I’m sipping my coffee and savoring the sun rise. I’m not complicating the moment with stress or worries, or leftover emotions to do with past experiences (recent or otherwise). I’m just… here. Now. Being and breathing. Sipping coffee, black, iced. The local murder of crows has begun the day, too, and I hear their calls to each other before I see them singly or in groups taking flight and heading for wherever crows go when they’re not in the trees along the park. There were signs that it had rained during the night, as I drove into the city, and the clouds scattered across the sky suggest there may be more rain to come. I’m okay with that.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let go of hints of lingering stress and anxiety lurking in the background. I breathe in deeply, and exhale slowly; I definitely need this break I am taking, and today is my last work shift before I go. I’ll have the evening, and much of the day tomorrow, with my Traveling Partner, then… two days for me, for self-care and reflection. “Downtime.” Much needed downtime, actually, and I’m glad I didn’t wait on it. I don’t have the resilience I really need for some of what life throws at me lately, and it’s an important matter to “refill my tank” and prepare for whatever may lie ahead on life’s path, as much as I can.
Another day. Another beginning. Another set of choices upon which to act. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. I just keep practicing, though, because incremental change over time is a thing I have learned I can count on – if I just stay on the path. 🙂
I woke ahead of the alarm, this morning. I got going and headed up the highway a bit earlier than usual, enjoying the lack of traffic. I’d love to say I drove mindfully, fully present in the moment, but… it wouldn’t be true. My head was still in the garden, after delightful weekend hours planting and planning, and putting to good use the seed starters my Traveling Partner had 3D printed for me, for such crops as will be planted later, in warmer weather.
2 of 4 seed starter sets (translucent covers not pictured), with re-usable inserts that separate into two sections for easy removal of tender seedlings for planting.
Much of the drive this morning was spent entirely in my own head, having imagined conversations with family and friends no longer available in life for such conversations, at all. I miss sharing the details of the garden and gardening with my Dad, with my Granny, with my dear friend… It’s okay, I guess, the conversations would be much the same as previous such conversations had been, and it’s easy enough to replay them in my head, and imagine sharing the new details of this garden, and this Spring. New roses. New herbs. New ideas. In a sense, it isn’t “new” at all, more part of a seasonal cycle that repeats each year, embraced by those that love it so.
New plants waiting to be planted.
I do share what’s going on in the garden with my Traveling Partner, and he’s a wealth of good ideas and insights, but whiling away endless hours talking about this variety versus that variety, or what specifically to plant in that corner over there isn’t really his thing, so much. lol I’m okay with that; we each have our own things to share and to do, and there’s always much to discuss about the things that interest us both equally. A passing conversation about the garden, a quick update, and a shared moment are quite satisfying, and I’m grateful to share them with him. I do miss the conversations with Granny about the various herbs, and the kitchen gardens and medicinal gardens of her youth. I miss the eager excited exchanges with my dear friend about garden plans and new roses, and her delight over pictures shared over the years. I miss my Dad’s amusement that what had been such drudgery for me as a kid has become something I truly love as a grown woman, and our conversations about the garden as a metaphor, and how we change and grow in life.
So, I drove into the city with my thoughts. It was a pleasant drive, and as I reached the city I found myself wondering what I need most to take care of this fragile vessel, right now? Do I need “down time” at home, in the garden, and more shared connected time with my Traveling Partner? I can easily make a strong case for that. Do I need “down time” in the form of a short getaway, a chance to fully immerse myself in my own thoughts, to read, to write, to paint, to enjoy the stillness of solitude? I feel that, too. I’m in a peculiar “in between place” with myself, and I’m not at all sure what will serve best to satisfy moments of restlessness or ease the internal chaos. I reflect on that and sip my coffee, as daybreak arrives, revealing a cloudy sky.
…Is it too soon for comfortable camping…?
…Can I get an affordable room on the coast and watch the tide come and go for a day or two…?
…Do I even want to be away from the comfort of home at all…?
…Every day away from home is a day away from my garden, and it’s Spring…
I sigh out loud, feeling mildly annoyed with myself. I’d email my dear friend and get her thoughts on it, but… she’s not replying to email, these days, and no longer answers texts. We are mortal creatures, and it’s damned inconvenient, sometimes. :-\
My thoughts bring me back to missing departed dear ones, far away friends, and fond memories of other times and places, other gardens. I sip my coffee as the dawn becomes day. I remind myself to bring up my “what to do about me?” questions with my Traveling Partner; he’s always got useful perspective and good ideas to share. I’m very fortunate to have a partner who supports me taking care of myself properly, and doesn’t grief me over needing time away, when I do. He sees me from a different perspective than I see myself, and I often find his thoughts quite useful for improving my perspective.
…I think of my Traveling Partner, hopefully still sleeping, and my heart fills with love. I’m very fortunate. I sip my coffee and finish this moment with gratitude and quiet joy, and thoughts of garden tasks yet to be completed. The work day stretches ahead of me, and the afternoon on the other side will be another chance to be in the garden for some little while. I smile, and get ready to begin again. 😀
I’m waiting for the sun on a Sunday morning. The forecast is for rain, but it isn’t raining here, now. Across the highway, and further still across some fields, suburban lights glitter low on the horizon. This is no wilderness, although the trail I’ll walk feels at least a bit remote, down along the Tualatin river. Daybreak is approaching. Soon. In the meantime, I sit with my thoughts, listening to passing cars and the ring, zing, buzz of my tinnitus. It’s a quiet morning and at least for now, my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear.
Daybreak on a cloudy morning.
A break in the clouds reveals the blue of the morning sky. Daybreak is not helpful for walking, this morning. Anyway, I am still waiting for the park gate to open. The lower marsh trail I can reach from this parking space just outside the park is seasonal, and off limits until May. Frankly, some mornings (many), it’s tempting to walk the seasonal trail anyway, although it is off limits this time of year, but doing so would come with additional risks; it’s a lowland trail along the edges of the marsh, often muddy and sometimes flooded in spots. It would be just a bit more stupid to walk it in near darkness than I prefer to be. Also, these sorts of community spaces rely on people following the rules in place to protect them (both the spaces and the people using them), to maintain their beauty for years to come and new generations.
… So, I wait…
Waiting, watching, being.
I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the stillness. It’s a mild Spring morning and a good one for walking. The cloudy sky hints at rain. I’m glad I spent time in the garden yesterday. Between the gardening and the weather, it definitely feels like Spring here. I’m grateful for the change of seasons. Another new beginning.
I feel a poignant sorrow that my recently deceased dear friend missed the coming of Spring. No tears. I have the sense that she “chose her time”, and I can only honor her memory and respect her choice. I’m okay; we are mortal creatures. I’m fortunate to have shared so much time with her.
It’s time to begin again.
The park gate opens with a quiet “clang”. There’s enough light to see the trail. The day and this walk are ahead of me, and that seems like a worthwhile direction to go…
I’ve been feeling very fatigued at the end of each day this week. Last night I was so tired I crashed rather abruptly, rather early, and failed to complete a couple absolutely ordinary routine tasks I generally do before bed by habit – like laying out my clothes for the next day. So tired. It’s not that I’ve been doing a ton of manual labor or anything of that sort… it’s the “thought work”. Thought work is real work. Cognitive fatigue is real fatigue. Tired is… tired. It’s important to get the rest we need.
I woke this morning from a deep sound sleep, just ahead of my alarm. I don’t know what woke me. I felt as if I could easily just go right back to sleep, but my scheduled wake-up time was just 5 minutes away, so I got up. I pushed myself through my morning routine, which “unexpectedly” included actually picking out clothes to wear; I didn’t even remember that I’d failed to take care of that task before bed, and was a bit taken by surprise by the lack of clothes already waiting for me. lol The drive to work was effortless to the point of being almost surreal – I hit all but one signal light green, and traffic seemed peculiarly light. The entire drive I had a song stuck in my head that made me think of my Traveling Partner, and by the time I got to the office I was missing him so so much!
I sat down with my coffee, and before I even really planned on doing so I was mired in work tasks and getting the day started – and within minutes, my mind felt “noisy” and filled with details. I paused on the recollection of last night’s intense fatigue, and realized (not for the first time) – I’m doing this to myself, and I have choices.
I stopped. Put aside the work tasks for a few minutes. I put the computer on “sleep” (so that the monitor wasn’t on in front of me at all). I sat gazing out the windows, watching day break, and the sun begin to rise beyond the skyline. Breathe, exhale, relax… repeat. I sat in the stillness for some unmeasured while, letting my thoughts pass through my mind, acknowledged but not interacted with. Breathe, exhale, relax… I listened to the cacophony of crows as they rose from the trees to go wherever crows go during the day. The heat wooshed softly in the background. The sunrise slowly developed, from a deep gray blue to a faded denim blue with hints of pale orange and something like green, and streaked with pink. Breathe, exhale, relax… My tinnitus is ever-present, but not especially loud or distracting this morning; I noticed it, and let that go, too. I gently do a “body scan” without disturbing the stillness of my mind. Back pain? Manageable. Headache? Mild, and not a distraction… in fact, almost not a headache. Nice. Breathe, exhale, relax. My mind slowly calms the fuck down, to a chill state of relaxed attentiveness. No pressure. No rush. Just here. Now. Better.
I feel a smile spread across my face, and stretch. Fluffy pink clouds are distributed across the blue of the western sky and the daylight in the east continues to increase. I reach for this page to write a few words, and here I am. Iced coffee. A few words about a helpful practice that I have learned to count on to relax my mind when it gets “too noisy in here”. Will it work for you, too? I don’t know. Maybe? It for sure works for me – and doesn’t require sitting, either. It works nicely on a walk. It’s a practice that really only requires that I set aside everything else and take a moment for myself to simply be, and to simply give myself a moment of my own time, with nothing else in mind but being here.
I breathe, exhale (more of a contented sigh at this point), and relax… it’s time to begin again. 😀
By the time I reached the trailhead this morning, there was a steady rain falling. When I left the house it was a barely noticeable fine mist, and I expected it to diminish, or at least pause, giving me a lovely opportunity to walk this favorite trail alone, early on a Saturday morning. I sip the coffee I bought on the way, and listen to the patter of raindrops on the windshield and sunroof of the car. I’m not annoyed or impatient; there’s still a chance the rain may stop before I give up and head home.
Waiting for a break in the rain.
The morning is a pretty mild one. If the rain stops I’ll get into the garden and do something… maybe weed the flower beds, or do a bit of careful pruning. My Traveling Partner invited me to join him in the shop at some point today, too. The weekend is shaping up to be a pleasant one full of good times and things to do. I smile thinking about the rain falling on the garden beds and the lawn. I feel safe and contented, and relaxed and comfortable with myself and my experience. I sit enjoying the moment for a while.
I think about my dear friend, so recently deceased. No tears this morning, just warmth and fond gratitude that I had the chance to enjoy so much of her devoted deep friendship for so many years. I am fortunate indeed. I miss her greatly. So many Saturday mornings my first email would be from her, a reply to, or question about, whatever I had written about that morning. I feel a moment of heartfelt pain every time I remember that she won’t be emailing me anymore. No texts. No calls. No unexpected little somethings in the mail. No comments on pictures of photos I shared with her. Sometimes it’s hard to know quite how to move on from that.
The rain continues to fall. I sit awhile longer, just listening and thinking my thoughts. The time isn’t wasted; I enjoy these quiet solitary moments. Soon enough, it’ll be time to begin again.
Evening Light 