Author: Jana

  • The Ghost of Thanksgivings Past or what (not) to do when being accosted by a werewolf?

    About seven years ago John and I decided that Thanksgiving weekend offered the perfect time for a little getaway. Our plan was to spend T-Day with my Mom and then leave the kiddoes there with her through the weekend while we spent a few days away together.

    Our plan was inspired by our desire to attend LosCon–an annual SF writers/fan convention in the LA area. Connie Willis, a favorite author, would be the keynote speaker. We would attend various panels and session during the day and retire to a hotel room together each evening. A perfect plan took shape and we soon found ourselves on our way to Burbank for the Con.

    I’d never been to a Con before, and it was an educational experience in many ways. First of all, I got to stalk Connie Willis, which was way cool. I went to every session and booksigning. Hung on her every word. I am sure that by the end of the weekend she was mighty glad to be away from my freaky fan self. Another thing I learned is that I am way too suburb-bland for the Con crowd. No Darth Maul makeup, spacesuit, or RenFaire outfit for me. My typical jeans & tee style made me stick out like a sore thumb. And boy did I feel left out…

    But the greatest learning experience of the event occurred at the ice cream social on the last night. John and I got our bowls of ice cream w/numerous toppings and were scanning the large ballroom for famous authors to stalk (unfortunately Connie seemed to have retired early that night). The room was pretty full—with small groups chatting animatedly throughout. I felt a bit lost and lonely, despite the fact that John was right next to me. I knew this just wasn’t _my crowd_. I had no witticisms to insert into the various conversations.

    It was about then that I felt a strange wet and prickly sensation on my right arm. To my horror I looked down and realized that there was a werewolf (or what, I have come to presume, was a man dressed as a werewolf) on all fours below me. And he was gnawing on my arm. With his decidedly pointy canine teeth. After a swift intake of breath and a dropping of my ice cream spoon I looked to John for help. He hesitated. Unsure of the protocol for extricating a hairy humanoid creature from his wife’s body.

    Though it felt like an eternity, within seconds John settled on a course of action. He leaned over and began stroking the creature on the head, scratching a bit around his ears.

    “There’s a nice doggie,” he said sweetly.

    Almost immediately the wolf disengaged from my arm and shifted his attention towards enjoying John’s affection. His long pink tongue hung out of his mouth as he panted with pleasure. I backed away, with John following moments afterwards. The two of us quickly headed through the back door, tossing the remainder of our ice cream into the trash on the way out, and not stopping until we were outside in the hotel parking lot.

    “Nice Doggie? Someone bites me and you say nice doggie!?”

    “Hey, I didn’t want him to turn on _me_. You’ve got to be careful with wild creatures.”

    “Yah…right.”

  • i’m grateful for…


    On Friday we held our First Annual Remy family Anti-Consumer Day (a tradition inspired by Aunt Suz & Chris). A fun time had by all who attended and played board games late into the night! At one point we went around the table and each person told of something that they were grateful for that money couldn’t buy. A delightful list of things ensued, including friends, family, good jokes, community, time, air, and so forth. What did I say? That I am grateful for my memories.

    So this afternoon I had a memory flashback. John came home from some errands and found me studying on the bed. From the doorway of the room he tossed a dark brown ball towards me. I grabbed it and realized that it was, quite literally, a hot potato–the particular type of yam roasted in its skin in front of Mitsuwa market during the winter months. My mind flashed back to about a year ago when it was a cold winter day in China. We were walking towards a tourist site and my hands were freezing. I saw a wizened old man on a street corner cooking something in an old barrel. As I walked past I looked down into his barrel and saw yams roasting on hot stones. I quickly reached into my pocket and pulled out an American dollar. I handed it to him and pointed at the yams. With tongs he pulled out one of the largest ones, wrapped it in a piece of old newspaper, then handed it to me. I held it like a treasure in my hands for about half an hour, then nibbled away at it as we were touring The Temple of Heaven. Pure comfort and warmth.

    Now I am sitting at my kitchen table and similarly nibbling at the yam that John brought me today. A simple pleasure. Yum. :)

  • the next big thing…


    From an LDS friend:
    “Some of you may know that our son Thomas Barrett is a budding musician. He recently submitted an original song to an international competition called “The Next Big Thing” that is sponsored by the BBC. He found out this week that he was selected as one of 20 semi-finalists in the contest out of 1100 entries. His song and a brief bio are posted on the BBC World Service website. The competition is now open to public internet voting and so I am sending out the following link to friends, colleagues and family and asking them to go online and vote for Thomas!”

    You can listen to his song by clicking on the nominees (he is nominee # 20) and/or vote by clicking on the VOTE icon. The public may vote through November 28th.

  • of gods and goddesses…


    A sweet post from John, my beloved (with a picture of us smooching in a park in Paris).

  • criticism

    Yesterday I found myself in two different settings where the LDS Church was criticized.

    The first was a graduate seminar. We were discussing Laurel Ulrich’s A Midwife’s Tale. Both the professor and several class members questioned Ulrich’s objectivity as a historian because of her Mormonism. There were critical comments about polygamy, patriarchy, and Mormon racism. Because of recent changes in my own religious identity, I found it difficult to speak up and defend the LDS Church. However, I did describe my unabashed admiration for Laurel and her work, but I didn’t address the critique of Mormonism.

    Late yesterday evening I was at my AROOM book group when several of the women were bashing LDS patriarchy. For whatever reason, this really hurt my feelings. I wanted to tell those who were speaking to stop. But I didn’t. In hindsight I feel like I should have said something, but I’m not even sure what that something is/was.

    Oddly, now that I’m out of the Mo church I find myself reluctant to criticize it. Not that I don’t see its faults, but I’m so happy to finally be able to let go of the anger I felt as a Mormon, that it’s hard for me to find myself in the midst of the criticism and not feel dragged down by it–as if it is disrupting my current joy.

  • Casting Faith

    On Thursday during my casting appointment there was a group of four people involved in the process—two prosthetists and two interns—each taking a different role in wrapping my residual limb in a flexible fiberglass shell, then shaping that shell into a form that will both conform to my anatomy and will also best contain the tissue, muscle and bone as I walk. This is an intimate process, as the socket of my prosthetic leg interfaces with the major bones of the pelvic girdle—holding in the ischium and pressing against the ramus.

    It is an odd feeling to have two male prosthetists shaping the casting material between my legs and around my hip. Realizing that they are interacting with the most personal spaces of my body. Knowing that it is their job and this is a necessary process for getting a good fitting socket. Me, trying to remain a bit aloof and distanced from the process, yet at the same time having such high hopes that they will get a good fit—that the socket will work well and not cause pain and the suppurating sores that I’ve suffered with for the past few years.

    On Thursday evening I experienced a different form of intimacy. I gathered around the kitchen table of a Friend, holding hands with three Quaker women who agreed to serve on my Clearness Committee. We sat in silence, in prayer, until I felt moved to speak, to tell them of the turmoil in my heart in the process of leaving Mormonism. I spoke hesitantly, nervously. Their role was only to ask open-ended questions. Not to judge. Not to guide. After 90 minutes of speaking and silence, they mirrored what I had spoken back to me. They told me what they had heard me say. They discussed how my body language revealed the truths of my heart. Most of all, they shared their concern for the burdens that I am carrying.

    Perhaps ironically, the Clearness Committee experience was far more discomfiting and intimate than the casting for my prosthesis. For I don’t readily share the thoughts of my heart. Yes, I do this daily blogging, but I speak primarily of mundanity here. I’ve only very hesitantly shared the steps of my spiritual journey with anyone. I suspect that most just can’t understand. Within the Mormon community I feel censure and distrust. I have few friends who can empathize with the loss of faith. Who can grieve with me through this process?

    Outside of Mormonism, I am flummoxed by trying to explain what leaving the church means. That it is a complete change of worldview. Is it, perhaps, like having to relearn to walk?

    There is a popular LDS song called “I Walk By Faith” that I sang often during my teen years. I identified with this song as a young Mormon who was developing faith in Christ and as an amputee, because each step involved trusting my prosthesis in hopes that it would support my weight. So now on my spiritual journey away from the LDS Church I am learning what it means to walk by uncertainty, to walk by doubt, to walk into completely unknown territory as my heart leads me onwards. Ironically, this seems the biggest leap of faith thus far.

  • obsessive-compulsive

    A quiz from John:

    What Kind of Reader Are You?

    Your Result: Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm

    You’re probably in the final stages of a Ph.D. or otherwise finding a way to make your living out of reading. You are one of the literati. Other people’s grammatical mistakes make you insane.
    Dedicated Reader

    Literate Good Citizen

    Book Snob

    Non-Reader

    Fad Reader

    What Kind of Reader Are You?
    Create Your Own Quiz

    So this description is only partially correct. Other people’s grammar mistakes don’t make me crazy. what makes me crazy is when my students don’t even bother to spellcheck their papers. Sheesh.

  • I will flail and badger Life, demanding everything…

    A pair of poems from Helen Lawson Weber (the grandmother of a friend). Dedicated to those of you who, like me, are living in the moment and drinking deeply from life.

    The Antagonists

    Each day, for fear I die, I whisper to
    The silken air, and murmur to the rose;
    I follow fleet the silver note; I woo
    Small creatures; tell my truest love; propose
    To Joy, who swift embraces me; I skim
    The peaks, and perch the highest mounts,
    Examining distances; I search the whim
    Of crystal streams and drink from many founts.
    Like, when a child, I’d leap from a tall fence rail
    To wild mare’s back, with hugging knees, to cling
    Until she threw me off—so I will flail
    And badger Life, demanding everything;
    Life will be glad she is rid of me to Death;
    I will wear her out, and leave her, gasping breath!

    To Life

    Life, ere you waste me with your senseless pain,
    And your Successor stop my mouth with mud
    And bid my powdered bones to share domain
    With feeding roots; Life, while your ardent blood
    Still pumps my heart, O I would dance once more,
    And flaunt delight, and catch raindrops on
    My cheek, and race with wind along the shore,
    Bareback astride a horse—laughing at dawn.
    When you outdistance me, and all my force
    Proves not enough to keep survive this shell;
    Not I the one to rail and fret me hoarse;
    Instead white flame held high, I’ll wave farewell—
    Though as you vanish, “Fiend!” I’ll call, and “Cheat!”
    But know this now: Ever I cry you sweet!

  • and this is funny…

    Self-disclosure: John and I were engaged in within a month after he returned from his Mormon mission to Japan. ACK! I hadn’t even turned 21 years old yet. [Of course, no regrets…] :)

  • because looking at pictures of other people’s cats is never very interesting



    Ellycat, toting one of my daughter’s beanies on her back.

    Ellycat, who enjoys eating pinenuts, spinach, and tuna. Who licks my arms after my morning swim. Who cries when I carry her to the laundry room. Who patrols the perimeter of the garden–showing the gophers and bunnies who’s boss.

    Ellycat, who knows a fine purse when she sees one (particularly if it belongs to Dora or Amy or Tucker Grandma).

    Ellycat, who likes to warm her backside on my (open or closed) laptop. Who sends IMs to John. Who knows all about the ‘top napkin’ principle.

    Ellycat. Ensuring that I’m never lonely.

  • Make me smile…


    -balancing on my right foot in yoga today. for quite awhile. feeling strong. then the good neck pull at the end of yoga. yvette’s hands cool and firm on my shoulders.
    -a sushi lunch with John. a ‘healthy crunchy roll.’ my favorite. John & I musing about where we will be in 5 years, reveling in the many possibilities. recognizing that enjoying today is more important than knowing where we will be in the future.
    -rain today. splashing through puddles after dropping the kiddoes at school this morning.
    -a french vanilla candle burning in the kitchen.
    -cracking open the spine of a promising-sounding history book. for discussion in my study group on friday.
    -CatGirl wearing her “there are no ordinary cats” shirt.
    -a package of tea arriving in the mail recently. starting my day with a cup of vanilla almond tea & toast with creamed honey. knowing that breakfast just doesn’t get any better than that.
    -reading RJohn’s post about Regina Spektor and thinking about “taking that love you made and sticking it into someone else’s heart.” Connecting his thoughts to Elise’s powerful post about her deconversion from Mormonism and why, ultimately, love is what really matters. Listening to ‘Samson‘ and singing softly, “he told me that I’d done alright and kissed me till the morning light…” and contemplating the many haircuts that I’ve given to myJohn, “my sweetest downfall.”
    :)

  • all kinds of peace

    a peacepilgrim video for a Sunday afternoon...