Archives for posts with tag: Ichi-go ichi-e
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Listening to the Rain Fall

September 3, 2026 //
0

As I stepped through the front doorway, I saw the wet pavement and smelled the scents of recent rain. I shrug it off happily; I’ll pick up a coffee on my way to the trailhead, in case I find myself waiting for a break in the rain.

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

Good call. The rain began to fall as I got into the car. It’s still falling as I pulled into the parking lot. It’s still falling now. I’m okay with it. I like the rain. I sit with my coffee, contentedly waiting for a break in the rain, sun roof cracked open to let in the fresh scent of rainfall and petrichor. I enjoy the sound of rain falling on the car.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking time with meditation, letting the rain fall without stress or concern. Beyond the rain, I hear distant HVAC. I am serene and unbothered. Feels like a good start to the day.

…It keeps raining…

I sigh to myself. If it’s going to rain like this indefinitely – and maybe it will – I’m going to want my rain gear where I can get to it more easily. This morning it is neatly packed away in my gear bin, in the back of the car (SUV), and in the time it will take to pull it out and put it on, I’ll be soaked. The break in the rain I’m looking for only needs to be long enough to find and put on my rain poncho.

… I think about that rain poncho for a moment. It’s the same cheap IKEA rain poncho I’ve kept stuffed with my gear since… 2014? How is that thing even still water resistant? I remind myself to check it carefully and be certain of its continued usefulness, and maybe replace it…

Nothing lasts forever, least of all these finite mortal lives. I sigh to myself and decide to get on with it, in spite of the rain. It’s Oregon, and fall is almost here, it’s going to rain… maybe a lot. I mentally walk through the steps of getting my rain poncho out of my gear bin. It’s raining pretty hard right now. I put my headlamp on and let it hang from my neck. It’s still dark. It stays dark later each morning by some small amount. I reach behind me grateful that I’d flung my fleece there yesterday morning. Handy. It will keep some of the rain off while I dig around in the back of the car. As if on cue, it begins to rain harder.

Out of curiosity, I look at the wildfire map. On the map it looks like the entire west coast is on fire, with a small thin slice along the western edge untouched. I feel grateful to live within that slice of my state that is not on fire. I’m grateful for the rain, too. I hope it drenches the land and quenches the fires.

…Of course. I check the weather radar map showing the precipitation. Looks like it’s only raining over the areas that are not on fire. Cosmic humor isn’t reliably amusing to mere mortals.

I sigh to myself. I’ve stalled long enough, and it’s time to begin. Again.

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

Something a Little Different

August 23, 2026 //
0

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.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

A Poignant Solitude

August 22, 2026 //
0

It was just a dream. I remind myself again and again, while also trying to ignore the recalled details, hoping it will fade as I wake, walk, have coffee, run errands…

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

…As dreams go, it felt “too real”, like living some other version of my life, or a moment not yet lived…

The space is tediously sparse: undecorated white walls, one window. The view is something on the urban edge of suburbia, cheapened by the vertical blinds. The quiet feels heavy, interrupted by a ticking clock and unintelligible voices in an adjacent room, or the corridor. I breathe, exhale, relax. I notice my hands, which seem unfamiliar and aged, frail and thin skinned, but beautifully manicured.

My head turns in the direction of a knock, and the door opens. A stranger, a woman, enters with an aggressively cheery greeting and the fake smile of someone who hates their job. “Good morning! How are we today? Ready for breakfast?” She places a tray on my side table and busily tidies the room as my eyes follow her movements. More effort doesn’t seem warranted; she doesn’t really see me. She starts for the door and I speak up, “Is M____ visiting today? Or… Is it tomorrow?” She looks at me, real eye contact, a long pause. “I’m not sure,” she says, “I’ll have to check at reception,” and she’s gone.

Faintly, as if from a distance, I overhear conversation as I look at the unappetizing tray with my meal on it.

“She asked what?”

“If someone named M_____ would be coming to visit today or tomorrow. I don’t know who that is…”

“You’re new. That’s her husband. He’s been gone – dead, I think – for like 20 years. She doesn’t seem able to remember that. Sometimes she remembers, you’ll definitely be able to tell. She clearly misses him, but she doesn’t talk much about him, just asks if he’s going to visit.”

“Oh, poor thing… Does she have other visitors?”

The matronly voice in the hall laughs, “Honey, she’s 117 years old. If she had kids or friends or family, she’s outlived them all. No one comes. She was a writer, I heard, and an artist, but the arthritis in her hands…”

The voices fade away. The food still looks unappetizing. Institutional, like the view. Tears fill my eyes. Ridiculous woman, I think to myself. Of course I know. I just can’t bear it, and I miss him so much…

…the tears spill over, and my shaking hands struggle with the fork, finally settling for just pushing things around on my plate…

I feel his hands warm on my shoulders. His touch eases my pain. I sigh and relax grateful for his touch, and his love. “You’ve got to eat something, Baby,” he says softly, running his fingers through my hair. “You could do that forever,” I whisper. We laugh together. I put my hand on his, where it rests on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came to visit,” I say.

… I don’t turn my head. I know what I’d see. It’s fine. I’m okay with solitude. I sit watching the light of the window chase shadows across the room. The clock ticks on. My hands ache. My head aches. My heart… aches.

… I wake with my face still wet with my tears, and grateful to see another sunrise, to love and be loved, and for still another chance to be a better version of myself than I was yesterday. I make a silent promise to some future version of me – I won’t waste these precious finite mortal moments. When things go sideways, I’ll begin again.

…

… I sigh to myself as I step onto the trail. I’m grateful for the dawn of a new day, and for this sunrise. I’m grateful for another opportunity to begin again. Grateful it was only a dream. Grateful that my beloved will be there to welcome me when I return home. I wipe away a stray tear and head down the path.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories breathe, gratitude, Love, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

This One’s Just Me

August 10, 2026 //
0

Odd morning. I slept well enough. I woke on time. The morning seems ordinary, another Monday. Still, I feel rather out of sorts and vexed with something or other, but I have no idea what, or why.

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

I sigh to myself, waiting on daybreak to start my walk. I haven’t yet replaced my headlamp. Is that what’s annoying me? Maybe, but if so more likely as a larger concern with not getting shit done “in a timely manner”, and some vague sense of being on a metaphorical hamster wheel in life. Maybe it’s just my exceedingly annoying painful left shoulder, which is being particularly annoying and painful this morning? Also? Omg fuck the “aches and pains” of aging. So over that shit.

…So, yeah, I’m pretty cross this morning, but there’s no noteworthy tale to tell, or anything obvious to do about it. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Don’t take shit personally…

There is so much to do that I feel like I don’t (or can’t) get to. I sigh to myself. I could do more, work harder, burn more energy in spite of pain… It gets tricky when I attempt to stave off resentment by improving my self-care. There’s a balance to strike. At least I’m sleeping. That’s something. We all need sleep to keep these fragile vessels in working order.

Daybreak comes. I’m always strangely relieved when it does, as if there might be some real risk that it might not. I stepped onto the trail, testing my stability carefully before I proceeded. I Checked that my trekking pole is adjusted correctly and securely. Steps on a path. Nice morning for walking. I let my eyes adjust and start down the trail.

We’re each having our own experience. I reflect on that as I walk. However many times I walk this trail, each walk is still new, and is a unique experience. Each other person who has or will walk this trail experiences it differently than I do. That’s a lot of experiences.

I stop at my halfway point. The new hotel being built next to the air museum is visible from here. For now, it is still an eyesore of construction in progress, it’s blocky form inconsistent with the architecture of the museum. It’s ugly and ordinary, another revenue stream for the owner(s). I’d rather have seen more vineyards planted, personally, but I wasn’t asked. 😆

I sit with my grumpiness and discontent. It’ll pass. That is the way of emotions and moments; they pass. I sigh to myself and think instead about driving my RC car this weekend, which was delightful, and I think about the pleasant time spent hanging out with my beloved, or working on my next painting in my studio. It was a good weekend, generally speaking.

… What the fuck do I even have to be cranky about..?

I shift my position and feel all the twinges of pain at once: the shoulder, the knee, the new arthritis in my thumbs, the old arthritis in my spine, the headache, and the occipital neuralgia. I laugh, an actual audible expression of genuine amusement. How is the pain not enough reason to be a bit cross this morning? I shrug it off, satisfied that I’ve got reason enough to feel the way I do. I proceed to get some kind of start to letting that go; there is an entire new day ahead, and there’s no efficiency to be gained by dwelling on pain. I’ll just do my best to…do my best.

I watch the sky lighten. A new day. A new chance to begin again. A new chance to be the person I most want to be.

…No one said it would be easy…

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Variations on a Theme

August 7, 2026 //
0

I woke to my Traveling Partner’s voice telling me the weather and air quality are safe for walking. “Ideal” he may have said. I sat up groggy, and started dressing.

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

I reached the trailhead sometime between daybreak and sunrise. The morning sky is pink and blue, with just a bit of haze coloring the distant hills in shades of muted blues. The temperature is mild and quite comfortable for now, but hinting at another very hot day ahead.

Sometimes “better” will have to be enough.

I remember, with some frustration, that I had meant to grab some items purchased online that didn’t work out, so I could run the return errand today. I forgot them in my rush to leave, hoping to give my beloved at least some quiet time for himself. Shit. Probably have to go back for those later. It’s a short day; I have an appointment later. I walk with my thoughts, mostly working on figuring out the timing. Can I make it work?

“Can I make it work?” Sometimes yes, sometimes no, eh? It is a question that comes up a lot in a human life.

I get to my halfway point and stop. Shorter walk, but still walking. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and settle myself into this moment, here, now. This? Right here? This moment of quiet peace, contentment, and joy? It’s enough. I sit with it awhile, savoring the scent of summer in the air (instead of smoke). I watch the sun rise and a new day begin. I think my thoughts.

… The appointment is relatively early in the afternoon, I can do the returns afterwards…

My thoughts wander on. Life. Love. Joy. Sorrow. Work. Chores. Dreams. Plans. Recollections of jokes my partner has told, and lovely things he has said to me. I breathe, exhale, and bring myself back to “now”. This is quite a nice moment without any extras. I enjoy it as it is.

I sit quietly until I can’t avoid hearing my tinnitus screeching in my ears, and my thoughts become dominated by eagerness to have coffee. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »