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Mornings

December 22, 2025 //
2

I woke too early, but there was no going back to sleep. I’m feeling generally some better, after being ill almost a week now. By afternoon I’m likely to be thinking I feel much better, but another morning will come around, and I’ll be feeling much worse… again. That’s how it’s been so far with this sickness. I feel worse first thing, better later with considerable self-care. I sigh to myself which sets off a coughing fit.

I am better, enough to walk a mile or so of this trail on this chilly, damp morning, if slowly. It is winter now, and a mild one so far, which seems fortunate. I welcome the rain. I’m glad the days aren’t freezing cold. I sip hot coffee and wait for daybreak. It is a work day, but I’m on half days this week, if I can keep up with the workload on those minimal hours. I’ll be off on Wednesday and Thursday for the Giftmas holiday.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The weekend was restful, mostly focused on whatever housekeeping essentials I could do, and on getting well. At this point,  I definitely have some regrets about traveling for work in December. It seems like a pretty stupid idea looking back, but at the time it seemed… fine. The plan is not the experience. I remind myself of errands I’ve agreed to run today, later. My thoughts are fragmented and chaotic, each cough or sneeze becoming a distraction. I will do my best with the day ahead of me.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, waiting for the sun. There is no hurry. There is only this moment. I let that be enough.

My stuffy sinuses and foggy head distract me from noticing an actual fog developing over minutes, seeming to well up from the nearby creek bed, and gathering in the vineyard, before beginning to obscure the trail. It happens quickly, and now it is quite a foggy winter morning, though not a particularly cold one, just foggy and damp. Low hanging storm clouds on the western horizon are a luminous pale faintly orange-y glow, lit by the lights of neighborhoods below, with nearby trees silhouetted darkly against that strangely bright sky. I sip my still-hot coffee, contentedly. Sure, I’m sick, but it could be worse.

Above the clouds, the sky is clear and starry. I sit gazing on one particular bright star in the northern sky, wondering what it is. A quick lookup suggests it may be Capella, which is not ideally useful information; I know nothing about any star by that name. Having a name for it, then, barely amounts to knowledge at all! I chuckle to myself. One human being human, nothing to see here. I sigh and get ready to begin again; this trail isn’t going to walk itself, and this is as good a time to begin (again) as any.

…I wrap my scarf around my neck and step out of the car…

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, 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, winter, Words

The Long Dark Night

December 21, 2025 //
0

Happy Solstice. It’s here. The longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, is here. Another year over. Another winter has arrived.

I woke early and considered going back to sleep, but it was obvious I’d be fighting my sinuses and rather than wake everyone else, I got up. The sun won’t rise until 07:48 this morning. Less than 9 hours later, it will set. Short day. Long night. Ah, but seasons are cycles and the wheel keeps turning. It is time once again for the days to begin growing longer. I’m grateful to see another solstice. I hope I see many more.

Something like a view.

I park at the trailhead after a drive that was eerily free of traffic. I park with a view of the eastern horizon, and of the shallow seasonal lake that develops each year in the farm fields across the highway from this nature park. In the darkness, the reflected lights of the communities beyond give the appearance of a “waterfront location”. It is a pretty illusion. I sit sipping my coffee, waiting for the first hint of the sunlight of a new day. It’s a colder morning. I’m grateful for thinking to bundle up a bit.

… another Solstice…

Yesterday was the new moon, which seems fitting. A clean slate, a new beginning, a turn of the calendar page – all ideas to do with renewal. I like that. I sit sipping a hot cup of cheap coffee in the darkness. The cup is warm in my hands. The coffee is still too hot to do more than sip it carefully. The hot liquid is soothing on my throat.

Giftmas is only days away. Presents are wrapped. The lights on the tree illuminated the living room softly as I left the house, and the recollection of that merry glow fills me with joy. I sit awhile thinking about holiday traditions and rituals. ‘Tis the season, after all. I smile when I think about the basket of sharable treats assembled and waiting to be placed on the table. I reflect on community and sharing and a moment of light and abundance, a celebration of triumph over the winter and the darkness.

My coffee becomes properly drinkable after cooling a bit. The challenge now is to drink it and enjoy it before it goes cold. I breathe, exhale, and relax, hands warmly embracing the paper cup. I meditate, enjoying the scent of the coffee, and the stillness and quiet of a Sunday Solstice morning. There is no traffic. The geese, still asleep, drift on the fields covered in shallow water and on the marsh ponds. A lone coyote darts across my view. I love this part of Oregon for the characteristics of wild and rural spaces adjacent to suburbs and towns. Seeing deer wandering through McMinnville as if they belong still delights me, and I’m alert for cototes, bobcats, deer, and racoons as I drive in the early morning. I see them often. Well, all but the bobcats, lynxes, or cougars, which are not only much more rare, but also much less inclined to enter human spaces if they can avoid doing so. It would be rare indeed to see a wild cat of any sort wandering about in town.

I sigh contentedly. The temperature is still a chilly 38°F (3.3°C). I’m grateful for my cozy sweater and my fluffy warm cardigan. I reach into the gear bin in the back of my SUV and find my wool hat, scarf, and gloves, by feel and pull them out. It’s definitely cold enough for putting on a scarf and hat. The gloves would once have been left behind in favor of shoving my hands into my pockets, but I reliably take my cane along these days, so gloves are no longer optional on cold mornings, if I hope to keep my hands warm.

I bundle up, saving my gloves for last to finish this bit of writing. My left foot is griefing me with a bit of tendonitis, and I am wondering how far I’ll really go, today, but I don’t give up on the walk completely. I remind myself to stop by the storage unit and get more (better) pictures of an item we’re hoping to sell, and maybe take a load of smaller stuff over to the new unit. I’ll spend the day mostly creating order from chaos (doing housework) and writing to far away friends, and listening to holiday music.

A little more light, a little more view.

I notice that I can now see the ground pretty easily, although dawn is still almost 20 minutes away. Good enough for trail walking, and I won’t need my headlamp. I stretch and yawn, and rub my aching shoulders. It is the Winter Solstice, and a new day is dawning. It’s time to begin again.

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

Sometimes “Enough” Looks Different

December 18, 2025 //
0

I’m sipping my coffee (hot, black) grateful to have it. The hot liquid feels soothing on my still-raw feeling throat, although the discomfort is no longer up high near my uvula, and is definitely showing indications of having moved into my chest instead of lingering in my sinuses. I’m still unwell, but I’m working today; there is much to do as the year winds down, and giving up on it is not an effective strategy for making more money at some future point. (I don’t much like that this matters more to me right now than my fucking health, but this is America.) The box of tissues on my desk, alongside the hand sanitizer, and me wearing a mask, gives adequate caution to others that keeping their distance is a good choice.

My Traveling Partner woke me this morning, early, checking whether I was okay. I mumbled something about being okay, because for most values of “okay” I surely was. I was dead asleep when his voice roused me, but having wakened and seeing it was nearly time to begin a normal work day, I went ahead and got up, dressed, and left for the co-work space I typically use when the university library is not open. There was no traffic at all, but it was also too early to get coffee on the way. It was fine. I was awake, and the rainy drive was much improved by how little traffic there was.

None of this really “matters“, it’s just the set up for the punchline to a joke that isn’t actually funny. I let that go. I’m grateful that I feel well enough to face a work day, honestly. I’m grateful for the hot coffee that was available when I got to the office. I’m grateful for the instant chicken soup which proves to be far more satisfying than the coffee. I’m grateful for a few quiet minutes alone with my thoughts before this co-work space fills with other co-working professionals, and grateful for a desk that puts considerable distance between me and others. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, who does so much to care for me when I’m not well. I’m okay for most values of “okay” now, and I definitely feel better than I did yesterday, in spite of the cough I’ve now developed, that will likely linger for days or even weeks after I’m fully over whatever ick took me down in the first place.

…I can’t say I feel much like working, there’s just a lot to do…

I savor the hot too-salty flavorful instant chicken soup. There’s an intense comfort to it when I feel this way. It’s enough to satisfy what limited appetite I’ve got, and enough to genuinely “make me feel better”, every bit as much as the cold remedies I also took. Funny how “enough” changes with the circumstances, eh? On a beautiful summer morning, on some beach or forested trail, there’s little chance this off-brand cheap poor quality instant chicken soup would be at all satisfying, but here, now? It’s definitely enough and I’m grateful to have it. That brings my thoughts to the Giftmas holiday ahead. I think over the unwrapped gifts stacked in an out of the way spot needing to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Are they “enough”? G’damn, I sure hope so. They seem less than I’d like to be putting under the tree this year, but… this is what we had to work with for resources, and anyway, it’s more about presence than presents. I do like presents, no need to be coy about it, but it’s not “the big deal” it felt like in some years past.

I sigh to myself, eager to see the other side of the day, though it should be quite manageable and pretty chill, generally. Pain and illness color my subjective experience of work and even this one moment of quiet, solitude, and peace. It would be ease to slide into anger, frustration, or despair – I’m one bit of bad news or moment of Other People’s Drama away from it almost all the time, these days. Frankly, I’m appalled by the state of American governance, and it lurks in the background of my consciousness however often I attempt to resolve it, somehow. That is one of the “secrets” of human suffering; how often we choose it. I don’t bother with looking at the news today; the president gave another one of his rambling ill-informed misleading fatuous self-serving narcissistic vile and cruel speeches yesterday, and the news feeds will echo that slop for days to come. Fuck that shit; I’d be stupider for every word of his bullshit I allow into my consciousness. I’ll wait for any rationally fact-checked breakdown of that nonsense that may surface, but I certainly don’t want to expose my mind directly to that fuckwit’s voice. (If I’ve offended you, dear reader, my apologies. If you voted for that grifter and his corrupt clown car of cronies, I can’t say I understand your choice at all, but this is a democracy – for now – and it is your right to cast your vote as you will and endure the consequences of your choices, however ridiculous or hateful those look to me. It’s a shame so many other people get hurt along the way.)

I correct my posture, and breathe more deeply. Breathe, exhale, relax. I meditate. I make a point of crafting detailed mental imagery of myself as a woman standing in an airport, setting down baggage and walking away. I feel lighter for doing so, even though it is only an imagined moment. This is a practice that can bring real change of perspective and subjective experience. “Visualization” works as a practice, but indulged without consideration and care, it can drag one into a nasty negative spiral, too. Still a good practice, but associated (as many things are) with an inherent risk. Visualizing trauma and negative experiences or feelings can bring those much closer, rendering them in a very immediate and visceral way that can cause further damage. Visualizing positive experiences and moments (real or pure imagination) similarly renders those in a more immediate and visceral way, seeming to make them “more real”, and incorporating those feelings into our implicit “sense of being” in a truly useful way. Choose wisely.

I read an article recently that touched on the concepts of positive visualization for dealing with anger. If you’re someone who struggles with managing your temper in relationships, flaring up over small things that likely don’t rate that sort of escalated reaction, this one may be worth a read. Useful and practical, the basic idea is that imagining positive interactions, and reinforcing positive feelings about an individual, will tend to improve the relationship with the real person in real life interactions. That seems worth knowing, doesn’t it? Worth practicing? We become what we practice. It may be a poor choice to practice being angry and hateful… It seems unlikely that any of us would actually want to become angry hateful people. I sit with my thoughts awhile.

I stretch and refill my coffee. There’s an entire work day ahead to get through and much to do. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Wind and Rain

December 15, 2025 //
0

I’m at a local trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain to walk this trail. It’s dark, not yet daybreak, and a Monday morning. The rain is falling hard, and the wind is blowing hard enough for the strongest gusts to create the appearance of waves on puddles reflecting the lights of the parking lot. If I were to walk now, I’d be soaked almost immediately, and having to fight my rain poncho every step as it whips about. No thanks. I’ll wait. 😆

The weekend was lovely. I sit thinking about the upcoming Giftmas holiday. It is shaping up to be a merry one, if modest in scale (appropriate to these peculiarly dark times here in the US).

My mind wanders to work. I pull it back to this quiet moment, here. Now is mine. At least, this “now”, right here is mine. I make a point to be present, here, listening to the wind and the rain. I think of other rainy moments that left lasting memories for one reason or another. In the distance, I see holiday lights shining through the trees along the creek beyond the vineyard, most likely decorating some otherwise hidden apartment balcony. Seeing the lights makes me smile. Seeing communities “dressed up” for the holidays in colorful lights is one of the best parts of the winter holiday season (to me).

Things on my to-do list for today continue to intrude on my consciousness – or try to. I continue to set a boundary with myself; this is not that time.

The rain stops, starts, and stops again. It’ll be daybreak soon. Can I get down the trail and back to the car before the rain starts up again? I decide to chance it, and grab my cane and pull on my poncho.

…

I’m most of the way along the trail before the rain begins to fall again, softly. I’m almost back to the car before the intensity increases from a soft sprinkle to a seasonally typical downpour. The heavy rain catches up with me just as I reach the car. I feel fortunate. I’m not soaked to the skin, missed the worst of the rain, got a good walk, and managed to avoid tromping through any deep puddles. I’m chilly and damp, but otherwise fine. I get comfortable in the car and start drying off with a microfiber towel from my gear bin, grateful for the gear I keep in the back for whatever emergencies might arise (and for hiking and camping).

The gear bin in my car sometimes gives a sort of “Mary Poppins” vibe; I often surprise myself with what is in there, and how prepared for what sorts of things I actually am. This delights me every time I open the bin with some need to address and find that I’ve got just the thing, although I often don’t recall that I put it there. 😆

The wind is blowing ferociously again. It almost drowns out the sounds of my tinnitus. I close my eyes and am fascinated by how much I am reminded of the seashore.

There’s really nothing particularly noteworthy about the morning. As is so often the case, it’s an ordinary weekday morning. The pain I’m in makes me aware of my fragile mortality for a moment, but as bad as it is, it’s not the worst I’ve known. Far from it. I’m grateful to experience the morning aware that things could be much worse; it is reliably useful perspective. I continue to sit with my thoughts awhile longer. I’ve got a little while left for myself before the desk in the library I’ll be working from today will be available. It’s still too early. I think about coffee.

I think about holiday cards (we haven’t done them this year and probably won’t; at some point I had to admit I don’t have the energy, or the will). I think about the last bit of gift shopping yet to do. I think about Giftmas morning and brunch. Biscuits and gravy this year? I find myself wanting to pair that with Bloody Marys, as my Dad would have done most Giftmas mornings. I rarely drink, and the thought makes me smile; it’s an idea built purely on nostalgia, and maybe some desire to celebrate a certain gratitude for the holiday magic my parents achieved in spite of hardship. I’ve carried that holiday spirit into the rest of my life, year after year, and I’m grateful that it continues to last.

Curtains of dense rain continue to sweep over the car. The wind rocks it with the firmest gusts. I am warm and dry, and grateful that I am not forced to be outdoors in this. There’s privilege implied in being free to choose to walk on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the choices I have in life. I may never be wealthy (nor have any notable affluence), but I do get to choose whether (and when) I walk in the rain. That’s more good fortune than many folks have. I sit thinking about that for a few minutes longer.

In spite of the darkness of the stormy morning sky, eventually daybreak comes, and it’s time to begin again. I sigh to myself, and get the day started.

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

5:15 on a Saturday

December 13, 2025 //
0

A noise woke me. It might have been a noise I made myself. It wasn’t loud, just some quiet but audible knock or clunk or bang, like something small had fallen to the floor. I got up and dressed after checking the time, and got the day started as quietly as I could.

“This is more like it,” I think as I walk a familiar trail in the darkness. It is 05:15. The scent of the air, the dark silhouettes of the trees against the cloudy sky illuminated by the suburban lights below, this is not San Francisco, nor any other notable urban place. This is home. This is Oregon wine country. The pace is slower here, and I’m grateful. Walking the city sidewalks before dawn in a big city may not even be safe, depending where I am. I feel safe here on this familiar trail. I never felt unsafe walking in San Francisco, but I also didn’t find any opportunity for peace, balance, or meditation on those walks, nor any solitude, really. There was always some traffic, and other people also walking (or standing, sitting, even sleeping in doorways).

….It feels good to be back. To be home.

My homecoming was delightful. There was a hot meal waiting for me. The house was quite tidy. The newest episode of South Park was available, and we watched it together as a family. The laundry (other than my own) was done, and only needs folding. The household felt peaceful and harmonious. In spite of travel fatigue, I stayed up a bit later than usual, enjoying my Traveling Partner’s company. He welcomed me with loving words and kisses, and a useful and beautiful box he made for me. While I was away, the Anxious Adventurer brought my art home from storage to be more safely stored at home. Working together, they even found suitable placement for the rolling cabinets that store many of my smaller pieces. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fond and warm welcome after being away from home, in any relationship. I feel really cared for. I feel appreciated, understood, and respected.

I walked smiling, slowed down by a slight limp; my left foot is very sore for some reason, as if the bottom of my heal were bruised, and my spine is stiff with arthritis. I laugh when I think, momentarily, how this must “age me”, but I’ve had the arthritis since I was 26, and the messed up left foot and ankle since I was about 33, hardly a youngster, but certainly not “old”. (Barely “older”.) I’m smiling because I feel joyful and appreciated, and for now the pain is inconsequential. It doesn’t matter. I do get to my halfway point relieved to pause and sit awhile, grateful for the mild dry morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I slept well, and feel rested, although it was a short night. I generally retire much earlier, because my body (or mind) reliably wakes me very early (either long practiced habit, or sleep difficulties, it’s hard to be certain which, sometimes). The result of my “late night” is that I only got about five and a half hours of sleep last night. I’m grateful that it feels like enough, this morning. I sigh contentedly, at the recollection that I’ll be showering in my own shower this morning. I didn’t realize how much I am looking forward to that.

My paycheck hits my bank account a couple days early, a quirk of timing. The notification ping is my first communication with the world, this morning. In Trump’s fucked up terrible economy, it really makes a difference though, especially so close to Giftmas. I feel something I hope doesn’t become a feature of future holidays; relief. I wonder for a moment how often my parents may have faced Giftmas knowing three little girls eagerly awaited a visit from Santa Claus, dreading the knowledge they might have to choose between a little girl’s happiness and paying some bill? I didn’t understand then what goes into Giftmas magic. I do now, and my heart fills with gratitude and love and warm regards; they may not have been fantastic human beings, or great parents, but g’damn did they understand Giftmas.

I sit with my thoughts and my contentment and merriment. I’m grateful to see another Giftmas. I’m grateful for each chance to begin again.

I get to my feet to finish my walk in the stillness, as daybreak comes. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words
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