Finding Some “Me Time”

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 11/2/2024)

October seems to have moved in like the frenzied autumn storm of a few nights ago, foreshadowing the arrival of the season. The days and weeks this past month had flown by as the holidays crept up on the calendar. I keep wondering where the time goes these days. Brisk winds are bringing down the colorful leaves, with cooler temperatures compelling me to find my favorite fleece sweater and raincoat, and to renew my wintery ritual of a mug of mid-morning tea.

I’ve barely stashed away the deck furniture and filled up the greenhouse with tender plants when the cache of holiday ornaments catches my eye, reminding me I need to at least think about holiday decorating. Time to get serious about the holiday gift list and plan for all the holiday festivities. I’m still working on the last of the summer’s tomatoes and zucchinis, and have just planted my cover crops for the raised beds. The first frost last week was a rude awakening, a call to action.

Fall is a transition, on many levels, and I’m changing into my seasonal routines of being inside more, watching the lawn green up from the welcome fall rains, and adjusting to the shortening hours of daylight.

What’s been missing in all of this change and transition has been some quiet time, some “me time”.

A few days ago, a big item on my “to do” list was to drive to the airport to pick up a family member. I needed to leave early, when it was still dark out, and was able to enjoy the glories of the beginning of the morning light over the mountains, and the emerging colors of the leaves up the river. It was quiet, without any distractions on the drive, except the interplay of the mist and fog rising against the hills, and the brightening of the full spectrum of fall colors on the trees. A few fishermen were out, reminding me I’ve been remiss in satisfying my needs for streambank solitude and meditating on the sounds of free-flowing rivers, the song of the rain, and the kerplunk of a well cast bait and bobber.

Soon enough, I’d be in the midst of Portland traffic, but for nearly an hour, I had the world to myself, just me and my thoughts and the beauty of this place I am blessed to call home.

My brain mulled over what I had thought were the problems and issues of the week, and I began to realize that what I was worried about, what I had been fretting and stewing about, was really darned inconsequential or simply had a pragmatic and quick solution. It was time to work on being a human being rather than a human doing. My “to do” list really could wait. The day was mine to simply enjoy and to just “be”.

I stopped along the side of the road to visit one of my favorite waterfalls, renewed from the last week of rain. The air was cool, misty, and smelled of damp earth and wet leaves. And there’s nothing like the sounds of falling water in the hills to bring me back to the serenity of nature and the wildness of the forest.

The tension in my shoulders and neck eased, relaxing what tensions I didn’t realize was there, and I felt truly at peace, a feeling that was needed in the hectic pace of the last few months. I took a few deep breaths, clearing out the mental cobwebs, becoming a part of our world, living in the moment, moving into deep peace.

I’d gotten back into the range of a radio station and started to listen to the morning news. The old tensions came back, and I realized I’d rather spend the rest of my trip simply being peaceful, unbothered by the latest news and political rhetoric. It’s not like I needed more information for the upcoming election. The months of increasingly harsh and divisive rhetoric had more than informed my decisions as a voter, and, after all, I had already voted. Indeed, I could be done with all of that. I could take charge and just let go.

“Click” and the radio was silent again, and I rolled down the window for some more forest air and the smell of damp leaves. My world was fresh and clean again, and the strident voices on the radio were quiet. I could think again, able to simply be, to be present in the moment, my brain cleared from harsh words and the manufactured frenzy of political events and commentary. I could focus on the brilliant colors of autumn leaves, and the early morning sunlight on the river. I could choose to have my mind be simply manipulated by the beauty of the morning.

My favorite group of herons were hunting in the upcoming swamp, and I slowed to notice their grace and serenity in the morning light. Soon, I’d be in traffic, finding my way on freeways, gearing up for the congestion of the airport. But, now, I had my peace, and I wasn’t going to let it go. I breathed in, again, bringing that self-contained serenity deep inside of me, holding it close to my heart, and remembering to just be in the moment.

11/1/2024

Escaping into the Quiet

By Neal Lemery

(Published in the Tillamook County Pioneer, 5/18/2024)

Like other photographers, I was excited about the Northern Lights being visible in Oregon. I’d missed the first night, but I was ready the second night. I carefully set up my camera gear, getting my cameras on the right settings, and I was ready to roll.

I had the perfect spot. A comfy chair on the deck, facing north, my favorite fleece jacket, a nice cushion and an excellent view to the north. With a mug of tea in hand, I sat down for an evening of great photography and learning more about my cameras and the art of photographing the night sky.

The twilight dimmed, and I kept looking north, spying a satellite zooming through the sky and the first few stars making their appearance.

Then, the fog and clouds moved in, right on time for the big show, thickening up and blanketing what few stars that had made their appearance.

It had probably been months, if not a few years, since I had taken the time to just enjoy the night sky, and be an observer. To be, rather than do, and observe, watch. Mentally, my to do list crept in, but I willed it to leave my head, so I could concentrate on the evening stillness and be in the moment.

Gradually, I felt the stillness of the evening, and let that calm percolate within me, the only sounds being my breath and a faint breeze. I could smell the damp of the incoming fog, and the coolness of the dropping temperature. The sweet smell of the honeysuckle, the Solomon’s Seal and other spring flowers was present. I realized I hadn’t been taking the time to literally smell the flowers and appreciate the spring flowers, and the beauty of nature. I simply hadn’t noticed, hadn’t taken the time to be a part of my own back yard, to be present in my little corner of the world.

I took a few pictures, being successful in photographing a rather dull cloud bank of fog coming off the ocean, a good study of various shades of gray. I began noticing the texture, the shape, the seemingly random irregularity of the fog and the trees and hills on the horizon, silhouetted by the scattered almost light of the evening’s ambient light.

The experience was subtle, calm, with the unspoken theme of contemplation, awareness, a sense of just being present and observing. It was a simple moment, yet I was becoming aware of the complexities of the light, the dark, the various tones of this gray palette that Nature was creating in its art tonight.

“The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.” –Albert Einstein.

I focused on my breathing, and on the slow, ever-changing tones and movement of the fog and clouds, the subtle changing of the light as the evening darkened, and the clouds grew thicker.

I found myself contemplating my creative works in progress, of working on my art with a renewed sense of purpose and meaning, of simply being in the moment with my creative energy. An overwhelming sense of fulfillment, satisfaction, of creative goodness came over me. I had no other expectation other than simply being here, in this moment, and feeling full and content.

Other photographers that night captured glorious photos of the aurora, dazzling and fantastic. I had nothing like that on my camera, yet I was still having a fabulous experience, exploring the gray subtleties of my fogged in observatory. I could mourn my missed aurora photography experience, but I had my own, rich in silence, contemplation and a celebration of the joy in life.

I found myself content, at peace, finding some time and space to contemplate life, to simply notice the honeysuckle, to appreciate its presence and its gifts to me that evening. I was in touch with my creative spirit, my sense of place and being, finding tranquility and inner peace by simply being where I was at, the observer, being the being and not the doing.

5/17/2024

Quiet Time and Simple Gifts

by Neal Lemery

(Published 2/26/23 in the Tillamook County Pioneer)

I had a lot of quiet time this past week. A vigorous snowstorm moved in, dumping nearly a foot of snow, followed by temps in the teens. The power went out for about thirteen hours, rendering the usual distractions of technology silent.

We moved to alternative energy sources, still able to make coffee and dinner, and to keep somewhat warm by adding sweaters, coats, and blankets. The world grew quiet, and I found myself frequently looking up from my book to watch the snow fall and the world turn whiter.

The daily drive to town for mail and some errands was put on hold as the pickup became buried in snow, and roads turned into a slippery mess, with the Sheriff urging everyone to stay home. Businesses closed and parking lots and side streets went unplowed, buried in the new white fluff. What had been demanding and insistent obligations became something for next week. Now, it was time to stay home and be quiet. What had been important and compelling just was put off until “later”.

I dug out my headlamp for evening reading, and savored the instant coffee heated by the propane stove. The neighborhood kids flew up and down the lane in their ATV, squealing with delight, failing to make a snowman in the powdery snow, yet finding laughter in their dog’s discovery of this new white stuff.

I contemplated happiness and the new slowness in the day, as snowflakes drifted down, adding to the grandeur of white.

“The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile.” —Bertrand Russell.

I moved between two books and a notepad, writing down some random thoughts. A friend had written that he was focusing on loving himself now, and finding new direction and ease in that mind shift, that reshaping of “purpose”.

Ah, loving myself. There’s an idea for a snow day, a day of moving the often urgent “to do” list down the road, just taking time to watch the snow fly, and the birds crowd the feeder, savoring the suet and the sunflower seeds I’d set out this morning, as I tramped a snowy path to their lunch spot.

My ukulele called, and I started playing some old songs. “Simple Gifts” caught my eye, and reminded me that everything about this day was a gift, that I was, indeed, in charge of my day and I could take time for what brought me joy, what brought me openings in life where I could appreciate what was right in front of me. The simple gifts of light, snow, quietness, contemplation, and some good books to savor.

Soon, lunch and a nap filled an hour. I had nowhere to go, nothing I absolutely had to do. I wrote a birthday card to a friend, and put in in the mail basket, not really caring that it wouldn’t go out today, but maybe tomorrow. I was OK with that. Life was slowing down to a manageable pace.

The power came on just before bedtime, assuring us of a warm winter’s night, and that the dishwasher would run tonight. We would have clean coffee mugs in the morning. I finished my book chapter by real electric light, finding new appreciation in the modern miracles of electric power and the internet.

The next morning, while making the bed, I raised the blinds. The overnight temp had dipped to a seasonal low of 19 degrees, and I spied the light from the sun, about to peak over the snowy mountains. I noticed hoarfrost on the window, spidery designs crawling up the window, silhouettes against the morning skyline.

I grabbed my camera, framing this artwork and capturing it, just before the sun rose and began to melt this “only for me” beauty. The camera made it more spectacular than I had originally seen, and I decided to share it with friends.

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This is what I do, apparently, when there is quiet and solitude, finding the spaces in my life to look for beauty in the simple things. Simple gifts, indeed. I only have to look for them.

2/26/2023