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Rain and Snow

March 2, 2024 //
2

It’s March in the Pacific Northwest. I’m sipping coffee at a trailhead, waiting for a break in the… rain? Rain. At least, it’s raining here; a sort of steady drizzle, barely enough to discourage me from walking.

No tears this morning, I’ve got the rain.

When I woke and dressed for my walk, I hadn’t checked the weather. I kissed my Traveling Partner, and went to the door. I was surprised to see everything dusted with snow when I opened it. I stood there rather stupidly for a moment, stalled by my astonishment. I turned back to my partner and commented that perhaps I could not go… I must have sounded disappointed (I was), because he reminded me I could just take the truck; this small amount of snow would be nothing for the truck, at all. Of course. Totally made sense and I grabbed my other keychain and left, stopping to grab my hiking boots and cane from my car.

For a short distance, I enjoyed a basically very ordinary drive, aside from the dusting of white everywhere. Within minutes the snow started falling heavily, filling the sky with fat snowflakes, dense and visibility-limiting, but that didn’t last, and I reached the trailhead safely just as the snowfall stopped altogether, becoming this drizzly rain. It’s a rather ordinary rainy March morning.

I think about the garden and the work I am hoping to do this weekend. There are seeds to plant, weeds to pull, and I’d like to get a fresh layer of compost down on the vegetable bed. Weather permitting. I’m thinking about adding a rose with my dear friend in mind… perhaps missing her will be just a little less painful if I honor her memory in my garden… some lovely spot, where I can “sit with her awhile”, now and then? I think about beautiful roses and which of the many I had grown or shared over the years she liked the most or commented on most often… Or perhaps entirely new-to-my-garden roses that somehow capture my dear friend’s sense of style and creative nature? A splash of contrasting colors… A relaxed informal habit… I think about her fondly with roses, flowers, and fragrant herbs in mind. No tears, just love and fond memories. Progress. Even grief is a journey.

… My dear friend loved my roses, and even more she loved that I love them, myself. We spoke many times about the risk of slowing down and doing less, and the unfortunate “use it or lose it” nature of physical ability as we age. I keep walking, in spite of pain, in spite of “laziness”, in spite of fatigue – and it’s because I am so painfully aware that if I stop, and my fitness falls behind, it will become progressively more difficult over time to get it back. The physical effort in the garden is very much the same sort of thing. I sigh quietly and consider the garden and what I would like to do there this year. It saddens me for a moment that my dear friend, this year, won’t be around to share it with…

The rain stops. It’s daylight. The trail awaits. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets, winter, women

A Bluer Shade of Gray

February 29, 2024 //
0

I woke in the usual way, as if this morning is like any other. I went through my routine. Made my way to the car. Drove into the city. All quite ordinary. Traffic was fine. I’m sipping my coffee now, and watching the darkness before dawn slowly evolving through the dim twilight to the blue-gray of daybreak. It’s a rainy morning. Instead of blue skies beyond these windows, the day slowly becomes more gray, less dim.

I drink my coffee, acutely aware that there is one less reader of these words in the world, this morning. I’m saddened by that, less because the words aren’t read, than because of the loss, itself. My dear friend – one of my dearest, deepest, and longest-standing friendships of this mortal life – let go of this mortal existence with all its pain and heartbreak, joys and wonders, yesterday afternoon. I got the call yesterday, just as I was arriving home, betwixt taking the off-ramp into the small town I live in, and stopping by the store for things that seemed necessary at the time.

I took time for tears, and to alert my Traveling Partner, before I went into the store. I sat in my car weeping without restraint or concern about being seen, until I could catch my breath. My Traveling Partner offered me comfort in messages, and held me when I arrived home. My dear friend died surrounded by loving family I was told, and that gives me some comfort. (I guess she was ready – she didn’t wait long once the decisions were made, and she definitely knew where things stood and seemed okay with it, when we spoke over the the course of my visit.) Still… it’s hard to “let go”, and I cling to the recollections of past conversations and shared moments, as humans tend to do. For a moment, tears well up in my eyes again, and I look out into the sky above the city and find myself peculiarly grateful for this sullen gray morning which offers no delightful sunrise view that I might regret being unable to share with her, now. Fitting. “Nothing to see here. Move along, folks.”

…Slow tears slide down my face, ignored…

I sit quietly, thinking my solitary thoughts, sipping my coffee, and feeling the tears fall. Grief passes, I know. “The way out is through.” There’s no point trying to pretend I am made of a block of stone; this is a very human experience. I breathe. Exhale. Relax. I feel calm, just a bit sorrowful, and considering what my dear friend was to me for all these years, that seems only reasonable. I think about my Granny. I still shed occasional tears over her loss, too. My mother? Yes, her, too. Honest tears. These connections are painful to sever. The feeling of loss is genuine. I don’t bother to try to escape the emotions.

The sky continues to lighten. A new day. A new beginning. A strange new world with one less cherished friend in it. The streets don’t look any different, slick with rain, as early morning traffic slowly fills the choicest parking spaces. I take a breath and sigh out loud, sip my coffee, and prepare to begin again.

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Categories breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, loneliness, Love, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, women

Pause

February 24, 2024 //
0

I’m waiting for the sun. Waiting for the gate to the park to open. Waiting to get a walk in, before the many hours of driving ahead of me today. I have a headache, but I wouldn’t have missed the moment by choice; the luminous full moon hung over the marsh, lighting the mists that clung to the ground and the lakes. I sat on the hood of my car in the morning chill, listening to the peeping frogs somewhere in the grass, and smelling the scents of Spring approaching.

One beautiful quiet moment.

The gate opened, and I moved the car and got my boots on and got going. Walking with my thoughts is a practice I know soothes my heart and calms me. Yesterday’s tears become today’s resolve.

Later, I’ll head to the store and do things to ensure my Traveling Partner is comfortable while I am away and mostly able to see to his own needs for a couple days, then I’ll hit the road. It’s not a ridiculously long drive; a few hours, about the length of a work day. I’ll take breaks and put no pressure on myself to manage any particular timing. I’ll just drive, get there, and deal with the circumstances with as much grace and love as I am able to bring to it.

… Saying goodbye can be so painful…

I plan to return as I departed, patiently, with care, and cutting myself some slack on time and timing. I’ll get home and resume living life, and doing all the little things that are part of that experience. I’ll hold my partner tightly and make a point to show him how much I love him. Time is short and we are mortal creatures.

I am so grateful that I have my Traveling Partner to come home to. The thought anchors me and gives me a feeling of safety and wholeness.

Knowing that each ending is also a new beginning doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. But… I’ll go. I’ll say goodbye. I’ll return home… Then I’ll begin again.

Each dawn a new day, each day a new beginning.

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Categories breathe, gratitude, grief, Love, meditation, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, women

Be Present, Time Is Short

February 20, 2024 //
0

I’m sipping the last of my iced coffee and finishing a bowl of oatmeal. Healthier choices are on my mind a lot lately. I look out the window at the stormy looking gray sky and wonder whether the sun will come out, or the day will be rainy. It makes no particular difference, I just wonder.

The hint of blue in the morning sky reflects my mood back at me.

I’m not weeping, nor feeling bereft or despairing. I’m just a tiny bit blue, and contemplating the potential that I may be saying a final good-bye to someone dear to me, if not “soon” for sure sooner than I want to have to face it (which would frankly be not at all). We are mortal creatures. Fucking hell, doesn’t that suck all the damned ballz?? I sigh out loud and think about dear friends, far away family, and peculiarly close others that I feel, sometimes, in my day-to-day experience as “ghosts” of times past. Yes, even in spite of my fondness for solitude, I too am a social creature, and I miss those dear to me whose geographical distance keeps them from being with me “in real life” (isn’t it all “real life” though? email, text messages, phone calls… all real). I make a note to myself to reach out to more of them, more often; time is short and the clock never ever stops ticking.

…Let’s not make that a grim thought, it’s just one of many truths upon which to build our perspective…

I woke once during the night from unpleasant dreams of loss and loneliness and disconnection and mourning. I didn’t stay sad, once I woke. I had reminders of love right there, welcoming me back to the safety and comfort of home. I said a silent thank you to my Traveling Partner for the glow objects he’s added to my space alongside the art I’ve wrought over the years that also helps ground me in my “now” when I wake from a bad dream.

A lotus votive holder and a reminder that I am loved, greet my wakefulness in the night.

I take a breath, exhale, and relax, letting the lingering recollection of my dreams fall away as I watch the sky turn from moody shades of morning blue to shades of gray that threaten more rain. It’s a new day, a new week, and it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, winter, women

It’s Okay to Cry, Too

March 31, 2020 //
2

However much we love the people we love, however good the hearts of those around us, especially in such trying times, it’s not a reasonable expectation to think it will always be easy, or that we will always “get it right”, just because we want to (perhaps even more than we usually do). Sometimes an otherwise comfortable moment may skid sideways, and suddenly become a challenge, or moment of conflict, hurt, or sorrow. So human.

…I could say “deal with it” or “happens to everyone”, and try to shrug it off irritably. I’m not really that person, though, and more often, I simply retreat to “sort myself out” and cry for a few minutes. Generally just some handful of tears of frustration and disappointment, sometimes tears of hurt, or tears of anger. It’s true, though; I cry over shit. I used to be very strict with myself over crying, working furiously to shut it down, stuff it into a dark corner of my consciousness, wrap it up quickly, hide it, wiping those errant tears away as quickly as I could, before anyone could see them, splash some water on my face and move on with things. It was not a helpful approach. Now? Now I just go ahead with it, generally, and cry. (I often seek out some privacy for that purpose, because I also don’t find someone else’s intervention, disapproval, need to “fix” things, or whatever like that at all helpful in those moments, either; sometimes I just need to cry.)

I only bring it up because I often feel some better after having – and experiencing – my emotional moment. It matters to be present with those feelings. To feel and acknowledge them, without shame, without guilt, can be incredibly freeing, and a big step toward restoring balance.

Things in the world are pretty scary right now. The media isn’t doing much to help with that, with the ceaseless 24/7 COVID-19 coverage painting every news story as somehow “about” that, and presenting a picture of the world that somehow suggests there is nothing else newsworthy going on, at all. It’s a weird lens through which to view the world. Eventually, it may “get to you”. Go ahead. Have that moment. It’s okay to cry over it, too. Give yourself a break if you do; it’s a very human thing, and honestly, not at all harmful. 🙂 You may even feel a bit better for a while, having giving yourself a chance to feel it.

…Then, begin again. Move on from that moment. Let it go. Grief is a real emotion. Feel it when you feel it. It does not have to own you, or make you over in a new image. You can choose to let it go, when you’re ready.

I am sipping my coffee in the studio. Starting my day. It’s another work day. Another Tuesday. Another day in the time of pandemic. My Traveling Partner wakes early. We’re both struggling with physical pain, this morning. Rainy day ahead? Maybe. I don’t give myself the time to over think it; it is what it is. Another sip of coffee, and I do what I can to let even the mundanity of physical pain “just go”. (It’s not that effective, right now, and my results definitely vary on this point.) I breathe, exhale, and relax. Just another work day in the “new normal”.

I glance at the clock; already time to begin the day in earnest. (I’ve been making an effort to keep to my usual schedule for a sense of normalcy.) Time, in fact, to begin again. 😉

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Despair, forgiveness, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5
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