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Like the Weather

June 1, 2025 //
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Change is. Like the weather, moments are ever-changing, evolving, not static things the way our recollections sometimes make them seem. They are not that snapshot in our memory, somehow more lasting than the moment itself could ever be. This morning the weather reminds me that change is, and that moments are brief, and impermanent. After yesterday’s warm sunny day, this morning’s chill feels unexpected. The mist clinging to the meadow and the edges of the marsh is a surprise. The morning begins with sunshine, but already it looks like it may rain – quite soon.

Sunshine as my walk begins. It doesn’t last.

I have no particular concerns over the weather, although I didn’t think I’d need my rain gear and didn’t grab it for the walk. I may come to regret that decision. For now, sitting at a favorite spot along the trail watching the sky turning dark and stormy, I’m content to watch and wonder and just be. Moments are what they are, and like rain showers, they will pass on by. I can wait them out, walk on, or find joy in them. Choices. One choice I just don’t have is a choice to halt change or stop the flow of time. Moments will come and go, without regard to the sort of moments they happen to be.

I sigh to myself. I am fine with this moment just as it is. I am rested and my pain is well-managed. The trail is not crowded, and it feels like I have it to myself although the parking lot had several cars in it when I arrived. I sit with my thoughts.

The day ahead is housework and laundry, and a bit of gardening, a pretty typical Sunday. I have a short grocery list – ingredients for dinner. My Traveling Partner is making dinner tonight, and I am eager to be helpful not only because I’m happy to see this positive milestone in his continuing recovery from injury,  but also because he’s an excellent cook and I enjoy what he brings to the table any time he’s in the kitchen.

I think about the housekeeping that really needs doing and remind myself that working from home reliably a couple days a week now also means some tasks can be put off to those days quite easily without adverse outcomes. Maybe do the laundry Tuesday? It’s a relief to be as focused on not exhausting myself as I am on getting things done. That six months of intense, sometimes round the clock, caregiving following my beloved’s surgery wasn’t just exhausting, it was emotionally trying and I often felt completely inadequate. I still find myself coping with that experience, even though it’s behind me, and hasn’t been a thing for months. I still feel the treadmill of endless tasks and too little capability under my feet, emotionally, and it’s taking practice and will and mindful presence to let that go. That moment has passed. I sigh again, feeling the intensity of my relief wash over me.

I hear footsteps coming up the trail slowly. I look up and see deer stepping along gently. They pause, watching me. A trio. A young buck and two does. I wonder if they have new fawns? I don’t see any. I consider taking their picture as they slowly approach me on the path, but when I move ever so slightly, they stop, stiff, alert, and wary. I relax and just watch them. When they get closer, I turn my head away, hoping to communicate that they’re no concern of mine, and that I am not a threat. The larger doe approaches very near me. There’s something tasty growing near my feet apparently, and she’s willing to take a chance on approaching quite closely. I could reach out and touch her, but don’t want to risk starting her. I let her breakfast in peace, and just sit quite still.

Voices coming up the trail get my attention. I look up, as the deer do. The deer bolt, and trot off into the trees. I sit where I am, and when people emerge around the bend in the trail I wave and nod. They are no concern of mine, and they walk on past.

Moments don’t last. Sunny afternoons may be followed by rainy mornings. Threats may emerge in one moment, and disappear in the next. Tears dry. Trauma heals. The clock ticks on.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I get to my feet and look up the trail. The future is ahead of me, and this path won’t walk itself. It’s a good moment to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

A Break in the Rain

May 17, 2025 //
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It was still drizzling when I got to the trailhead, but it didn’t last. I decided to take the “back trail” from the trailhead tucked away on the far side of the nature park. It misses the marsh and crosses a creek and a meadow before winding through the trees along the bank of the Tualatin river. It’s a lovely walk for a gray Spring morning in May.

Another point of view on familiar circumstances.

I dodged a passing shower under the cover of the trees, listening to the rain hitting the leaves and the relatively calm surface of the river. It didn’t last. My halfway point was rain-soaked and muddy, not suitable for sitting, and I walked on, pausing when my Traveling Partner pinged me a greeting and checked on me; he could see from my location on the map that I wasn’t in my usual place. He wishes me well and hopes I enjoy my walk. Yes, we share our location with each other.

In this relationship having my location shared with my partner never feels like a violation of privacy or at like I’m “being watched”; it’s a safety thing. I like hiking and camping alone, and it’s nice to know he knows where I am if something were to “go wrong”. It also serves to put his mind at ease to know I am safe. The reciprocity is connected and loving. I don’t have to worry when he’s out on the road somewhere, I can just check Maps and see that he’s okay without pinging him while he’s driving. It’s not for everyone, I get it (and this is the only relationship I’ve been in where it has felt safe to be so connected in this way).

I finished my walk as the sky grew grayer and darker. My back continuing to ache fiercely with arthritis. I make it to the car just as the rain begins falling hard. A drenching down pour barely catches the arm of my sweater as I pull the car door closed, grateful for my good timing. I sit listening to the rain fall, content to sit with my thoughts and write a few words while it rains.

Whatever. Let it rain.

It’s a pleasant Saturday, full of moments for joy and opportunities to choose. I look over my “to-do list” and consider the day ahead. I think about beginning again, and where my path may lead. I think about my garden and wonder if I’ll have a break in the rain to get some work done there? It may rain all day. If it does, there’s nothing to do about that but let it rain. lol That’s okay; the garden likes the rain. I like it, too.

I sit awhile with my thoughts, letting the rain fall, and breathing the scent of Spring. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Green On Gray

May 15, 2025 //
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Cloudy morning. The deep dark green of the oaks dressed in Spring foliage dominate the view as I set off down the trail this morning. My head is full of vaguely grim musings, like “how many more sunrises?” And whether or not human life is sustainable on this planet at all, or how many idiots it takes to destroy democracy as astonished others watch it fall? My head aches. I woke with the headache and my tinnitus loud in my ears. I walk anyway.

Oaks along a well-maintained local trail, on s gray Spring morning.

It’s a workday. For some reason I feel cross and moody every time I think about my upcoming birthday. I don’t know what to do about my moody bullshit, but I guess I know more or less where it comes from. Change. I feel childish and stupidly emotional over it. Change is, and there are much more serious things going on in the world to be moody about than the details vexing me now. I’m just still dealing with it, I guess.

In spite of making tremendous progress recovering from his injury and the surgery that followed, my Traveling Partner, my beloved, is still healing, adapting, and working to recover skills and mobility that were lost or impaired. (We made dinner together last night and it was wonderful to see him back in the kitchen, cooking!) I’m incredibly impressed and proud of him for the sheer will and commitment he’s shown. I know how hard it is; I’ve been there (though I was in my 20’s when I broke my back, and that’s a very different age to deal with such a thing). So I want to be clear about my angsty nonsense; it’s not about him, or in fact about the current circumstances. Not really.

Love matters most.

I catch myself thinking about my 60th birthday. We’d just gotten the Ridgeline, and we were happily purposeful and excited, and eagerly exploring the local wilds together. The physical intimacy in our relationship was connected, deep, and joyful, and we “had the house to ourselves”. Him getting hurt wasn’t even on our radar. A year later, my birthday was mostly caregiving and preparing for his surgery with him, and doing the needful to help the Anxious Adventurer relocate to move in and give us a hand with all that, whatever he could while also building a life here for himself and working. Then another 6 months or so of crazy intense caregiving that exhausted me and pushed me to limits I didn’t know I have, before my beloved really started to “be himself” again. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that these are the circumstances and changes that brought me to this weird and moody place, facing a birthday I mostly wouldn’t care much about under other circumstances. 62? Not even a milestone (and I don’t “feel old”, generally speaking, in spite of chronic pain). I just have feelings. Very human. I don’t know what to do with or about this particular birthday. I simultaneously ache with poignant feelings of loss and strange regrets, and also don’t give a fuck and want to put it behind me.

I have planned taking the week after my birthday off work, but I have no actual plans. It’s just all really weird and the emotions have piled on, and I’m having trouble sorting myself out. It’s annoying.

“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic w/ceramic and glow details, 2012

I breathe, exhale, and relax. There’s so much to appreciate and to be grateful for. I focus on that as I sit at my halfway point, writing and reflecting. Things could be much worse. Change is, and this too will pass. I can count on that. lol I will find small joys to help me past blue moments. The clock will tick on, regardless. A week off spent sleeping in, painting, and puttering in my garden, reading books, and walking local trails, is time well-spent and needs no elaborate planning at all. It’s even enough, truly. Ah, but I do have these feelings, and the way out is reliably through – so I give myself room to experience and process my emotions, without taking them personally. Just feeling the feelings and reflecting on those. They’ll pass. They’re only emotions after all, not truths, not requirements, just their own sort of experience. I give myself a break and let them come and go like gray clouds on a Spring morning; yes, they appear to cover the entire sky, but they will move on, and there is blue sky beyond.

… Clouds make a nice metaphor for emotions…

I smile to myself. I’m okay for most values of “okay”, and this is a good life. I am indeed fortunate. Emotions are so very human. I sigh and chuckle to myself as I get to my feet and stretch. This path won’t walk itself. There are practices to practice and the clock ticks on. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Something About a Change of Perspective

May 13, 2025 //
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My ears are ringing like crazy this morning. I focus my attention on the sound around me, and the songs of early morning birds (mostly robins). I listen to my steps as I walk the paved section of trail near home. I am walking westward. The sky is gray, densely cloudy, and the air smells of recent rain.

I squint at the newly planted section of vineyard alongside the trail, as I approach it. Something red is blooming at ground level, and I can’t quite make out the grape vines in the gloomy early light. Red clover? Vetch? Last year this was meadow (or fallow fields), and I reflect on the feeling I had the first day I came to this trail after the meadow had been plowed under and replaced by vineyard.

One perspective of many possible perspectives.

Here and there wild blackberries encroach on the edges of the vineyard. They aren’t the native sort, they’re an invasive non-native. The blackberries themselves are tasty nonetheless, but it will be many weeks before blackberries dangle ripe from the thorny canes. I walk past some wildflower blooming – or is it a weed? So close to the planted vineyard, I guess it’s very much a matter of perspective. I walk past reflecting on that.

Wildflower or weed?

Breathe, exhale, relax, and keep walking. I am having my own experience, walking my own path, and quietly enjoying this gray rainy morning.

… The clock is ticking…

I pause at my halfway point and sit for a few minutes, listening to the sound of geese overhead and distant traffic. Breathe, exhale, relax. My tinnitus is still pretty bad, but it’s no longer dominating my attention. There is forest around me and I can hear the nearby creek bubbling past. A small brown bird stops near me, hopping here and there in the grass at the edge of a the trail.

This is a lovely quiet morning, suitable for walking. I get to my feet and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, weight loss secrets, Words

Gray, Rainy, Moody

May 11, 2025 //
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Just as I reached the trailhead the rain began. It’s not falling hard, but steadily. I waited a few minutes before yielding to the practical details of walking in the rain, and just did the thing. Boots, cane, rain poncho: I’m ready for it, so why not? My aching back yesterday is no surprise now; my arthritis reliably responds to specific changes in the weather. I ache today, too, and I am cross and moody, even out on the trail.

I started walking, and kept walking until I returned to the car, not soaked but finding myself struggling with pain and irritability. Less than ideally pleasant as morning walks go, and more a matter of will and practice than delight. It’s okay. There’s nothing really wrong and this crappy mood will pass.

Tedious discussion of health stuff follows, skip this next paragraph if it’s “tmi”!

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is “shot day”. Sunday is the day I’ve set for my weekly Ozempic shot and my weigh-in. Actual weight loss progress is very slow now after an initial 8 months or so of fairly steady losses. Here’s the thing though; I’m using it to control other health conditions and it’s doing that exceedingly well (I’ve been able to discontinue medications aside from my thyroid and pain medication). I’m continuing strength training, and building muscle (heavier than fat) along with having gotten very near the weight my current caloric intake supports means it’s harder to change the number on the scale – but that’s an inadequate measure of health improvements overall, and I try not to fret over it. Instead I seek to walk further, faster, and to continue to advance my weight training (ideally without injury). I consider additional calorie reduction, at this point it’s probably necessary. I’m not unhappy with my progress, generally, just saying that the Ozempic is not a magic trick, a cheat code, or a guarantee of getting to a size 6 again. It’s just a tool and a means of dealing with my problematic blood sugar that happens to also improve my health in a number of ways.

I check the grocery list. Practical stuff, and healthy foods and ingredients, nothing to trim from the list, it’s all good stuff. It’s easier to commit to healthy eating when everyone in the house is in on it. I’m fortunate in that regard. It still requires practice, and attention to details – and a measure of will and impulse control.

I sigh to myself and think about my birthday in June. What sort of “birthday cake” might I enjoy? Cheesecake? A fruit tart? Something creamy? Something light? Definitely not chocolate – too rich, and too dense, it’s just not my favorite. Something fruity might be nice… Something not too dreadfully sweet. Sugar isn’t so appealing these days. Maybe something subtle and a little “fancy”? Lemon-y and spongey and creamy with a hint of lavender or blueberries? Something like that might be nice… but I’d probably be the only one enjoying that. lol My thoughts wander on… and I’m feeling less irritated just indulging the thought of birthday desserts. Human beings are strange creatures.

Looks like it may be a cloudy, rainy day all day. I guess I’m okay with that; there’s considerable housekeeping to do today. I smile to myself thinking about the two small hardy fig plants I planted in large pots yesterday. Eventually I may put them in the ground, if they are truly suited to our climate, but I don’t yet know where. It’ll be a couple years before it really matters, and I’m delighted to have the figs in my garden; I’ve wanted fig trees or bushes since my first garden. It’s to do with a lovely memory of my Granny and my first experience of fresh from the tree sun-warmed figs. I smile. Pleasant memories are a beautiful mood-lifter.

I frown a little impatiently at the foreboding gray sky. I guess it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being
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