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Taking Care

December 17, 2025 //
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Tedium warning: this is mostly me bitching about being sick.

I ended the day yesterday feeling unwell, with a nagging irritated tickle in the back of my throat. ‘Tis the season, indeed. This won’t be the first time I’m sick near Giftmas. A lot of people are down with something, a cold, the flu, RSV, strep, measles, and yeah, COVID. Hell, norovirus is going around, too. It’s likely that the more we expose ourselves to people who are ill, or contagious, as we shop, and interact, the greater the chance of becoming sick. (This is especially true as the percentage of the population that is effectively vaccinated continues to decline – for fucks’ sake y’all, get your fucking shots.)

… Take care of yourself…

I woke during the night to a power outage. My CPAP machine shut off, which woke me. It took a moment to recognize that the deep unrelenting darkness was a power outage. I got up and called to report it, and dropped a note in the family chat. My Traveling Partner woke, as I was trying to remember where the small backup power supply for my CPAP machine was, and he retrieved it from wherever it was and gave it to me. I went back to bed. I sleep a lot when I’m ill.

The power came back at 05:00. I woke to all the lights in the house blazing – that’s the result when power is restored after an interruption. I got up and began turning them off, and went back to bed, again, after leaving my boss a note that I’m sick and taking the day.

… Take care of yourself…

I woke later, thinking maybe I felt better, only I was also feeling crazy overheated, and as soon as I sat up, I started coughing. I dressed and quickly left. No point waking everyone else with my coughing, and the fresh cool air outside was calling me. I got to the nearby trail I favor. Trees down all over. Access is blocked. Workers are putting up caution tape. I’m not actually well enough for trail walking anyway, I just didn’t want to start the morning coughing my fucking head off and waking the whole house with it. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and sort of fell back on long habit. I’m okay with that. The cooler outside air feels refreshing.

After the storm, the damage is done and the clean up begins.

I picked up a hot coffee on my way to the trail. It’s soothing on my throat. I take my medication and cold remedies for my symptoms. It’s not a particularly cold morning, and I’m comfortable for most values of “comfort”. I use up two entire packs of travel tissues, while I sip my coffee and marvel at the blue sky overhead. “This too will pass,” I mutter softly, eyeing the heavy gray storm clouds approaching on the horizon. This stupid cold or whatever is already moving into my chest. A coughing fit catches me by surprise and for a moment I struggle to breathe. ‘Tis the season. I chuckle to myself, in spite of the unpleasantness of being ill. I think about the work I’m definitely not getting done today. The plan is not the experience. I sigh and let that go.  I’ve got to “put my own oxygen mask on first” and take care of myself.

Ah, the holiday season! We stress ourselves out trying to create more delight from fewer resources, hustle and grind through year-end sprints and work that finally just has to be completed, and the resulting fatigue makes us more vulnerable to whatever passing pathogen happens to settle in to set up housekeeping in these fragile mortal meat sacks. I guess I’m saying…

… Take care of yourself…

… and happy holidays? 😆

I’ll finish this coffee, then return home and go back to bed. What was I even thinking leaving the house in the first place?! Today, I’ll just take care of myself. Tomorrow, I’ll begin again.

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Categories anhedonia, autumn, breathe, Free Will, health, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, winter, women, Words

Those Howling Winds

November 1, 2025 //
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Here it is, the morning of All Saints Day, the Day of the Dead in some traditions. The wind blows fiercely, wuthering and howling past the car, and rocking it as it blows past. Autumn leaves fall, blown sideways they gather in drifts against curbs and embankments. The sturdy oaks sway stiffly in the wind. Even in the predawn darkness, I see their shapes tossing to and fro against the backdrop of the pale stormy sky illuminated from below.

I stepped out of the car at the trailhead, and was almost knocked off my feet by the wind. The everyday challenges of life seem far away and insignificant right now; there’s this wind to deal with first. My hair is lifted, tossed, and tangled by the wind. It pushes me to the side of the trail, as if each new gust seeks to push me into the marsh, or off the edge of the bank into the lake. The wind howls through the trees, insistent. Then it begins to rain. First a sprinkle, then a downpour.

I’m nearer to the photographer’s blind than I am to my usual halfway point. I’m grateful to find it unlocked. The trailhead parking is farther on, and I’d have been soaked to the skin trying to make it back up the trail, blinded by the wind-driven rain. Inside the blind I’m sheltered. It’s quite noisy. The blind is a small box-shape constructed of wood. Some effort to camouflage it has also served to make it mostly safe from the rain. There’s no floor, but a small crate serves as a seat. The view of the marsh and the small lake and ponds that dot it is very good, with views of east and west. No windows, really, just openings covered by hinged drop down panels that can be propped open, for a photographer’s convenience. With the wind blowing the rain about so wildly, I open only one, and only about halfway, letting the rain drip off of it. Very little rain makes it into the blind, although the dirt floor manages to be soft and a little muddy, anyway.

I sigh contentedly. I enjoy the sound of the rain on the wood roof of the photographer’s blind. Daybreak soon. I listen for a break in the rain, without being stressed over time or progress. It’s quite early and I have no reason to hurry. After my walk, my Saturday routine will take me to the grocery store, and I’ll run any other errands on the way home, after that. Very ordinary, “nothing to see here”, and I smile to myself. I have lived through some exciting times. I’ll take ordinary, and embrace and enjoy it. There is plenty of joy and satisfaction to be found in life’s ordinary moments. I’m not chasing adventure. It’s not any lack of enthusiasm for new experiences or fear of the unknown, I just personally think excitement, generally, is overvalued. I’m rarely bored as an individual, and any time I might seem to be facing boredom, I quickly move on to… something. There’s always something. It’s a big world and the menu in The Strange Diner is vast and full of options.

Daybreak comes. The rain falls as a dense misty curtain, obscuring the view of the marsh. I see the trees more clearly, tossing wildly in the wind. Stormy morning. I sigh, resigned to a very rainy walk back to the trailhead. Not yet, though.

A fluffy mass tucked against the corner of a narrow “shelf”, created by the exposed interior 2 x 4s which the blind is built from, shifts as if alive, and I see that I’m not alone here. Some small mammal has built its nest inside the blind. Field mice maybe? I scooch back a bit and watch without making any move to disturb the nest. The sky outside is now a dirty looking gray. “Sunrise” has come, colorless and subtle, revealed only by the view taking on more detail. It barely counts as “daylight”.

… Stormy weather…

The rain slows to a sprinkle. I’m not expecting that to last and quickly plan my exit and the shortest route to the parking, and get to my feet as I exit the blind. It’s clearly time to get out of the marsh. The path is partly covered in rainwater – or is this the lake beginning to rise beyond the bank? In either case, it’s time to begin again.

As I cross the marsh, I think I see someone else on the trail, in spite of the rain… but I quickly lose sight of them, and find myself wondering if they were ever even there… It is, after all, the Day of the Dead, and life is full of mysteries.

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

While I Wait

October 11, 2025 //
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I’m waiting for the sun. I was up too early, and at the trailhead too soon.

My Traveling Partner woke minutes after I woke up to pee. Did I wake him? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He woke panicked, and struggling to breathe. That’s a dreadful way to wake up, and he was cross about it. I didn’t hold that against him, I get it, but not having a magic wand handy, my best option to be helpful to him in the moment was to get going and give him a chance to get back to sleep.

…So I did…

I could have tried to go back to sleep, myself, I guess, but his panic and frustrated snarling triggered my anxiety and getting back to sleep wasn’t going to be ideally easy. I was feeling pretty well-rested, already, anyway; no harm done.

Before daybreak, night settings on the camera reveal a cloudy sky.

I get a coffee on the way to the trailhead, arrive before dawn, and sit with my thoughts awhile. The coffee is good, and the cup warms my hands. I sit contentedly in the predawn quiet, thinking my thoughts, unconcerned about the chaos of the world in this moment, here, now.

Some little while after I meditate, my thoughts wander to my Traveling Partner’s enduring (and obvious) affection for me. I smile, thinking of the many little ways he shows his love. Most recently, this comes in the form of newly made 3D printed earrings, with Halloween themes. I am delighted by their variety and the fun of them. He knows me so well. He made “extras” so I can share them with friends who take similar joy in such things. I’ve planned my day around attaching findings and hooks to them; I’m eager to wear them. Eager to share them, and enjoy them in conversation.

… and so many more… I am fortunate to be so loved.

Eventually, daybreak comes. I wonder briefly at my (potentially erroneous) sense that a new day “always” comes… how true is that really? We are mortal creatures. Eventually our finite mortal minutes will run out. I sit wondering if the universe itself truly has its own similar limitations, such that one morning, the sun will not rise, again? It doesn’t feel like a grim weight on my spirit, it’s more just a question, of sorts. I can’t answer it. I don’t have enough knowledge to hold an informed opinion. It is a stray thought, like a cloud, drifting past, rather far away and abstract, and nothing to be bothered by.

There is enough daylight now to make out the trail. My coffee cup is empty. Seems like a good time to begin again. I lace up my boots and get ready to walk another mile. Yes, of course it’s a metaphor… but it’s also a favorite trail, a beautiful morning, and a nice way to begin a new day.

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

Versions

October 4, 2025 //
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I reached the trail before daybreak. I walked down the path in the darkness, the bobbing half circle of light cast by my headlamp lighting the way ahead of me, but obscuring anything I might have seen beyond that bit of light. I consider that metaphorically for some distance, until my thoughts wander on.

Daybreak, and a new day.

By the time I get to my halfway point on the trail, I am thinking about the many “versions” of “myself” I have been over a lifetime. Each of the many jobs, addresses, relationships, traumas, and triumphs, have left their mark on the woman I am today. Steps on a path. A journey that is its own destination. I find myself asking some questions as I reflect on my life and the changing context(s) in which I have lived it. I think about the “here and now”, and the changes that brought me to this point.

  • In what version of myself have I been happiest, most often?
  • In what version did I most respect myself?
  • In what version did I enjoy the greatest sense of consistency between my values and my actions?
  • In what version did I seem to be most likeable?
  • In what version was I most likely to compromise my values for personal gain?
  • In what version was I villain, hero, or “NPC” in my life?
  • Are there versions of me that I regret so thoroughly that I am ashamed of the person I was?
  • How do I hold on to the best bits of all of the many versions of the woman in the mirror, and discard the worst, to become truly the woman I most want to be? (And is that version truly worthy of the effort required?)

I find self-reflection a worthwhile practice. I sit with my thoughts, listening to the sounds of an autumn morning between marsh ponds and meadow, breathing the chilly air carrying the scents of fall flowers and some hint of…mildew? It is a gray morning. The sky lightens slowly revealing a cloudy sky. The threat of rain exists in the scents on the mild breeze, and also in my arthritis pain.

The pain is annoying. I think (and write) about it too much, probably. It sometimes feels inescapable.

My Traveling Partner and I both deal with chronic pain. I do my best to manage my pain. When we’re hanging out, in pain, we each do what we can to take care of ourselves and each other. Our efforts are not reliably successful. Last night was difficult. I’d find some position in which my pain was lessened, and hold myself rigidly trying to hold on to that bit of improved comfort. He perceived it as “tension”, which I guess it was, in a sense. My tension is uncomfortable to be around, for him. He wants to help if he can (but he can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing).

His experience of pain had him squirming in my periphery, trying to get more comfortable, which I find uncomfortable to be around. I’d very much like to help, if I could (but I can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing). We do our best to be kind to each other, compassionate, empathetic without fusing with the experience of our beloved partner. It’s difficult. Pain “shrinks our world” and we’re sometimes terse with each other, when it’s actually the pain itself that is annoying us.

We ultimately ended the evening early, withdrawing to separate spaces to seek some kind of relief, if only from dealing with each other’s pain on top of our own. Seems a harsh and rather isolating approach to take, but it’s probably better than hurting each other’s feelings or taking out our discomfort on the person we love most.

I didn’t sleep well. Pain, again. I struggled with falling asleep, and once I had, I was awakened multiple times by one noise or another, or light, or the sound of angry voices, but each time I woke, the room was dark, and the house was quiet. It was weird. I woke abruptly, around 02:00, feeling a sense that “something wasn’t right”, but again all was apparently well and quiet. I returned to sleep and dreamt that I was awake… really thought I was, until my artificial sunrise woke me from a deep sleep. I had forgotten to turn it off for the weekend. I was still feeling groggy and a bit out of sorts even as I began my trek down the trail, some time later.

Saturday. No hurry, and there’s certainly ample time for self-reflection, and this is as good an opportunity than any – better than most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let my awareness of my pain recede into the background (for as long as I can). Daybreak becomes dawn, then daylight. I watch from my seat on this fence rail. A soft sprinkling of rain falls briefly.

I sigh to myself, suddenly missing old friends far away, and yearning to sit down over coffee and conversation. I’m momentarily overcome with a poignant feeling of nostalgia… Annapolis… Killeen… Monterey… Augsburg… Fresno… Times and people, long ago and far away. My eyes tear up a bit. The moment passes. My thoughts move on.

It begins to rain softly. I look down the path toward other places and new experiences. I admit to myself with some reluctance that it must be time to begin again… and I get to my feet, and walk on.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

When the Rain Comes

September 6, 2025 //
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I woke to a bright flash and the sound of thunder a few minutes ahead of my alarm. There was a message from my Traveling Partner sent during the wee hours of the night, asking if the thunder was keeping me awake, too. It wasn’t, but it eventually did wake me. As I dressed, I looked at the forecast. If it’s still raining, it won’t be for long, maybe.

I head to a more distant favorite trailhead, meadow and marsh, fewer trees. When I get there it’s still dark, not yet daybreak. I park facing west and watch the lightning illuminate the western sky at unpredictable intervals. I make a futile attempt to get a photograph of lightning; this is not the camera for that purpose. I give up and sit quietly, just watching, and waiting for the gate to the nature park to open.

Lightning before, lightning after, but the click of the shutter doesn’t catch the sight. There’s a lesson here.

… So much lightning seen, and not photographed…

I sit watching, as daybreak arrives and becomes the dawn of a new day. Most of the lightning I see arrives without thunder. It must be far away, I guess. Most of it flashes horizontally across the western sky, seeming never to touch the ground. Instead of a blinding pure white light, some of it appears almost orange, and I wonder at it, and contemplate what the cause could be and whether I’ve ever seen that before. We rarely get thunderstorms here, but lacking the sound of thunder, does this count as that?

I watch the lightning for more than half an hour, as the dawn sky brightens. Is it even safe to be out on the marsh trail in the open during a lightning storm, I eventually wonder? I’m content to wait and wonder, there is no reason to rush; it’s a Saturday.

…It isn’t even raining, at all…

Once there is enough daylight to make out the trail easily, I lace up my boots and go.

I enjoy the hues and shadows of the blue hour, as they change.

I get to my halfway point on the other side of the marsh and the meadow safely. I perch on a fence rail near a small pond and watch the western sky. The lightning seems less frequent, and when I see a flash, it is more to the north. The storm is moving. No surprise; storms move. An unexpected really bright flash of lightning tears across the sky, this time with the crackle and boom of thunder, catching me with my eyes wide open looking directly into the brilliant white light. I’m momentarily blinded, and wait, grateful I wasn’t walking at the time.

I breathe the rain-fresh summer air. It smells clean and fresh and healthy. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with cool joy. I enjoy the moment of solitude and quiet. I watch a large-ish herd of deer crossing the meadow. Three does with eight fawns, almost grown, their spots almost gone. I scan the meadow and treeline looking for the buck, but don’t see him. This is a delightful moment simply to exist in the world. I sit with that thought and a feeling of contentment and joy, awhile longer.

After some little while, I notice my legs becoming stiff. Seems a good time to move along down the trail to the next moment. I wonder briefly whether my beloved Traveling Partner managed to get the rest he needs, and whether I should find something to do after my walk and let him sleep in, or head straight home after a short trip to the grocery store on the way? I chuckle to myself. I can rely on him to let me know, and don’t need to guess.

I get to my feet, stretching and looking down the trail. It’s time to begin again.

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