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We Made This

September 17, 2026 //
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This world we live in – we created it. Together, all of us. It’s a strange thought, isn’t it? Every choice, every action, every mistake, every great new idea; it is through us that we make our world. Choose wisely, eh?

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

This morning I read that Peter Max had died. Monday it was. There’s a little less color in this world with his passing, but realistically, the colors he juxtaposed on canvas (or on envelopes), were not enough to render the world as beautiful as he saw it. I wipe away a single tear with a sad smile and think of Van Gogh for no particular reason.

…I offer them both a silent salute, raising my water bottle to the starry night sky, before I head down the trail…

I rub my hands together a bit for warmth as I reach my halfway point and take a seat for a moment or two. I think of Monet’s failing eyesight, and feel the pain in my thumbs. He kept painting. No doubt I will too, for as long as I’m able.

I sigh to myself feeling the threads connecting my work to theirs. These are more pleasant thoughts, generally, than contemplating the mess humanity has made of the world. Artists and makers know, perhaps more than most people, we are creating this world we live in, all of us, together. So, what are we choosing to make? Is this really what we want? Can’t we do better, relatively easily? I think about that awhile, watching Orion slowly rise in the eastern sky. He’ll vanish from view when daybreak comes.

What exactly are you doing to make the world a better place? I mean the easy stuff, close to home, like treating your partner and family well, and being helpful to a friend, a neighbor, a stranger of another ethnicity. I mean the somewhat harder stuff, too, like speaking truth to power, like standing firm on explicitly calling genocide “genocide”, even if doing so seems to be at odds with national pride or political interests. I mean the obvious stuff, like picking up trash, and keeping things tidy, too. It all counts. It adds up. We could do more, and better.

I think about the weekend ahead. My beloved Traveling Partner programmed the marine traffic radio frequencies into my radio, so I can try listening to the shipping traffic while I’m on the coast. I grin to myself, feeling very loved.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate on gratitude and wonder. I reflect on painting inspiration as yet unfulfilled. I reflect on love and prematurely experience a pang of wistful loss and absence – I will miss my Traveling Partner (I always do). He is my beloved, my muse – why not just paint at home? Why not bring him along? It’s honestly this; I need some solitary time to thrive, and more than that, my passion for my partner is both deeply inspiring, and also an incredible distraction. 😆 When he is near, I will reliably choose his company over most other things, however needful, urgent, or pleasant, those things might be. (It’s admittedly not ideally emotionally healthy, and I am frankly unconcerned.) Since I need to paint and write to be emotionally and mentally well, this sets up a bit of a self-care conflict, internally, so vacations and getaways with my partner are quite a separate thing. This has worked for us. Your results may vary.

I breathe in the autumn scented air. I watch a brightly lit farm machine moving back and forth among the vineyard rows, a way off. Earlier a heavily loaded, slow, quite long freight truck pulled through, on the narrow agricultural access road that cuts through the vineyard. It’s bright colorful lights made a merry display as it bounced slowly along. There’s a hint of sweetness in the air… grapes? Am I imagining the scent?

It’s a lovely beginning to a new day. I slept well. I hope my beloved did too. I think about dinner later – leftover enchiladas. It’s not fancy but the company and conversation will be excellent. My partner is working on a new (work) project. I hope he has a fantastic day working on it. I’m eager for him to tell me more, over dinner.

We live in the world we’ve made. Let’s make it a good one, for everyone. We can begin again. We can do better.

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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, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

The Plan Is Not The Experience

September 7, 2026 //
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I made my plan yesterday evening, after returning from the coast. I’d take my walk in the morning, and return home, do a needful housekeeping project, do laundry, and paint. My plan has already begun to unravel.

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

I stepped out onto the trail and it … squished. Mud. Quite a lot of mud, actually. I guess I’m not surprised; we’ve had a couple days of rain. In late fall and winter, I don’t bother with this trail, because it becomes treacherously muddy and difficult for me. I sigh to myself. It’s not going to be that bad, but I don’t see enough with my headlamp to feel wholly secure tackling this trail that runs alongside the Willamette River for quite a distance. Sliding off some bit of river bank into that icy water is not on my list of desirable adventures to enjoy on a Monday off! 😆

I get back in the car to write and meditate and wait for daybreak.

When daybreak comes, I embrace the opportunity to see the world with new eyes.

The trail is slick in spots and muddy, but not impassably so. I slow down, grateful for my cane. The morning is cool and still smells of rain. The robins are out, calling to each other from the trees, and scurrying along the ground, looking for tasty morsels. Chipmunks, squirrels, bunnies – it’s a fun morning to spot creatures along my route. Before I got started, there was an owl calling from somewhere very nearby. I take my time and enjoy the walk.

One of many bunnies. So many bunnies. 😆

The bunnies – young from this year, I think, based on their size – cavort happily in the weeds and shrubbery along the path, now and then darting across the path to the other side. They disappear into the brush as I approach, and reappear behind me after I pass. I wonder to myself how many will survive the hungry owl I heard earlier?

I notice leaves already beginning to turn. It seems “too soon” for those changes, but the equinox is only two weeks away. I keep walking.

The sun begins to rise above the trees on the opposite bank of the river, to the east. It shines golden through the trees. Hints of gold, amber, and russet hues among the leaves and dense summer foliage are more pronounced in the sun beams stretching across the path. Seasons change. The clock ticks on.

Annoying loud voices approach from behind me on the trail. I pause and step to the side, turning to have a look. Loud older men, with fishing gear and a rather ridiculous amount of genial camaraderie, making their way to some favorite fishing spot, with as much right to be here as I have myself. They’re still fucking annoying, being all loud and stuff on this lovely quiet morning. They each raise a hand in greeting and offer me a boisterous good morning greeting. I nod, wave, and return their greeting, staying back from the path until they pass by, then continue on my way, happy that the branching trail takes me up the hill and around the other side of the meadow, in the opposite direction.

A new day will come, and with it a chance to begin again.

“Softly, as in a morning sunrise…” I begin to sing as I walk, feeling the moment differently as the golden light fills the space between the leaves of the trees along the path. Oh, to be sure, the legacy of Nancy Wilson has nothing to fear from me. 😆 I can’t carry a tune – but I love the way it feels to sing the song in my heart.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I definitely still plan to paint today, but I know the value of a plan, and I have been humbled by circumstances too often to count on a plan becoming reality. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I sit down to my easel, but inspiration won’t make the short trip from my mind to my hands, or maybe my hands won’t cooperate in bringing my inspiration to life? Maybe my Traveling Partner will ask for my help with something else? Maybe… Life is a sea of maybes and the plan is not the experience.

Practice non-attachment. Count on impermanence. Change is.

My headache reminds that this fragile vessel has its own limitations to be accounted for. I sigh quietly. I keep walking. The clock keeps ticking. The sun rises on a new day.

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

Walking In The Dark

August 21, 2026 //
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I was on the trail this morning in the usual way. The little circle of light on the ground ahead of me bobbing and swaying with my footsteps holds my attention, which is probably a good thing. I watch my steps, one after the other, eyes mostly on the ground. Walking in the dark can be treacherous and full of surprises. (It’s a useful metaphor, too.)

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

Yesterday went sideways abruptly, almost as soon as I got home. It was unfortunate, and dismaying. There were raised voices, door slamming, and an overabundance of hurt feelings. As with walking in the dark, there was more going on than we could easily see in the moment.

The resentment and anger that seethed beneath the surface lingered a long while for me. The hurt feelings, too. Still walking in darkness, metaphorically speaking. We did manage to get things sorted out. A mistake in medication, poor timing, individual frustration with circumstances had collided and become a problem. We’ve been through much worse, my Traveling Partner and I, which isn’t a surprise to me; I know through painful experience what I’m working with, and how much chaos and damage still remains on my path, creating obstacles on my path, often unseen in the darkness.

…”Wear a headlamp you silly bitch,” I think to myself as I walk in the actual darkness, wearing an actual headlamp. I think about metaphorical headlamps…

I get to my halfway point, still in darkness, and turn off my headlamp, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, before I begin to write. It must be overcast. No stars. I sigh to myself before I meditate. I feel a little out of sorts; it is recognizably the aftermath of yesterday’s unpleasantness. It will pass, I remind myself. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take steps to chase the blues with something more hopeful. It takes practice.

I am distracted by the sound of helicopters. I listen to the sounds of morning and watch the sky change color as daybreak arrives. I reflect on the importance of kindness and making room for failure, whether the failure is someone else’s or our own. I reflect on the importance of restoring peace, of reconnecting, and of healing each other’s hearts after conflict arises, and is resolved. I’m not actually very good at the part of conflict resolution that is “making things right again” and repairing an emotional connection. My beloved is more skilled. I’ve at least learned to be open to that process and to be accepting and approachable and willing to make things right together.

… There’s more to learn and more to practice…

I breathe the morning air deeply and exhale slowly. I remind myself to drink plenty of water today and to take my meds on time. It’s a start. (Still listening to helicopters, and wondering what’s up.) I breathe, exhale, and relax – meditation is also a practice. Sometimes it takes a couple tries to get it right.

Somewhere in the background, a ticking clock. Somewhere ahead, an opportunity to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Shapes of Things

August 1, 2026 //
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I woke early, in spite of wanting to sleep in. I got up, dressed, and left the house. Filled my gas tank. Got coffee on my way up the highway to the nature park to walk the marsh trail, more meadow than marsh at this point in the summer.

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

Scene from a summer walk, we choose what we pay attention to. Mostly.

I sigh to myself as I walk. My left ankle has decided for me that this spot, right here, is “halfway”. It isn’t. Not at all, but it is definitely where I am stopping!

There is a convenient viewpoint with a bench only a little further. I take the next few steps slowly and carefully, grateful for my sturdy trekking pole that is my outdoor cane. I sit down, grateful, relieved, and content to be here in this place. I have the trail to myself – or did when I got started (first to arrive, pulling in just as the gate opened with a screech). It is quiet and cloudy. Looks and feels like maybe rain later… the forecast disagrees. Another heatwave soon. I am reminded to add a “hose” to my shopping list to replace a section that split and began to leak just a couple days ago.

The meadow grasses are dry and brown, with the white flowers of wild carrot or maybe Queen Anne’s Lace seeming to float above the waves of brown. The yellow clusters of wild St John’s Wort here and there add a bit of color. The wild roses are mostly done blooming, but don’t yet have hips. The lupines are long gone, even the seed pods have split and spilled their seeds, and withered. I breathe the scent of the summer meadow, exhale, and relax.

… It’s a good thing I’m not in any hurry today, the walk back will be a slow one…

I think about the day ahead. There’s housework to be done. I can probably fill the day with it. I feel myself shrug, an involuntary gesture of acceptance. I guess I’m okay with it. I’ll put on a playlist and dance through the chores until my body just can’t do more, and maybe get caught up a bit.

My mind wanders to RC cars, N scale railroad, Barbie dolls, and painting cast figurines… “hobbies”, past, present, and considered once or often. The clock is ticking. How do I pass my time, find joy, and indulge in play as an adult? A healthy life isn’t built on chores, wage earning, and sleep – there’s more to it. Isn’t there? I have choices and options.

…We shape our experience with our choices…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about the way I have shaped my life, and what shape it might take if I choose differently. Small changes add up. It’s a lot to stay on top of, seeking to make willful changes… Verbs. Choices. Repetition. Reminders. Self-reflection. Incremental change over time, moment by moment, experience by experience, action by action. We become what we practice. (This is serious and powerful, because it is true both of what we want to become, and also of what we loathe, but persist in practicing.)

I’ll finish my walk. Do some grocery shopping, and head home to shape the life I want to live through the use of some well chosen verbs (meaning to say, doing some housework). Where the path may lead me from there, I don’t know. It is the path I choose, but I’ve still got to walk it. I have to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

About Impermanence

July 28, 2026 //
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Today is a new day.

I woke to my alarm lightening the room. I switched it off, turned my lights to dim, and sat up. I took a minute to catch my breath and “get used to being awake”. I got up, dressed, and headed out, seemingly without waking my Traveling Partner. Nice.

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

On the trail at daybreak.

The air this morning has almost a hint of autumn to the scent and the feel of the morning air. I yawn sleepily and head down the trail.

As is generally the case, the morning’s discord between my partner and I yesterday was resolved before lunchtime. We enjoyed what little time there was of the evening after I returned home from work, but it wasn’t much. He is working a job that is reaching the finishing stages just before delivery to the customer. It keeps him busy. It worked out okay; I appreciated the time with my thoughts.

I get to my halfway point thinking about Impermanence, and non-attachment. Both ideas contain useful perspective. Non-attachment makes an excellent practice. Impermanence is another way of observing that change is. I’m grateful for perspective and resilience, this morning.

… This morning, no tears…

I watch the sun rise. It is the time of year when the western states catch fire. Scary how much is burning this summer. For now, the winds are pushing most of the smoke east. Here the sky is blue – for now. The wind may change direction any time, it is in the nature of both the wind and of change itself to do so.

There is a song in my head this morning that seems relevant. I sigh to myself, thinking about changes.

Another day, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be. It takes practice – and changes. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and make time for meditation by this trail on this pleasant morning. Changes. It’s time to turn and face the strange. It’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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