Don’t forget to leave a comment on this post by tomorrow morning so you can be entered in the drawing for an 8″x10″ photo print.
:)
August 2008
John left this morning for the long drive to retrieve our kiddoes from Northern Utah, where they’ve been staying with relatives for the past few weeks during my recuperation.
He rented a car to make the long drive (because our rarely-used beater isn’t up for such things anymore) and came home with a Mustang–the agency was out of every other kind of compact or economy car. When John brought the car home he revved it up a bit in the parking lot and then took me for a drive around the backside of the campus. When I closed my eyes I was in high school again, behind the wheel of my 70’s vintage Mustang, racing down Truxtun Ave with the stereo cranked up. I was so cool and free. It wasn’t until I bought my first “practical” car (a Nissan Sentra) that I realized the power that was the Mustang. It had been a police car, rebuilt by my grandpa for all of his hot dates with his then-girlfriend. When he died, it was my inheritance. When I went to college, my younger brothers took it over–and at that point it gained the appellation of “The Crustang”.
John’s already called twice three times today, one time just to sing to me (as he had when he left my bedside early this morning).
Because I’m in a reminiscent, sentimental mood, I’ll suggest a few good reads from past blogentries about John:
—John, singing for Jesus
—John and THE CHAIR
—John and his hair
–John is a priest and a pirate and a nemesis of Harry Potter
—John wears skirts (just for me)
—John fights werewolves
—John saves the day
–and, finally, John in almost all of his glory (with a youtube clip of our shipboard anniversary getaway that took us to Paris and beyond…)
The pic above is a family favorite–taken by a beloved professor friend (she was trying just to get a few romantic shots of John & I and the kiddoes kept creeping into the photo). This image hangs over our kitchen table.
I got married at age 21, had my first baby when I was nearly 23, and my second at age 25. It’s not a timetable that I’d necessarily recommend. Because we had our kids young and were also committed to having me stay at home to raise them, we were also strapped financially–living on one income in fairly expensive region of the country.
Most of my same-age colleagues are now in the early years of childrearing. Their kids are babies, toddlers, and in preschool. My kids are teenagers and have a good amount of independence. I was chatting with one of these friends recently and she was telling me how smart I was to have my kids so young. Because she’s in the position of wanting another baby, but realizing that because she’s in her forties it’s just not worth the health risks for her to get pregnant again.
There are pros and cons to starting a family young–I am well aware of research studies that show that children of young parents don’t do as well in school, that divorces are more likely for young marriages, etc. There’s also a twinge of jealousy that I have when I see my friends’ carefree 20s–John & I had to “grow up” very young to take on the responsibilities of parenting (John especially bore the burden of having to work full-time to be the ‘provider’ for our young family).
Knowing what I know now, I think I would probably have waited a few years between my wedding and the birth of my son. But at the same time, it seems like it’s all worked out just fine anyways.
Picture above is of my cool kids in front of Notre Dame cathedral in Paris, taken about 4 years ago. One of our biggest joys as a family is traveling together–and we’ve learned how to do so somewhat economically (backpacking through Europe or wherever else we are able to go).
If you had an email message informing you that the “soup brigade” was headed to your house tonight, then you would have heard a knock on your door at about 5pm to find K. standing there with a bevy of bags and bins. She then came in and proceeded to mix up a large pot of homemade chicken vegetable soup (free range organic, of course, with veggies all from a local farm) and giggle with you as you got caught up on the last six months of life. Then at 6:30 another knock at the door brought more friends laden with fruits, dessert, and drinks to join in the fun.
Because if this is you, you might not be at all surprised when these friends made you laugh, fed you amazingly healing food, and then washed every dish and left your kitchen sparkling clean. Because you have the most amazing friends.
I don’t know if you’ve ever had a visit from the soup brigade yourself, but if you have, maybe you are feeling like me right now–eager to get well so you can bring the brigade to the doorstep of someone else soon! :)
Note: the flower pic above is from my visit to my garden yesterday morning. My neighbors took such amazing care to keep my plants watered and fertilized during my convalescence. Maintaining my garden is a huge job. I’m not sure how I will ever repay their kindnesses.
Last night John & I chased the sunset, arriving at the beach just moments before the sun sank into the horizon. We shared a picnic and enjoyed being outdoors together. I marveled that I was feeling well enough to even get to the beach–though I really only walked a few dozen yards from our parking spot to the tideline.
This morning I had a surgical follow-up appointment and was told that my wound had healed enough that I could cease debridement. I’m healing so much faster this time ’round than with any of the previous lancings/drainings of the wound. Everyone is very sure that “we got it this time” and that this is all behind me now.
I’m scared to be too hopeful yet, but let’s just say that I’m actually making my reservation for the Exponent Women’s Retreat in Boston today–working on the hope that I will actually be well enough in September to go. (for those of you who are local to Boston–where’s the best teahouse/coffeehouse? Last time we were there we encountered a few late at night walking around Harvard, but didn’t have time to try any of them.)
A few days ago I cut my hair–realizing that it had been months since I’d even had the energy to think about hair, face, etc. I’d not even had the strength to stand at the sink long enough to really brush my hair, much less consider style and/or blowdry. It’s such a superficial thing, but it’s really a thrill to notice the difference in how I feel–that I actually have the mental and physical stamina to get back into my own self-care routines.
Today the surgical nurse warned me that I’m going to have a pretty ugly indented scar on my leg for the rest of my life. I told her that that didn’t matter to me as long as the infection was gone. Scars are of such little consequence when one is finally feeling better again!
I got this idea from Dar, who posted it as #67 of her “100 Things to Do Before I Die” list…
I would totally love to do a Pilgrimsteps World Tour to have a cup of tea with all of you groovy blogfolk. Drop a line in the comments to tell me where I’ll need to stop on my tour (your city), and also name your favorite local teahouse/coffeehouse (or bakery, yum!) for our meetup. Sound fun?
Weehaa, here we go!
For the OC tourstop, we’ll meet at Kean’s Coffee, where we can sip artisan lattes and watch the rich & famous get their caffeine fix.
In a few days I’ll mark the 14th anniversary of my father’s death from pancreatic cancer. Dad has been on my mind a lot today, as I’ve been mourning for two friends who’ve just lost their fathers.
If you were to say that I’ve never forgiven God for taking my father, you would probably be right. My most vivid memory of that time was sitting at Dad’s bedside and realizing that neither I nor anyone else could prevent his demise (and cursing God for not answering my prayers and for letting my father suffer the indignity of slowly wasting away as the cancer ate through his abdomen). I was relieved when Dad finally took his last breath–not because I wanted him to go, but because the suffering was so acute. I couldn’t believe how fragile his shoulders felt in my arms as I embraced his body one last time.
I wrote this poem about Dad a few years ago, and originally posted it here on February 11, 2007:
Seeing Stones
“Every man who lived on the earth,” Joseph said to them, “was entitled to a seer stone, and should have one, but they are kept from them in consequence of their wickedness, and most of those who do find one make evil use of it.” (Brigham Young’s journal, as quoted in Latter-day Millennial Star, 26:118,119)
It was the nights when Dad would have kidney stones that he would call me in
To sit at his bedside to pray.
I was the family healer, set apart in my patriarchal blessing when I was twelve
To have the power to be healed and to heal others on their behalf
I would sit and hold Dad’s hand and ask God
and he would breathe deep and say
“Thanks Jan, the pain–it’s better now”
But how when it got so bad and the doctors didn’t know why because the stones, they couldn’t see them
I fasted and prayed my healing prayer
And the answer
A time to die
And then the MRI, it showed cancer. Pancreatic. Uncurable.
***
Dad’s college buddy, Dave, he called today.
I’d run in to him at Sunstone, recognized him from the funeral
Asked him for stories about Dad
Dave said Dad was curious about seer stones. That a girl brought her family’s stone to their Institute class.
Dave put it in his black felt hat and they had tried to see.
I asked Dave about Dad’s testimony. Did he always believe?
He told me of Dad’s mission to the Western States. Dad was dark and could pass for native
Went to a kiva ceremony and had a manifestation–a Navajo blanket the veil, drawn back and the heavens opened.
That after that he wondered but never wavered.
I am angry now that I didn’t know this Dad.
He never told me the dream stories that Dave tells now.
Premonitions, knowing, seeing.
***
When I was young Dad stopped at all of the rock shops along the summer route to Utah. I liked the rose crystals, bright pyrite, peacock ores.
Dad looked, too, but I don’t know what caught his eye.
Dave says the seer stones give a psychological closeness to the Spirit, remove earthly barriers
I see myself, a rock-gatherer
They roll on the floor of my car, mark the bagua of my home, circle the herbs in my garden.
I see myself, a healer
Without
the power to be healed
Pondering my Father’s stones
Lacking vision
~Jana, 6/2005
In a revelation from god, Joseph Smith reveals how those who attain glory in the afterlife will receive a seer stone of their own: Then the white stone mentioned in Revelation 2:17, will become a Urim and Thummim to each individual who receives one, whereby things pertaining to a higher order of kingdoms will be made known. And a white stone is given to each of those who come into the celestial kingdom, whereon is a new name written, which no man knoweth save he that receiveth it. The new name is the key word. (Doctrine and Covenants 130:10-11)
I’ve been thinking a lot about this quotation that ‘wilderness’ left in a comment on a blogpost recently:
“I seldom think about my limitations, and they never make me sad. Perhaps there is just a touch of yearning at times, but it is vague, like a breeze among flowers. The wind passes, and the flowers are content.”
-Helen Keller
Photo is a close-up shot of pale pink lisanthus flowers in my garden