to enjoy brunch, but I’m in no great hurry, so I wait for the sun.

After a short wait dawn illuminates the trail and I set off, hands jammed into warm pockets.

Chilly morning. Cold. At just 2°C, it’s a colder morning than we’ve had in several weeks. I’m glad I didn’t rush to plant delicate vegetables more suited to milder weather. That has often been a temptation for me and in many years past, I’ve chosen poorly. This year I focused on the laborious work of cleaning up the garden beds, weeding, and pruning. I am impressed by my own good decision making and self-restraint, recalling years past and frozen seedlings that failed to thrive. I inhale the cold air of early Spring on the marsh. The surface of the marsh ponds are silvery, reflecting the sky as the sun rises. Nice morning, if a bit cold. I’m grateful for the warm sweater I chose this morning.

Choices matter. Actions matter more.

A flock of geese takes flight from the marsh pond behind me. I’m seated on a fence rail betwixt the pond and the trail. The flock rises almost as one and I wonder how they all knew to do so just then? They pass overhead and I pull the hood of my fleece hoodie over my head “just in case”. I consider myself fortunate; no bird poop spatters me. I sit with my gratitude. Sometimes small things leave a big impression; I was once hit by falling bird poop, and getting it out of my hair seriously grossed me out. It may never occur again. I sit considering the numbers of birds, and people, and how often a bird passes overhead, and how rarely someone is actually hit by falling bird poop. It’s not really a high risk.

Go outside anyway. Walk a trail. Smell the flowers. See a sunrise. Trying to avoid all of the obstacles and potential misadventures on life’s journey only results in a life never really lived.

Choose. Do the thing. Experience the moment. Fail, learn, and grow. Walk a path you know you have chosen for yourself. Don’t rely overmuch on your “heroes” to lead the way. They too are mortal creatures with very human failings. Topple them from their pedestals and examine the truth of who they are (or were) as people and maybe do better. It may be easier than you think.

The sunrise is pearly pink and delicate orange, this morning. The meadow grass is tipped with frost. My breath turns to mist each time I exhale. I sit with the moment, enjoying the quiet, feeling myself relax. Looking towards the far side of the marsh and meadow, I see a green haze in the treetops. Definitely Spring.

I sit awhile longer, thinking about this or that vexing circumstance. Each time a grievance or complaint rises in my consciousness demanding my attention, I look it over and ask myself two questions,

  1. Does this really matter enough to give it attention and energy at all?
  2. If the answer (for me) is “yes”, then what will I do about that?

If human primates put as much energy into solving their problems (or changing their circumstances) as they do just bitching about them, we’d likely have a very different world. I don’t know what that world would be like, but I do like thinking about it.

I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with cold Spring air. The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. What will you do when it is time to begin again? I think about the path ahead of me, and get to my feet.

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

Hints of Rose and Vanilla

March 21, 2026 //
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The moment begins with a coffee. Ethiopian beans, a medium roast, ground medium fine, to make a lovely pour-over to which I’ve added a bit of powdered vanilla and dried rose petals, before I begin the pour. I take my coffee to the garden.

I sip and I think, and I watch a blue jay, watching me. He is, I think, a blue jay who was born quite nearby, a couple years ago, and he returns to my garden each Spring, often following me around as I work in various flower beds and raised beds. When I walk away from one bit of work, he inspects it with interest, before following me to the next spot. I call him “Bob”, but he doesn’t answer to that name. Neither does he fly away startled. He often seems interested in what I have to say. lol Today he left me an acorn while I watched, and flew to a nearby branch to watch me. I pocketed his gift (and said “thank you” lol) and it is still in my pocket, now.

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

… Later, my Traveling Partner will point out that the blue jay I saw is probably not the same blue jay, and that their lives are rather short. I consider that, and wonder how much memory they might pass on, reminded of a video we recently watched, about butterflies. I call them all “Bob” anyway, so in some sense it hardly matters, and the jays have never objected.

The primroses are blooming.

I spent a beautiful morning in the garden, pulling weeds from the veggie bed and putting down compost. The work is unfinished, though I got quite a lot done, and that is the way of big projects, isn’t it? We work to a plan, overcome challenges, use available resources, notice some lack in the available materials… Well shit.

I ran out of compost at about the same time that I ran out of energy, and limped out of the garden reluctantly, boots muddy, muscles sore. What a lovely way to celebrate the Equinox, hands in the fertile earth – a favorite Rite of Spring. The entire time I worked in the garden, my beloved Traveling Partner was working in his shop. I could hear the music of the machines while I worked. I found particular joy and comfort to hear the sounds of my partner working.

A new day dawns. What will you do with the opportunities?

This morning I woke ahead of my alarm, and rose expecting to feel stiff from yesterday’s effort. I feel okay. Capable. Strong. All things considered, I’m not as strong as I’d like to be and have more limitations than I prefer, but I feel good today and for all observable values of “good”, I feel pretty splendid, actually. I smile as I drive to the trailhead. It’s a lovely morning to put some miles on my boots before returning home. I’ll stop for a bag of compost on my way home and go back to the garden. It is my way of celebrating the coming of Spring. Tomorrow is soon enough for laundry and whatnot.

As I cross the marsh, I listen to the robins singing their noisy morning song, and geese calling to each other overhead. Lovely morning for walking, and I have the trail alone, too. The solitude feels like a gift. I grin and think of my Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. I’m glad he’s getting the rest he needs. He’s in the middle of a job and needs to be rested in order to be focused, relaxed, and able to work with the full measure of his skills.

I smile, feeling incredibly loved as I recall that he’s made reservations for us to celebrate our anniversary at a Michelin starred restaurant that recently appeared on a list of “best in the nation” eateries. I’m excited to go, and even more tickled that the whole thing is his idea. I feel very loved and filled with gratitude for my partner’s recovery from injury.

I walk with my thoughts all the way to far side of the marsh, past my usual halfway point. I take a side trail I usually skip, just for fun, to the top of a hill, expecting a view out over the marsh… No such view has been preserved here, and I find myself in a grove of oaks surrounded by a dense thicket of brush and shrubbery.  I’m not disappointed, just reminded how often our expectations have no direct connection to reality. It’s a pleasant spot to write and meditate, so I do that, taking a seat on a fallen tree trunk. It’s a beautiful quiet place.

I finish my writing, and my meditation, and find myself in daylight, sun up, and blue sky overhead. The garden is waiting. It’s a good time to begin again. I get to my feet and get started. The clock is ticking and this trail isn’t going to walk itself. 😁 Later, I’ll make coffee… perhaps with a hint of rose and vanilla.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

The Secret of Moments

February 3, 2026 //
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Each tick of the clock is its own. Each moment is unique and precious, like a breath, or a snowflake. They are fleeting, those ticks of the clock, and those mortal moments. Yesterday, around this same time, the morning was filled with chaos (household internet was down, my laptop had a brand new operating system on it, my work day was shortened by an afternoon appointment and filled with unexpected meetings), this morning this moment is peaceful, and rather mundane. Yesterday’s challenges are behind me, today’s are still ahead.

The time is…now.

With each moment being fleeting, and unique, and the tick of the clock ever ongoing, and our mortal lives filled with opportunities, choices, and changes, it can be easy to feel harried, or pushed around by circumstances, and forget to truly live those precious moments, and to make informed choices from a thoughtful perspective. I sip my coffee and think about that.

I think about the way my Traveling Partner calmed me down after I had hastened home frantically to sort out what had “gone wrong” with my new OS, and get back on track for work as quickly as I could. Hilariously, what had gone wrong was mostly the human being at the keyboard. lol Small details I didn’t recognize in their new form, and tools I was less familiar with, and in a moment of panic, I stopped understanding what little I knew. My partner was patient, and he is deeply knowledgeable of computers and operating systems, as if it is part of his DNA. In an instant, he had identified the issue, sorted things out, showed me where I had gone astray, and I got my day started. He’d already resolved the household internet issue. He’s good like that – and I’m fortunate to enjoy a loving partnership with a human being whose skills complement my own so well. In some other moment, he may have been the one seeking out my assistance with some thing he felt ill-equipped to handle.

I think about my appointment later in the afternoon yesterday, and the lasting feeling of calm loving support that had carried me through the day. Going to the VA often makes me anxious (and angry). The appointment was routine enough, just my annual thing with the VA: blood work, images, a consultation, updated prescriptions, another vaccine. The VA stresses me out most of the time. I dislike the stark reminder of my mortality on display, and I similarly dislike the facade of support for veterans also on display. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the employees at the VA (the doctors, nurses, clinical specialists, technicians, and cleaning staff) do their best for veterans every day against the terrible constraints they face due to lack of appropriate staffing, lack of required funding, lack of approval for this or that treatment for one condition or another – and the frankly performative “consideration” for veterans by our administration is grotesque and disappointing. It’s not the fault of the staff, but the hopelessness, cynicism and disappointment permeate the air at the VA – at every VA facility I’ve ever been in. It’s not a partisan thing, although this current administration is by far the most grotesque and horrifying in my own lifetime – every administration makes new veterans, and none actually wants to pay the full measure of the price to care for them. (And if veteran’s are not cared for, well then their lifespan is further shortened, eh? Less costly by far. It is quite Dickensian from that perspective.)

I sigh and sip my coffee. My appointment went fine. Images taken. Vaccine received. Blood drawn. Hell, I even capitulated to having a pelvic exam and a pap smear (probably my last based on current recommendations for women in my age group). Sexual health is important, even as we age. Anyway, it was fine. Only a moment.

Yesterday I was quickly wrapped in stress. This morning is quite different, calm and inviting. I smile to myself, enjoying this moment. And if it were a shit moment filled with stress and chaos? Well, I know it will pass. There will be other moments. It’s not an easy thing, letting small things stay small; it takes practice, and sometimes some help. I had watched a peculiarly timely video that touched on change and moments and resilience in a way I found useful. I’m glad I had; I needed those words of wise perspective and encouragement yesterday!

…Each time for the first time. Each moment the only moment. “Ichi-go ichi-e” – live your moments with intention, and presence! Show up for your own life. These moments are finite and mortal, and we have so few. Each having our own experience, walking our own path, we connect over briefly shared moments. I smile to myself. Crappy muzak in the background of a chain cafe on a work day morning, sipping on an utterly ordinary cup of black coffee – even this moment is precious. It is mine.

Sometimes it’s a metaphor – sometimes it is just a cup of coffee. 🙂

I smile and sip my coffee, reflecting on this moment, and other moments. The music plays on. The clock keeps ticking. Eventually, I’ll begin again, for now, I’ve got this moment right here, now. It’s enough.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women, Words

Tinnitus, Still

October 29, 2025 //
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I had high hopes that my hearing aids might somehow improve my tinnitus. That hasn’t been the case, although it is sometimes less distracting, since I can more easily focus on real sounds in my environment, being able to hear them more clearly. It’s something, but it’s not a solution to the tinnitus, which is vexing me a bit this morning. In the predawn darkness on the trail, I hear my footsteps, my breathing, and my tinnitus.

I sigh to myself and keep on walking.

The news is grim and stupid to the point of seeming surreal. It’s as if The Onion is in charge of the news… only, this crap is entirely real. I mean, for most values of real. (Sometimes it is hard to be certain what “real” even is, with AI slop becoming heavily featured.) What did we think would happen as businesses (including media companies) lay off human beings in favor of (apparently) cheaper AI bots and “agents” taking the place of human beings with actual creativity, discernment, judgement, and comprehension? The demand for news and information is still there, and it looks like a notable portion of the news consuming public will settle for sponsored content and clickbait slideshows as an adequate substitute. So grotesque.

I keep walking.

Grocery prices are way up, while the president says explicitly that they are down. This entire administration seems to be one long tedious string of actual fact-checkable blatant shameless falsehoods. Lies. Like, “look straight into the camera, smile, and lie” levels of disregard for truth or factual accuracy. I’m not sure which bothers me most, the childishly obvious lying, or the personal attacks in lieu of reasoned discussion. Sarcasm, mockery, and name-calling used to seem beneath the dignity and character of our leaders… but someone let schoolyard bullies take seats of power. Stupid. Stressful. I keep finding myself wondering if we truly are living the decline and fall of America. That would be such a shame.

I keep walking.

The pavement is wet. It rained during the night. I wonder how many people in my own community spent the rainy night outdoors, who will wake up hungry this morning and instead of a fresh cup of coffee and a job to get to, spend a cold morning trying to find resources. Shelter. A hot meal. A means of being clean, warm, dry, and safe. Where will they go? What would I do if it were me?

I keep walking.

I notice, this morning, that my readership is way up. Like, almost ridiculously so. If you’re a new reader, welcome. I laugh to myself. The things I write are not the sort likely to drive a ton of new views, generally. I’m not naive enough to imagine I’ve suddenly become wildly popular with a broad audience. It’s more likely to be bots and non-human traffic. (I once saw readership spike when a particular post was used as an example of something in someone’s curriculum. Things like that happen now and then.) Still, if you are a human primate who happened upon my blog, you are very welcome. Enjoy.

I get to my halfway point and stop to write. The morning is dark and quiet, chilly and damp, but not actually raining. It’s a workday, and I expect a busy one. I sigh and let that go. I don’t need to be thinking about work right now, this moment is mine. I don’t have to think about “the world”, either, not right now, and I let that go, too. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let concerns about money, civil rights, personal freedoms, genocide, aging, AI, and the future of humankind, fall away, and I pull my focus to this quiet moment right here. Here, now, generally speaking, things (for me) are mostly fine. I’m okay for most values of okay. The bills are paid. The pantry is stocked. There’s a payday coming. The gas tank is half full. I’m wearing warm, dry, clean clothing appropriate for the weather. Hell, I’m even in a pretty good mood, if a bit world-weary and disappointed in humanity.

I sit with my gratitude awhile, wishing very much I could share this moment with my Granny, my Dear Friend, or even my Dad – all people who spent some considerable time in their lives worrying over me. I’m okay. Took a long g’damned time to get here, but I’m here, now, and I’m okay. I fill my lungs with the chilly autumn morning air and exhale slowly, emptying my mind of stressful things as the vapor of my breath mingles with the autumn mist.

G’damn, my tinnitus is loud this morning.

Daybreak comes later each morning, this time of year. “No point waiting,” I think to myself. I sit a little while longer, watching the stars and looking for even a hint of the dawn to come. It’s not yet time. For a moment I wonder whimsically (if a bit grimly) whether the sun will rise at all. How would I behave if one morning it just… didn’t? That would certainly change the relative importance of some of the bullshit going on in the world, wouldn’t it?

I sit with my thoughts, and my breath, trying to make sense of things. It is a favorite endeavor of human primates to try and “figure things out”. I hear an old familiar voice in my memory, “you can’t figure out crazy”. Still true. I sigh and get to my feet. It’s time to walk on. It is time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Another Turn of the Wheel

October 27, 2025 //
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The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. The going around keeps going around, and the coming around seems slow to arrive, but inevitably will come around. The grains of sand in our mortal hourglass keep trickling away. It is another new day, another new week, and another series of imminent moments to live, to savor, and to remember later.

… What will you do with your finite precious moments, today….?

Me? I’m starting with a walk. The trail is dark, and it rained through the night. The neighborhood that surrounds this trail is quiet. The darkness is illuminated by occasional lights, and the quiet is interrupted by the distant hum and whir of HVAC systems. Humanity exists here. I sigh and keep walking. “Peace and quiet” is relative, I guess.

I slept well and deeply. The weekend of much needed rest was a worthwhile deviation from more typical weekends, when I commonly swap “gainful employment” for the greatly appreciated, but wholly unpaid, domestic labor of errand running, housekeeping, grocery shopping, and caregiving. I’m both grateful and relieved that my Traveling Partner needs so little caregiving now, at all. As his capabilities around the house with day-to-day tasks continue to improve, my ability to cover “everything else” (more or less, most of the time) also improves. The shared effort is a quality of life improvement, and made it possible to just set stuff aside this past weekend and relax. I can’t easily describe how much more rested and able to focus I feel this morning. I definitely needed that restful time.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, smiling to myself and enjoy the lingering feeling of being loved.

The world looks different before daybreak.

I walked the wet trail carefully in the darkness. It is slick with wet leaves, and dotted with puddles. I playfully stomp through a puddle or two before a grown up sense of safety vs hazards catches up with my sense of whimsy. I slip, just once, nearly falling because I carelessly stomped a puddle that was full of slippery leaves. I catch myself, feeling a brief moment of embarrassment, although I’m alone on the trail this morning.

I get to my halfway point and stop to take in the scene, rest a moment, write and meditate. It has become a cherished routine. It begins to rain, softly, and I am grateful for the tree cover that keeps me mostly dry. Chilly morning, too, I think to myself. I’m grateful for the fleece over my sweater, and its warm deep pockets.

… Monday…

I’ve got no particular sorrow or stress over a Monday, these days. A work day is a work day. I smile in the darkness. I sit enjoying the moment. I’m ready for whatever is next, as the wheel continues to turn. I’m ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being
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