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Coffee First

September 21, 2026 //
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I sip my coffee gratefully. It’s good. Really good. I am having a lovely ham and cheddar scone (“Made right here!,” the barista told me proudly). The scone is also quite good. It is a pleasant beginning to a day of painting. I smirk at myself, aware that although I did sleep in, I was up quite early, and I’ve already gotten a pleasant walk along the beach at low tide, before getting my coffee at the (new) cafe that is very near to the hotel. For most values of “beginning the day”, this misses the mark. It’s fine. Close enough.

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

So, yeah, in spite of the title, my coffee was not actually “a beginning” in any meaningful way, it’s more “between” things. It is between my waking and my painting. It is between my walking and picking up more bottled water for drinking. It is between planning to shower, and actually showering. It is, however, before any painting that I may do today. (Fucking writers, man, always twisting things and making shit up. Damn it, words are not toys! LOL)

…It’s good coffee, though, and I’m glad to have it, and I will enjoy it before I begin to paint, sitting here on the balcony of my hotel room, watching the tide come in, feeling the playfulness of this moment in the morning…

Siletz Bay, low tide.

A gull sails back and forth just beyond the balcony, watching me (or more specifically, this scone I’m nibbling on). My laptop is balanced on my lap as I sit here, feet up on the other chair, writing and drinking my coffee. I know how this works; if I take my eye off that scone once I’ve set it down to put fingers to the keys, that scone is immediately at risk of being snatched by a quick and wily seagull. A ham and cheddar scone is probably not the best food for a seagull, but neither are crisps, or cookies, and I’ve seen the gulls snatch those from careless snackers many times. I’m tempted to toss a piece of my scone out beyond the balcony rail to watch the gull skillfully snatch it from the air, but doing so will only bring more gulls, and sometimes they can be aggressive about grabbing snacks, so I decide against doing that.

A view of the channel through which the bay empties into the sea. (Squint and you may see fisher-folk enjoying the season.)

It another gray morning. I take my time with my coffee while it is still hot; the light is not yet sufficient to paint by the natural light coming in through the open balcony door, and I dislike the yellow-y light of the overhead light or the table lamp. I think I’ve always disliked that strange stale-looking yellow light of incandescent bulbs. I find something sad and sinister about incandescent lighting, most especially in overhead lighting fixtures. I sigh contentedly, in spite of having to “wait for the light” this morning; this cup of coffee is really good. Also, my beloved Traveling Partner pinged me a good morning greeting, and we exchanged a few words and a couple selfies. Of all the uses of a selfie, this is the one I find most suited to living well; sharing one with someone fondly, to connect and close the distance between us, out of love. That’s beautiful. So is my beloved. I sit grinning at the picture he sent me, sipping my coffee and feeling love, loved, and grateful.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and enjoy the moment.

A gull lands on the balcony quite near me, eyeing the last bite of scone sitting beside me. I’m a little intimidated by the size of this gull, and I sit quite still to see what is to come of this moment, here, now. The gull steps toward me, one step at a time, slowly, then reaches his neck out and takes the prize, and hops backward quite suddenly, and rather awkwardly, with the last bite of scone in his beak. Fair enough, enjoy that bite, silly bird. “Go on with you, then, you got what you came for,” I say out loud. I reach for my camera – if he’s going to linger, I’m going to get a picture, I think to myself. He immediately takes flight, and soars out across the bay before landing on a broad expanse of exposed mud flat.

I sigh to myself. It’s hard to beat coastal time for relaxation (in my experience). Even the dense beautiful green solitude in the forest doesn’t hit these heights of “chill time” in the same way. The wind and the waves here silence my tinnitus in the most remarkable way, and unless I go to one of the sloughs or marshes, I’m unlikely to be dealing with a lot of buzzing or biting insects. The tides almost beg to be watched, coming and going, for long lazy hours of uncounted minutes. The clock seems to stop ticking. Funny thing, I don’t think of myself as “a seashore person”, and I don’t swim often (I don’t prefer to be immersed in water at all, really, unless it is a deep hot bath). I don’t sail or aspire to it, and don’t own a boat, or spend time on them. It’s the sight of the sea, the smell of the wind and the sound of the waves, that hold my attention. They connect me with my Granny, who loved the sea and life on the Chesapeake. They connect me with my Mother. They connect me with my Dear Friend. I love being here by the sea, and for my own reasons I enjoy this strange shallow muddy bay, along the rocky coastline of Oregon. It empties until only a thin ribbon of the Siletz River winds through it, emptying into the ocean through a small channel between Salishan Beach and the beach here at Taft, where this hotel sits. Yesterday at high tide, I watched a man and his dog playfully wade out almost to the other side of the bay, without ever stepping into water more than waist high. I’ve stayed in this very hotel during a season of “king tides” that were extraordinary, and feeling the hotel rocked by the waves crashing into the rip-rap holding back the sand and the tide, and keeping the hotel on it’s foundation, was quite terrifying at times, and I definitely regretted my ground floor room on that visit, although I don’t think I’d have enjoyed the swaying reported by guests in 4th floor rooms, either.

…this coffee is quite good…

I sigh contentedly, feet up, coffee cup warm in my hand, the sound of the wind and the waves in my ears, and grateful for this chance to really rest and put aside the routine of a typical Monday in favor of this calm joy. “Home, tomorrow,” I think to myself – and I’m happy about that, too. I miss my beloved. I feel the change of the season coming, and I will find comfort in his strong embrace. Soon. In the meantime, I’ve got this day to myself, to paint, and to reflect, and to be. It’s enough. More than enough. I finish my coffee, ready to begin (again).

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Mask On – Mask Off

August 6, 2026 //
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Being cared for comes in a lot of forms. Yesterday, it came in the form of a 3M NIOSH half-mask respirator, on a morning so hazy with wildfire smoke I definitely should not have been out in it.

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

I returned home to begin my work day, and greeted my partner. He noticed my background stress level seemed high (and nothing going on to cause that) and asked me what was up, or suggested I take a breath, something – I don’t recall that part clearly, I only remember looking at him, trying to take a deep breath, and putting my hand to my chest and choking out something to do with how much my lungs seemed to hurt when I breathe. He looked alarmed and went into action. It was almost immediate; I had a mask in my hand, my Traveling Partner’s help with fitting it, and confirmation of the dangerous air quality. Putting the mask on, I felt almost immediate relief. I also felt very loved, and well-cared for.

…I wore that mask all day while I worked…

Being cared for takes a lot of forms. Some are obvious. Some less so. Some are life-saving measures. Some are conveniences. This morning, I enjoyed another moment of care; my beloved sent me a message for first thing, strictly cautioned me against going outside unless the AQI was better than 50, and provided me a wee guide to what my morning could look like (knowing my routine would be thrown off). He made me a list, and I checked it off with care: sleep in until 6, make coffee, put on jazz, make-up, and a smile, and start my day. He was quite right; it has made for a lovely beginning.

Today begins well. AQI is down to 90 – not ideal, but I don’t need the mask this morning to breathe comfortably. This cup of coffee is good. I did not rush through my wake-up or my make-up. I feel comfortable and unbothered. The work day is ahead, and in spite of following a wholly different routine this morning, the day feels very much on track to be quite a good one. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Feels good. No irritated eyes this morning. No raw scratchy throat. No pain when I inhale. Better.

I smile thinking of something I learned from my Traveling Partner, it’s not super relevant right at the moment, but the phrase is in my thoughts; “put your own oxygen mask on first”. Makes sense. If you don’t practice effective self-care, how do you preserve the capacity to help others? I was pretty stupid yesterday, going out for my walk without checking the AQI first, knowing the previous day had been hazy, and that we are more or less surrounded by wildfires right now. Smart would have been checking the AQI and staying home. Smarter still would have been thinking ahead the day prior, discussing the weather with my beloved, and establishing a plan, and maybe getting out that mask and having it ready when I needed it! Hopefully I learn from this. I had the knowledge. I had the tools. I failed on the verbs. Very human.

I sip my coffee and reflect on circumstances, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

Better Than Bad

June 15, 2026 //
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“Are we there yet?” What a strange journey. I sip my morning coffee looking out over the beach at the ocean. I woke to a lovely pearly dawn – and I slept in! What a treat. My first cup of coffee this morning is better than it was last time I stayed here. There is a new and very clean coffee machine in the room. It’s not fantastic coffee, but it’s not bad. I sip it carefully as it cools a bit, contemplating what it takes to make a truly exceptional cup of coffee. What do I even consider to be “a truly exceptional cup of coffee”? I sigh and let it go; as with most things, enough is truly enough.

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

The view I woke to this morning.

I think further about sufficiency, and remind myself that there are circumstances in which “sufficiency” is easily conflated with some compromise in cost or availability or timing that renders something wholly inadequate to the purpose at hand – in which case that isn’t “sufficient” at all, it’s an unfortunate compromise that does not work out well.

…We have to balance a lot of choices in this human life…

I sip my coffee thinking about tools, and how having the right tool for the job is pretty important. A poor choice of tool can ruin delicate work, or slow down completion of an important task. Living a life in which “sufficiency” is an important practice doesn’t mean making poor choices, it’s more about making wise ones. It’s an important distinction. Sometimes what is “sufficient” is actually a whole lot more in some way that I expect it to be. What is “enough” for me, in this moment or for this purpose, may not be “enough” for someone else, or for some other need, or some other time. It feels a bit like a moving goal post, but it is more to do with context and understanding.

…My Mazda is entirely sufficient for my own needs, but it made for a very poor substitute for a pick-up truck for my Traveling Partner’s work needs…

I listen to the waves crash in as I sip my coffee. Is it “sufficient”? Probably. Will I still go forth into the world for something better? Yes, I will. I’m not visiting the coast to experience austerity or seeking to limit myself solely to what is sufficient, this morning – I’m here to paint and to fill my senses with the wind and the waves, and my mind with inspiration. I’m not saying that requires a better cup of coffee, but I would enjoy one. Maybe with a freshly made bagel, down on the beach, perched on the end of some massive driftwood log, with a good view of the rock formation beyond my window, and shaded by the cliff that separates the town from the sea? That sounds pretty good. Definitely better than bad.

What will I find down on the beach?

Yesterday was hot. This hotel room does not have AC (it was built before climate change brought seriously hot days to the summers in this region). I had the window open to the cool sea breeze, but after miles of beach walking in the morning, the heat of the afternoon knocked me out and I napped on and off into the evening – and then still slept through the night! It was a delight to wake to the morning light flooding the room. This room has a nice angle and the light will be good for painting, a little later. I feel rested and alert and alive. I finish my coffee, and morning meditation. I sit awhile, letting my mind wander, listening to the waves.

Each time for the first time. Each moment the only moment. Ichi-go ichi-e. Be here now. Vita contemplativa. The clock is ticking – so what? Let it tick. There is time for “now”.

Give me a minute – in due time I’ll begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Use Only As Directed

May 17, 2026 //
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I woke early and made coffee. No point tossing and turning and trying to sleep in when my body had obviously given up on sleep, and my mind was very much awake already. It’s fine. It’s been a very useful little getaway, and I feel more prepared to “get back to things” with my mind right. I mean…it feels that way now. That’s enough.

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

Amusingly, upon logging in to my laptop for some note-taking and writing, I’m immediately faced with a banner on my dashboard encouraging me to “add AI” tools to my WordPress account. I almost spit coffee all over the keyboard. Are you f*ing kidding me? No. An unreserved, not even curious, “aw hellllll no!”. lol (Tell me your software company pushes shit on users without doing any research whatsoever about whether they want it, without telling me you don’t do any research on whether your users want the crap you want to push on them.) I sigh to myself, click to hide the banner, and when it pops up a question about whether I want to hide it for a week, a month, or forever, I happily choose “forever”. No thanks, no AI here.

…You’ll just have to put up with my odd grammar, word play, mixed metaphors, and typos, y’all, I’ve got this; it’s a human experience, being shared by a human being for other human beings. I correct some typos and move on.

It is another gray coastal morning. Looks like more rain, and my arthritic bones agree. I’m okay with that. Today, I go home. Hell, I might simply pack up and head back, but I do have an appointment to get my hair cut, and I’m definitely overdue. This cup of coffee seems less bad than yesterday’s – same coffee, same machine, same human being. What changed? The day, obviously, but that’s not likely to affect the coffee. Well, by now there’s been several fills of the little reservoir, so… I guess the machine has been rinsed out? When I contemplate the implications, I’m pretty grossed out – and I’m glad it didn’t make me actually ill. (I make a mental note to run water through cheap-ass plastic in-room coffee machines in hotels before making coffee in them. That seem smart.)

Isn’t that the way of this human journey? We stumble, we begin again, we learn from the mistake we made, we do things differently next time (ideally). It seems a bit inefficient, but here we are. Very few of us really learn any other way, and at least in America, we reinforce that inefficiency by mocking “book learning” and dismissing legitimate expertise. We’re all idiots. We elect idiots to important roles, deepening our idiocy. I sigh to myself, recognizing that while I am myself a complete idiot more often than I’d like, there likely are people who avoid most of the traps and pitfalls in life, although I doubt any one human being escapes them all. We’re quite fallible, curious, and prone to making mistakes before we think things through. (Part of that human experience, eh?) Just humans being human.

A a new day, a new perspective, a hint of blue skies.

…Oh damn, there is some part of me that does not really want to go back to “the real world” from this lovely break…

…

I give up on writing long enough to play a favorite track that lifts me up, dancing across the room as I happily groove along, packing my stuff. Why not? Joy is worth taking a break for, and today I go home to my beloved Traveling Partner – and while there are things about “real life” that I may dread (or just not enjoy much), my Traveling Partner is not one of those. I miss him, and I’m eager to be home again. I let the love songs play on. I make choices for the day as I pack. Go out for breakfast? Nah, I’ll just have these cup noodles. Go out for coffee? I don’t think so; the coffee here is fine, and if I want different/better, I can get a great Americano at the cafe next to the salon, later. These jeans or those? Earrings or no? – I’m getting my hair cut, and I’ll have to take them off anyway, I decide against earrings. Life is filled with choices. We make decisions all day, every day, from the moment we wake up and decide to go ahead and live another day, until we choose to call it a night and go to bed. Most of those decisions work out well, and we barely given them any thought. When we make a decision that does not serve us well, it tends to stick out as somehow more significant by itself than the sum of all the good decisions we’ve made along the way. I reflect on that awhile as I plan my day.

I reflect on things I’ve learned about myself, things I think I’ve sorted out, things I think I want to change through choice, action, and will to practice. Taking stock of “where I’m at” and what I want from my life (and myself) is sometimes more complicated than a weekend of quiet, but it feels like enough, as I sit here now. This is what works for me. (Your results may vary. Use only as directed. lol)

I look around this room. It’s mine for another couple of hours, plenty of time for a walk on the beach at low tide, and it is looking like a lovely morning for it. I smile to myself, wondering where my path leads.

The way ahead won’t always be paved, or easy to walk, but it is a journey worth making.

I grab my cane and my camera. It’s time to begin again.

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Your Results May Vary

May 16, 2026 //
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I am sipping a really terrible coffee, looking out over the ocean at low tide. Funny, I’m in the room right next to the room I had on my last visit here…but the view is diminished (one window instead of three side-by-side), and the coffee is terrible. My results vary. Yours will, too, most likely. It’s a very human experience.

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

Low tide, sunrise, western horizon.

I’m still drinking the coffee, as terrible as it is. I’ll go out for better, later, but for now this will do. I am still enjoying the view from this room. It’s beautiful. No complaints, and no need to journey elsewhere to see the sea. Surely, I’ll see more, and from other viewpoints, later today, but for now this is quite enough. This room is somehow smaller than the one next door (and no kitchenette, just a coffee machine and a mini-fridge). Doesn’t much matter; I’m not here about the amenities, I’m here to relax with my thoughts and reset myself, my thinking, and my approach to the day-to-day, hoping to come home feeling refreshed and energized, and somehow more myself than when I got here.

…Will that work? Maybe? It has before…

Here on the seashore I feel my Dear Friend’s presence and my Granny’s. Both women loved coastal places. Whenever I was low, talking with my Granny on the phone from some distant place, she would say “You should come to the shore, Sweetie, and take a rest from all that. It’s just noise in your head. Come listen to the birds, and feel the breeze on the marsh. We’ll take a drive into town and have crab cakes.” I’d often laugh, just feeling relieved to be heard. I couldn’t go as often as I would have liked, but on those occasions that I did, it saved me.

I sip my terrible cup of coffee, marveling at just how really awful it is. The morning sun begins to light up the distant clouds, high in the sky. Beautiful. A seagull stands on the bit of ground between the window and the straight drop to the beach, and looks into the window at me. The ocean is a sleek polished aluminum gray, breaking on the rocky beach in waves of white foam, shining with reflected light. I could sit at this window and watch this views for many uninterrupted hours – even with this gull standing there watching me, as if expecting I might toss some tasty morsel his way. It is windy today (yesterday, too), and it’s expected to be rainy, too. I don’t even mind. Storms make for dramatic skies, and rain means a good night’s sleep (for me).

I sigh to myself. This coffee is even worse once it’s begun to go cold. I chuckle to myself. It’s a good indication that it’s time to begin again, perhaps? The tide is as its lowest, and the tide pools here are something special. My clothes are already laid out. A walk on the beach, then a proper cup of coffee sounds like a lovely start to the day. I let go of my expectations; there is no sense in clinging to what I do not yet know. I already know that change is, and that my results may vary. I’m walking my own path, and that’s enough for this moment right here, now.

I finish this coffee, and think kisses at my Traveling Partner. He’s having his own experience – I hope it is a good one.

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