Author: Jana

  • from the archive…


    Park pose, 1990, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    This photo, taken 17 years ago on a day like today–sunny clear and spring-ish. Me and my about-to-be missionary man in a park near the home where he was renting a room.

    Could we see then, who we are now? No way! Did we even think after two years of separation (during John’s mission to Japan) that we would even end up together? We hoped so, but at that time that was much too far away to anticipate.

    This picture brings back much of that longing I felt when we were first dating–the hoping that John and I were meant to be together, the brightness of the possibilities that lay ahead for us, and the desperate affection I held for him. Even then the world seemed to spin around us while we were safe in each other’s arms. As if time was stopping for us, as the rest of the world moved on.

  • a month late…

    From today’s episode of “The Writer’s Almanac“

    February

    Winter. Time to eat fat
    and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
    a black fur sausage with yellow
    Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
    to get onto my head. It’s his
    way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
    If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
    He’ll think of something. He settles
    on my chest, breathing his breath
    of burped-up meat and musty sofas,
    purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,
    not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,
    declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,
    which are what will finish us off
    in the long run. Some cat owners around here
    should snip a few testicles. If we wise
    hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,
    or eat our young, like sharks.
    But it’s love that does us in. Over and over
    Again, He shoots, he scores! and famine
    crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing
    eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits
    thirty below, and the pollution pours
    out of our chimneys to keep us warm.
    February, month of despair,
    with a skewered heart in the centre.
    I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries
    with a splash of vinegar.
    Cat, enough of your greedy whining
    and your small pink bumhole.
    Off my face! You’re the life principle,
    more or less, so get going
    on a little optimism around here.
    Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.
    ~Margaret Atwood

  • Make me smile…

    -no new gopher holes in my garden today!
    -John, bringing the Barefoot Contessato bed. Because reading French recipes together is sometimes better than foreplay.
    -getting some dental work done yesterday and getting my whole lower jaw and tongue numbed. So afterwards I was literally having to hold my chin to keep lower lip from hanging open and drooling on myself. Then running into an old beau, trying to stammer out a ‘hello’, and realizing that I couldn’t even explain why that was impossible.
    -1/2 flat of fresh organic strawberries. Then rolling them in sour cream and brown sugar. And realizing that life just doesn’t get any tastier…
    :)

  • the little ones


    the little ones, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Just a wee bit of alyssum from my garden. In a lovely little blue vase. :)

  • these boots, they aren’t for walking…


    garden boots, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Some of CatGirl’s creativity. Adding a bit of whimsy to our garden plot. :)

  • is it because of all that armpit hair?

    In celebration of International Women’s Day, Take a minute to watch this short video “Are YOU a Feminist?”

    For whatever reason, feminism seems to be equated with armpit hair and lesbianism. That’s so odd to me, as I don’t know any female feminists that eschew shaving (tho a few male feminists that I know don’t shave their armpits) and only a handful of my feminist friends are lesbians. Why is the feminist label so maligned? Is this a legacy of the Equal Rights Amendment era? Or is this indicative of larger social discomfort with assertive women?

    An anecdote: I’ve recently found myself in a social situation where I’ve observed several undergrads who have behaved belligerently towards an older woman in a position of authority over them. These same students treat a young-ish man with a similar position with much greater respect. Though there are many reasons why this might be happening in this particular situation, I suspect that much of it has to do with gender. Most people seem to be uncomfortable with assertive women, but not so with assertive men. IMO, this is a shame. Though the woman might be more qualified and more capable, the man is preferred. Why?

    And, also in celebration of IWD and some truly radical feminist women (no hairy armpits, I promise). Take a few moments to watch and listen:

  • mari-golds and reds


    mari-golds and reds, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    I am just thrilled by what happens when I use the macro setting on my camera. Aren’t the petite curled petals on this marigold just lovely?

  • no sheep’s clothing ’round here…

    I’ve had few, if any, regrets about finding a new church home. Quotations like this one from J. Reuben Clark affirm to me that I made the right choice (not, of course, because I look to Clark as my spiritual leader, but because he underscores the fact that by living with integrity (e.g. leaving the fold), rather than continuing to pretend to be Mormon when I don’t believe in the church’s dogma, I am choosing the right):

    “Any titular Church member who does not accept the First Vision but who continues to pose as a Church member, lacks not only moral courage but intellectual integrity and honor if [s]he does not avow h[er]self an apostate and discontinue going about the Church, and among the youth particularly, as a Church[wo]man, teaching not only lack-faith, but faith-destroying doctrines. [S]he is a true wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  • leaves


    peach leaves, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

  • the eye of the beast

    Today if you saw some crazy woman pedaling a three-wheeled bike down the street and carrying a 4 ft.-tall tree in her rear basket, well that was me. I was on my way to the garden to plant my satsuma orange tree in the hole that GameBoy dug last week.

    But prior to planting the tree, I was watering my pea seedlings when I had this odd sensation that I wasn’t alone. At first I thought I saw a cat out of the corner of my eye, but I realized that my mind was just playing tricks on me–probably just a hallucination from staying up too late last night studying.

    Within a few moments, though, I realized that my sixth sense wasn’t entirely off. For their was an odd rustle in some weeds growing by the lavender bushes. And that rustle was soon accompanied by the appearance of a Jabba-the-Hutt-sized gopher, his reddish fur gleaming over his well-fed flanks.

    **Let me just pause this narrative to remind you, gentle reader, of my RODENT PHOBIA. I say this in all caps, because those of you who’ve seen me encounter RODENTS know that such encounters make me shake, cry, scream, and become incontinent all at the same time. Let me also tell you that this particular gopher terrorizes a block of four gardens–a space of about 1000 sq ft–and that he’s been known to pop up and thumb his nose at all of us liberal pacifist graduate student gardeners as we work hard to grow our organic mesculun salad greens.**

    So when Jabba reared his ugly head at me, instinct kicked in and I flung a few rocks his way as I yelled at him to GO AWAY. He popped back into his hole for a moment and then he quickly reappeared. I threw some larger chunks of wood as I brandished my hoe [Note: my hoe is painted a very jaunty bright purple color, but is nevertheless still good for threatening gophers]. Jabba-the-gopher just stayed there, staring me down with his beady little black eyes. In that moment I realized that he’s not all that much different-looking than TobyCat (sans pointy ears) and I had a momentary feeling of fondness for the creature.

    But then my instincts kicked in again and more rock-throwing and yelling ensued. As soon as it seemed that he had retreated deep into his hole, I took the shovel over to that area of the garden and proceeded to dig through all of the surrounding holes and tunnels, making sure that the gopher would be hard-pressed to reappear again.

    Then I kept my sharpest tools and a few good rocks close at hand as I completed my task of planting the satsuma tree. In the meantime I tried to dispel all thoughts of gopher cuteness from my mind as I plowed through a few more holes and tunnels before I left off my efforts for the day.

  • berry good


    berry good, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Had a few friends over this weekend and one brought a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. Yum!

  • lights for peace


    lights for peace, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.