Author: Jana

  • Sonia’s legacy

    The story of Sonia Johnson’s journey, From Housewife to Heretic, is a cautionary tale for young Mormon feminists. Through the story of Johnson we are warned against the dangers of too much ‘liberal’ education and too much female empowerment.

    In her (in)famous speech–the one that most likely caused her excommunication–she wrote:

    The political implications of this mass renunciation of individual conscience under direction from “God” are not clearly enough understood in this country. The Mormons, a tiny minority, are dedicated to imposing the Prophet’s moral directives upon all Americans, and they may succeed if Americans do not become aware of their methods and goals. Because the organization of the Church is marvelously tight, and the obedience of the members marvelously thoroughgoing, potentially thousands of people can be mobilized in a very short time to do–conscientiously–whatever they are told, without more explanation that “the Prophet has spoken…”

    Members are cautioned not to reveal that they are Mormons or organized by the Church when they lobby, write letters, donate money and pass out anti-ERA[political] brochures door-to-door through whole states. Instead, they are directed to say they are concerned citizens following the dictates of their individual consciences. Since they are, in fact, following the very dictates of the Prophet’s conscience and would revise their own overnight if he were to revise his, nothing could be further from the truth.

    I include Sonia Johnson in my pantheon of Mormon foremothers–as someone whose actions have influenced my own stance towards politics and the LDS church.  And I find her words even more salient (and perhaps, even more frightening) in a post-Prop8 world with a Mormon candidate vying for the highest political office in the United States.
    5 fav LDS women's books

  • this caring colored my life…(a requiem)

    this caring colored my life…(a requiem)

     Just came home and got this news.  Such an amazing way to start a weekend!

    This poem has been in my queue for awhile, awaiting the day when “Remy vs. Remy” was finally settled.  And, that is today (will y’all raise a glass my way tonite, my friends?  This is truly a moment that calls for commemoration–a time to toast to life-lessons learned)…And as always seems to happen in my life, when one door closes, many more open up on the pathway ahead.  I’m turned towards all of those right now rather than looking back…

    So, I don’t think John will see this (we’ve done the best we can to disentangle our lives from one another, which includes not following each others’ blogs), but this is for him anyways…a requiem for our relationship, for letting go of the weight of the care and the obligations that followed in its wake.

    Ache’s end

    My sweet ache
    is gone.
    Sweet and painful
    caramel, honey
    in a broken tooth.
    You were with me
    like a light cold
    in the bones,
    a rainy day gnawing.
    An awareness
    that would turn down
    to a faint hum
    to an edging of static.
    This caring
    colored my life,
    a wine badly fermented
    with sugar and vinegar
    in suspension.
    A body can grow used
    to a weight,
    used to limping
    and find it hard
    to learn again
    to walk straight.

    ~Marge Piercy

  • timeline

    timeline

    Recently, I switched my Facebook profile to the Timeline format.  I resisted the change for awhile, thinking that it was better if some parts of my last few years remained in deep-storage.  But I knew that FB was going to force me onto Timeline soon enough anyways, so I decided it was time to set it up.

    As I looked over at the early months of 2011, I was surprised at just how excited I was at everything I was experiencing–so many new places, new friends, roadtrips, adventures.  Wow (funny how I’d even forgotten many of the details, and just how close together many of those events actually occurred). I was a woman who was simply thirsty for everything–I think I must’ve hardly slept at all, I was moving and evolving so fast as I shed the trappings of marriage and everything else that had been holding me back..

    But…perhaps what’s been most interesting to me about perusing the timeline and considering just how much my life has changed in the interim, is my near-silence about some important people that I met then–most specifically the person that I dated for many months, and who is now an integral part of my daily life.

    And…I still don’t have a lot to share here (or on Facebook) on that topic.

    Of course he’s a quiet presence in many of my tales and tweets and photos, and many of my “in-real-life” friends and extended family members have become acquainted with him over the past year.

    But I find it a hard balance to share my personal life–a space intimately shared with my children and my partner–and my desire not to erode the singular identity that’s come at such a price over the past few years.  Added to that, is the fact that I no longer need the validation that comes from sharing certain personal happenings in a public venue.  Maybe that will change over time, but for now it feels right…
    freedom

     

  • Twitter Weekly Digest for @janaremy, 2012-03-02

  • I am an inconvenient woman…

    I am an inconvenient woman…

     

    Lately I’ve been falling in love with Marge Piercy’s poems all over again…

    An excerpt from “The nuisance”

    I am an inconvenient woman.
    I’d be more useful as a pencil sharpener or a cash register.
    I do not love you the way I love Mother Jones or the surf coming in
    or my pussycats or a good piece of steak.
    I love the sun prickly on the black stubble of your cheek.
    I love you wandering floppy making scarecrows of despair.
    I love when you are discussing changes in the class structure
    and it jams my ears and burns in the tips of my fingers…

    I love you with my arms and my legs
    and my brains and my cunt and my unseemly history.
    I want to tell you about when I was ten and it thundered.
    I want you to kiss the crosshatched remains of my burn.
    I want to read you poems about drowning myself
    laid like eggs without shells at fifteen under Shelley’s wings
    I want you to read my old loverletters.

    I want you to want me
    as directly and simply and variously
    as a cup of hot coffee.
    To want to, to have to, to miss what can’t have room to happen.
    I carry my love for you
    around with me like my teeth
    and I am starving.

  • doctor

    One of the by-products of my recent-ish divorce is that I just barely got my own health insurance policy.  It’s the first time that I’ve had insurance on my own (not as the result of being a dependent of someone else), and seems a pretty big step for me in being financially and legally independent.

    So recently I saw my new doctor for the first time.  I went specifically to get a prescription for some changes to my prosthesis.  When we met I explained to him exactly what I needed, gave him the contact info for my prosthetist, etc.  I didn’t expect for him to examine me, nor did I even sit on the exam table in the room.  Also, when he queried me about whether I was up to date on my vaccinations, I could tell that my reply left him a little bit speechless.

    “How do you know so much about this stuff? He asked as he gestured to a screen on his computer showing checkboxes for my immunization record–just after I’d given him a 10-minute spiel about the Tdap vaccine.

    “I’m a medical historian, with a strong research interest in resurgent disease.” I replied.

    I must say, there’s something about going into a doc’s office with some confidence, knowing exactly what I need and how to get it, that tends to offset any anxiety that I feel from having had so much medical trauma in the past.  Perhaps it’s a bit intimidating for the physicians that I interact with–but I think they tend to find it rather refreshing among the garden-variety sore throats and coughs that they see all day long…

  • Twitter Weekly Digest for @janaremy, 2012-02-24

  • it is your nature…

    When I was active in the LDS church and trying to make sense of the challenges of my life, one talk by an Apostle resonated with me particularly deeply. It was by Hugh B. Brown and used a metaphor of a currant bush that was pruned so it might produce better fruit. In that talk Brown discussed some professional opportunities that he lost as a result of his adherence to the LDS church and praised God for not letting him be successful and affluent. He wrote:

    I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.

    And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.”…
    And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.”

    I was reminded of that talk as I read a Marge Piercy poem this morning…

    A work of artifice

    The bonsai tree
    in the attractive pot
    could have gown eighty feet tall
    on the side of a mountain
    till split by lightning.
    But a gardener
    carefully pruned it.
    It is nine inches high.
    Every day as he
    whittles back the branches
    the gardener croons,
    It is your nature
    to be small and cozy.
    domestic and weak;
    how lucky, little tree.
    to have a pot to grow in.
    With living creatures
    one must begin very early
    to dwarf their growth:
    the bound feet,
    the crippled brain,
    the hair in curlers.
    the hands you
    love to touch.

    I wonder sometimes, if my life had held different contours and experiences, would I have been a statuesque tree on a hillside?

    Or is there something more beautiful to a life where one’s branches have been clipped (over and over again), and yet there are blossoms every spring?

  • but if the sun sets you free…

    Such a beautiful tune for such a beautiful day…

    Did you find what you were after?
    The pain and laughter brought you to your knees
    But if the sun sets you free, sets you free
    You’ll be free, free indeed…

  • when I was in college…

    My kids love to hear the story of when I had scurvy in college–perhaps because it’s a story that doesn’t seem to jive so well with the health-conscious mother than they know now (or maybe, because they see it as a story of my experimentation and learning)…(or maybe it’s just funny for them to think of their Mom suffering from a pirate-disease)…

    When I was in college I was frugal. I had enough money from what my parents gave me for school and what I earned from working as a cashier in the university bookstore to meet all of my daily needs, but I also loved watching the money accrue in my bank account so I was always challenging myself to cut corners and save more money.

    At the time, I was renting a room from a family that I ate dinner with nightly, so I provided my own breakfast and lunch. As such, I learned that I could spend only $10/week on groceries if I ate toast for breakfast and baked potatoes for lunch. So that’s what I did everyday. Toast-potatoes-dinner. This family loved to cook Italian, so dinner was often pasta with a cheese sauce or a seafood sauce.

    And soon enough I started having nosebleeds. The nosebleeds eventually got so persistent that it was difficult for me to attend my college lectures, because my nose would start bleeding and I’d have to walk out of class to take care of it. And often the bleeding would take so long to cease that class would be over by the time I could return.

    So I asked a friend that was doing a medical internship for some advice about the nosebleeds, and he consulted a doctor that he worked with and that doctor suggested that I was probably suffering from scurvy, or at least a vitamin deficiency of some sort due to my cheap diet.

    And of course once I began eating some fruits and veggies again, the nosebleeds cleared up.

    Since then I’ve tried some pretty strange dietary experiments. I’ve fasted for healing, I’ve gone vegan, and I’ve beefed up my protein intake for body-sculpting. I’ve also gone through periods with so little money that I’ve eaten mostly cheap starches for a few days until there was another paycheck in the bank. But even with all of that, I’ve managed to steer clear of another bout with scurvy. Once was enough for me.

  • let’s set the world on fire….

    Loving the acoustic rendition of this song (I do love me some piano), and the refrain…celebrating the warmth and brightness of my life.

    Tonight
    We are young
    So let’s the set the world on fire
    We can burn brighter
    Than the sun

    Carry me home tonight
    Just carry me home tonight
    Carry me home tonight
    Just carry me home tonight

    The world is on my side
    I have no reason to run
    So will someone come and carry me home tonight
    The angels never arrived
    But I can hear the choir
    So will someone come and carry me home

    Tonight
    We are young
    So let’s set the world on fire
    We can burn brighter
    Than the sun

    So if by the time the bar closes
    And you feel like falling down
    I’ll carry you home tonight

  • Twitter Weekly Digest for @janaremy, 2012-02-17