Local news outlets reported that more than 8000 lightning strikes occurred yesterday in this region (Oregon/Washington) – in an area where proper thunderstorms used to be rather rare. Wild. (I think we broke our planet, y’all…) This morning the sky still looks stormy. Gray cottony clouds cover the sky, threatening rain.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… I definitely need a little time away…
More stormy weather.
… and I’m forsure heading into the forested mountains of the Tillamook State Forest for the weekend. My car is already mostly packed. I think over the things I decided to pack, and the things I decided to leave behind. I nearly always bring way more than I need, and this time I’m trying to be less wasteful with my energy, and my resources.
I run through my mental list of things I’ve yet to pack. I’m nothing if not serious about making lists (and checking them twice 😆). I’ve got time and I’m not rushing. It is early morning and I’ve still got a work day ahead of me. I don’t plan to leave before about 13:00… but I do want to do a load of laundry…
I chuckle to myself as I sit trailside with my thoughts; I could have skipped my walk today. 😆 Why not? There will be more walking later, and there’s manual labor involved in setting up camp. It didn’t even occur to me to skip my walk this morning – how to tell when a practice has become a habit. 😁 I breathe, exhale, and relax. No colorful sunrise this morning, still a good time for meditation.
… I still need to pick out a book (or two) for this adventure, pack up my paint box, make sure to put my CPAP machine in the car, load the last few things into the car and double-check for missed essentials. I sigh to myself and reassure my busy eager mind that there’s plenty of time.
… but I’m counting the hours, and the clock is ticking…
I watch the cloudy sky doing cloudy sky things, and double-check the weather forecast. It’s fine. (Yesterday’s thunderstorm was not in the forecast, my brain “helpfully” reminds me.) I’m going anyway. My tent is waterproof (for many values of “waterproof”), and it has never failed to keep me dry.
I sit by this trail, comfortable and unbothered, grateful to be so easily able to just take a few days when I need them. Grateful for the partnership that is okay with my getaways. Grateful for the job that pays for the time off. Grateful to have adequate well-maintained gear. Grateful that I can drive an hour in anyway direction and feel “away”. I’m looking forward to a couple days of solitude.
I look at the time and get to my feet. Less than 8 hours until I’m in a forest, setting up camp somewhere utterly new for me. Exciting. It’s time to begin, again.
I woke shortly before my alarm lit my room. (That became important later, because I forgot to shut it off.) I dressed quietly, grateful for clear sinuses and no sign of allergies. I left the house without making any obvious noise and stepped outside into…a thunderstorm. Huh. No kidding? Those used to be quite rare, here.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I got to the trail and started walking. Watching the flashes of lightning. Listening to the thunder. Smelling the scent of petrichor. Feeling raindrops on my bare arms. Shit. I didn’t put on my lightweight hoodie or remember my rain poncho. I walk hoping it doesn’t rain harder, still enjoying the sensations of the morning.
A different beginning. A different day.
It didn’t last long. We often create the conflict we find ourselves dealing with. Our actions have consequences. My failure to turn off my alarm became a seriously crappy start to my Traveling Partner’s morning – and he let me know in very clear and specific terms.
… I’ll definitely be more careful about my fucking alarm in the future…
Stormy weather.
I’m grateful that the climate is quite good, even when the weather is bad, metaphorically speaking.
I made a plan, yesterday, to get away for a couple days. I’ll head out in the afternoon Friday, make the drive (grateful for the long summer days) to the location that I hope has an available site, and counting on disbursed camping if that campground is full. Everything reservable within a three hour drive is booked for this weekend, but this particular camping area is all first come/first served, so I’ve at least got a chance. My Traveling Partner suggested maybe a shorter getaway and booking a room might be the better option, but most of the affordable places are full (and everywhere is peak season pricing). So… Taking my chances on camping.
… I’m rarely out of cell phone range these days, but this trip will definitely take me beyond most signals. I wonder if that will be weird for us? It’s been a long time since we couldn’t just message each other whenever we like.
…I’m looking forward to the digital break…
Now it’s a couple of days and a bunch of preparation. I’ll shop for groceries and mostly finish loading the car today, and get my nails done (short). After work (short day) on Friday, I’ll pack up last minute items, kiss my beloved, and head out. Oh damn I am looking forward to the drive, maybe even more than the camping. 😆
…The weather seems good for it; I’ll bring my paint box and my easel…
I look at the morning sky, watching the lightning and chatting with my partner between sentences as I write. Soon enough it will be time to begin again. For now I’ll just enjoy the moment I’m in.
I’m sitting by the trail on a cool morning that is forecasted to become quite a hot day. I’m tired and sleepy, and probably could have slept later. This morning’s hike has felt more than usually difficult. A yawn splits my face. I stretch, wishing there were somewhere convenient to stretch out for a few minutes to close my eyes and rest.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
My headache is bad this morning, and my tinnitus is loud. My muscles feel sore, although I’ve no idea why, and my major joints ache. I’m not complaining, I’m just taking inventory. Rough morning. As precious as these finite mortal moments are, I might choose to “skip ahead” to the next day, if that were an option.
A recollection of a view.
I sit with my mostly empty thoughts, watching the sky lighten as sunrise begins. The eastern horizon is covered in clouds, there is no actual sunrise to see. Facing west, I watch the sky go from vibrant pinks and peaches, to pale lemon yellow and then to a soft blue. It is sunrise enough. It’s a new day!
I feel the flames of my occipital neuralgia licking at the left side of my face. “So it’s gonna be like that, is it?” I think to myself, more than a little annoyed by all of this pain and discomfort. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and try to start my day well in spite of my discomfort. So far so… entirely average.
… I spend too much time bitching, perhaps, and too little time counting the wins, or if nothing else the steps in life that have continued to take me further and further from traumatic events now honestly so far in the past it feels a bit awkward to acknowledge they could still be a problem. The wins and the progress matter more… don’t they?
I think about steps on a path, for awhile. The journey is the destination – and I have come far. That’s worth celebrating, even when I hurt like this. Maybe especially then.
The path isn’t always lined with meadow flowers and song birds.
As the sky brightens, I begin to wake up more, which is a good thing; my work day is packed with meetings today. Ideally, I’ll be awake for those! 😆
I breathe the cool morning air deeply – then deal with the sneezing fit and runny nose that seem to be the result. I’m grateful for the pack of tissues I had hastily stuffed into my pocket when I got out of the car. I stretch uncomfortably. I sigh, exhaling the volume of air slowly. Another yawn, another stretch, another breath. Damn, I do not feel like being awake this morning.
One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. It is a progression. Some days are hard. Some days are easier. There’s always a next step. I look down the trail, thinking thoughts of paths as metaphors and considering whether to go camping this weekend and give my Traveling Partner a break. Should be good weather for it… where would I go?
I sigh to myself and look at the time. Almost time to begin again.
I woke early, with my alarm. I dressed quickly and quietly, and watered the lawn before heading for the trail. I arrived just at daybreak – ostensibly when this park opens – and as I drove into the park to the trailhead, I passed one, then another parked car. Imagine my surprise (and, frankly, my irritation) to see random cars parked willy-nilly on the narrow access road. These were no early morning hikers, either, these were over night visitors or people parked out of view, sleeping in their cars.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sigh crossly, grateful I don’t speed down this road in the twilight of dawn. I easily could have hit one of them, parked well into the road (there being no parking at all along the access road and no pullouts).
I get to the trailhead parking. Another overnighter parked in just the stupidest fashion in a spot very much outside the actual parking and blocking the path down to a lovely river view. I swear to myself, thoroughly vexed by this bullshit. I start down the path, stepping around the truck quietly, and find myself startled by the guard dog chained beneath the truck, who lunges at me barking furiously. Well fuck that shit. I turn back even more annoyed, but not wishing to risk a dog bite.
…G’damn, fuck rude people abusing park spaces with their entitled bullshit…
I turn down a different path as I wonder “who even does this shit?!”, but I don’t really want to know – I just want my peaceful morning walk. Disappointing start. I inhale the fragrant summer air as I walk down the path into the meadow. It had been dense clover, blooming with sweet smelling purple flowers only a couple weeks ago. It has been mown since then. The tidy arrangement of rows makes me wonder what sort of farm equipment was used for the purpose. The view isn’t as lovely as when the meadow is lush and blooming. An altogether disappointing start to the day.
I get to my halfway point on this loop trail. The rock I generally sit on has a fat pile of dog shit dropped right next to it. Gross. “Fucking hell, people, clean up after your g’damned dogs”, I mutter crossly as I walk on. I have the recollection of a convenient rock or log somewhere along here… Now my walk becomes a vigilant search for somewhere to sit, instead of a peaceful, mindful, meditative progression of steps on a path.
…I feel my awareness of my own disappointment begin to evolve into seething irritation, almost anger, that sits at the edge of becoming a feeling of entitlement…
I sigh and stop. I just stop on the trail and stand for a moment, listening to the birds chirping, peeping, and singing. I lean against a large-ish maple of some kind, resting my feet. My back aches already, today. My tinnitus whines loudly in my ears, and I focus on the birds singing to assure myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” and hasn’t actually deafened me. I breathe, exhale, and relax.
… It’s a beautiful moment, in a lovely spot along a wooded trail, on a cloudy summer morning. It’s worth redirecting my attention to here, now…
I let my irritation and disappointment dissipate. I watch robins foraging in the leaf litter at the edge of the trail. It’s a beautiful quiet morning. I hear Spring Valley Creek trickling past nearby, unseen beyond the thicket of shrubs and berry vines. Young chipmunks chase each other through the trees. The leaves of the trees shake and rustle in the breeze. The clouds hint at rain that may not come and I find myself wondering why I am in so much pain this morning? I have no enthusiasm for the work I committed to helping my beloved Traveling Partner with, today, but maybe I’ll feel more like it later. I don’t dwell on it, or on my pain.
I walk on down the path, and find myself in a pleasant glade near a bend in the path. There is an old picnic table tucked back away from the trail, in a regrettable state of disrepair, but adequate as a place to sit that isn’t on the ground (harder to get back up at 63 than it would have been at 30). I sit awhile. I write. I meditate. I wait on a moment that hasn’t yet arrived. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s so easy to take shit personally that isn’t personal at all. Reality isn’t going to bother with correcting our mistakes for us, it will simply punish us when we’re incorrect. I sigh to myself and remind myself to do something about my pain when I get back to the car.
I don’t bother with the news today. Why would I? Ads. AI slop. Sponsored content. Cookies. Paywalls. Slanted opinions instead of clean emotionally neutral factual reporting, or honest authentic and explicitly stated personal biases revealed openly. All of it on repeat, and supplemented by copies of copies of copies shared across media groups and individuals. Completely pointless, and all of it seriously joy destroying crap targeted at getting all of us to pay someone for something. Bleh. No thanks. I sigh, feeling a little impatient even having the thought, and pull my attention back to “now”.
“View of the Willamette River” “7 x “9.5”, soft pastel on Pastelmat
It’s not reliably easy to find, make, or preserve our peace or our joy. There are verbs involved, and a willingness to persist. I’ve been finding it helpful to spend more time in my studio, painting. I smile to myself; the view I missed this morning is the view I painted from memory last night. I find some little bit of comfort, joy, and peace in that idea.
I take a deep breath of the cool summer air, smelling the scent of recently mown clover mingling with the scent of wildflowers. A bird of prey somewhere nearby screams about whatever is on their mind. The chipmunks all vanish. This moment may not be “perfect” (what ever is?), but it is mine, and it is enough. I think about the day ahead and wonder if my partner is also in more than usual pain this morning?
… Sometimes the best I can do is to keep walking, putting one foot after the other, until I get somewhere. Each day offers a new beginning, and each moment is a new chance at peace and joy. What will I do with it (besides “my best”)? The clock is ticking – today I feel it more. The clouds overhead are definitely threatening rain now – I guess it’s a good time to begin again.
The room spun when I woke. It was ahead of my alarm, but I had reset it when I went back to bed after spending awhile during the wee hours up with my Traveling Partner. I still managed to wake up by 05:00. I would have preferred to sleep longer.
… I laugh at myself softly; I had crashed out still dressed, having taken my boots off, and my hearing aids out. It didn’t take long to get up and get going with that kind of “head start”. 😆
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Getting to walk the trail from beginning to end in full morning sunlight is a treat. I don’t rush, I savor it. I sort of have to; the mild vertigo I woke with persists. I’m glad I can rely on my cane for support. I proceed down the familiar path with caution, thinking about my Traveling Partner and hoping he got some rest. (Probably not; he pings me a good morning greeting as I walk, and it’s still pretty early.)
Headache, tinnitus, vertigo, arthritis pain… As I walk I take inventory and get a sense of my comfort and what kind of self-care and support I need to provide myself, today. Busy day ahead. I try to remember why… Right. An audit. I sigh to myself. A good night of rest would have been preferred, but being there for my partner still feels like the better choice. I keep walking, turning my attention to the morning sights and scents. There is a beautiful clear blue sky. The trees are decked out in deep green summer foliage. Meadow wildflowers encroach on tidy vineyard rows.
I get to my halfway point. I won’t stop as long this morning. I have less time. I’m not even bitching, just being aware of the time and my preferred timing. Up nearly two hours later than a typical morning, it doesn’t throw off my timing for the rest of the day much at all. I’m grateful for the reduction in potential stress that provides. Grateful that hang ups over time and timing no longer set off a panic attack if I am a few minutes late, or miss an alarm. That’s a lot more progress than one sentence can carry.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I make time for meditation. The vertigo? It will pass. The rest? I have tools to cope with most of that adequately well. It’s enough.
Coffee next. I sigh and stretch and look down the sunny trail. Time to begin. Again.
