Author: Jana

  • still a rainbow…

    still a rainbow…

    Most of you probably remember our rainbow bookshelves.  Either you saw them in person or you saw the write-up about them in the New Yorker online.

    When John left, he took most of the books and most of the bookshelves.  Which was okay with me.  I was ready for something new, and the books seemed so heavy, such a burden.  Both in physical weight and in the weight of memory.  I kept my professional books–moving them to my office at Chapman.  And I have two shelves of personal books in my bedroom.  But for the most part, the books are gone from my space.

    So I’ve been working on re-doing my living room in the meantime.  I wanted it to be artful and comfortable, yet also have very clean lines.  And while it’s still a work-in-progress, this is how it now looks (this is the very same wall that used to be covered in books):

    The art on the walls is mostly done by the children, with the portraits on the end being painted by my Aunt.  I love that it still retains the whimsical feel of the earlier rainbow bookshelves.  I also love just how much it still feels like home.

  • to the shores of your own choosing…

    harbor mouth with the nose of my boat
    Over the years I’ve signed up on a lot of mailing lists and sometimes get rather surprising emails in my inbox from some long-forgotten blog or listserv. That happened this morning, when I received a V-Day email from Magpie Girl (Rachelle Mee-Chapman). I clicked through to her link, sinking some inspiration for my day and my week. I found a poem and a blessing. What struck me most were these words:

    In this time of great upheaval
    when the seas shift beneath you
    may you find your own deep balance
    lying there betwixt your ears,
    behind your breastbone,
    warm in the core of your belly.

    And may you stand in prow of your own ship,
    guiding your self-christened vessel,
    to shores of you own choosing
    where a peaceful story awaits you,
    and sometimes, a star.

    This past week I’ve been considering what I most want out of my life right now and in the near future. Perhaps what surfaces the most easily when I ask this question is that I don’t want to be hurt. I want a soft cozy bubble of protection all around me to keep me from more pain. And I’ve been surrounding myself with soft cozy things as a manifestation of this: a plush rug, a new flannel bathrobe, a snuggly blanket, my Elly-kitty, etc.

    But of course it’s not enough to simply want not be hurting. First of all, I know I need to keep moving forward with my life, and while there are times to wrap up in a blanket and just be, I know I can’t do this for very long. I need to keep seeking new opportunities, to make progress towards my goals, to keep myself open to what the universe has in store for me. Second of all, I know all the blankets in the world can’t protect me from more pain. Pain will happen. (That famous quotation: “Life is pain, your highness,” rings so loudly in my ears right now…).

    Perhaps that’s why I love the image above of ‘standing at the prow of my own ship.’ I know what it means to be the steersman for my own canoe, and to listen to the wind and water and adjust my course accordingly. I don’t have any concrete examples to follow in where I’m going right now. I have only the dimmest outline of some island-goal ahead, and no compass at hand. I’m seeking counsel from friends and family, but for the most part I’m figuring this out myself–and I’m the only one who can do this. I don’t have to negotiate or compromise or apologize anymore. But I do have to dig my paddle in and make some decisions about where to point the nose of my boat.

    Some days I even find myself turning around 180 degrees from the goal of the day before, but I do think, I’m making progress and figuring it out.  I suspect that if I had a GPS-charted map for my life right now I’d see a lot of zig-zagging (and a few circles), but overall I’m headed in the right direction.

  • soundtrack for a break up

    I’ve listened to some pretty spectacular and melancholy break-up songs these past few weeks. Most don’t entirely reflect my experience, but have some nuggets of emotion that resonate with the various stages of feelings that have accompanied my divorce.

    For example, this one is excellent for those moments that I’m screaming at the universe (and my ex) (and, oh, that hair. I want that hair!).

    And this one works for those moments when I’m feeling overwhelmed with a path that wasn’t of my choosing:

    And certainly Piaf is apt when I consider whether I could have done something different along the way, or could have better protected myself from the pain that came from investing myself so fully in my marriage.

    I’m not really in break-up mode any longer so these songs bring back specific memories of those first few days rather than reflecting the place where I’m at right now (which is, generally, one where I’m listening to less angry/sad music). But given how significant some of these songs were in my process, they seemed worth sharing here…

    What about you, what songs have you listened to during a break-up?

  • I love, and the world is mine

    farmers market flower seller

    I hadn’t set any New Year’s resolutions until today. I randomly came across this poem (printed on a fabric flower) and I found my goal for the year (which actually does tie in nicely with Neil Gaiman’s wish for the year that I posted a few weeks ago)…

    “I Love, and the World is Mine” by Florence Earle Coates:

    For me the jasmine buds unfold
    And silver daisies star the lea,
    The crocus hoards the sunset gold,
    And the wild rose breathes for me.
    I feel the sap through the bough returning,
    I share the skylark’s transport fine,
    I know the fountain’s wayward yearning,
    I love, and the world is mine!

    I love, and thoughts that sometime grieved,
    Still well remembered, grieve not me;
    From all that darkened and deceived
    Upsoars my spirit free.
    For soft the hours repeat one story,
    Sings the sea one strain divine;
    My clouds arise all flushed with glory,—
    I love, and the world is mine!

    So in 2011, my goal is to fall in love each and every day.

    I’ll fall in love with flowers
    fresh bread
    and cheese and muscat grapes
    the sounds of slow trains on tracks
    and the scent of your sun-warmed skin
    wizened tree trunks
    painting with bold color
    and writing final drafts
    the sensation of clinging to high cliff walls
    and skiing down powdery slopes
    my plane landing on unfamiliar runways
    smiling
    and sand between my toes
    bright morning light reflecting off the water
    and late-night skies full of stars.

    This year I’ll be wholly and completely in love with the present moment, and at the same time in love with every step of the journey that I’m taking to accomplish my long term goals.

    This is it, my friends. I’m so excited for what lies ahead….

  • And all from my cup of tea…

    afternoon tea

    This weekend was filled with a multitude of pleasures (that I’m recalling while sipping my afternoon cuppa):

    the thrill of a travel adventure, with places new and old
    the Museum of Jurassic Technology, followed by tea and cakes with founder David Hildebrand Wilson
    giggling (over and over again)
    slurping on kosher dills at Junior’s
    sunsets
    celebrating a friend’s birthday, full of good fortune(s)
    breakfasting on Eggs Benedict (yum, Hollandaise)
    driving and singing
    learning the secret ingredient for some famous guacamole
    decoupage art (and a decoupage artist)
    coffee with cardamom, after a morning of paddling in the sunshine

    There were moments as I drove down Santa Monica Boulevard where the memories were so potent that I was knocked back and forth in time. I was there. I had been there. When things were different. When people were different. When trajectories were different. The 405 freeway. The familiar landmarks.  The taste of deli food.

    And I knew I would always remember, but it would never be the same again. And I didn’t want it to be.

    She sent out for one of those short, plump little cakes called petites madeleines, which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim’s shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake.  No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. … Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? … And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. And all from my cup of tea.

    ~Proust, À la recherche du temps perdu

  • snapshots of my week…

    snapshots of my week…

    Last night we celebrated Le Chandeleur, a holiday with traditional religious underpinnings, but for us was a reminder to note the first signs of spring.  After an especially dramatic ‘winter’ at the Remy household, this was a lovely way to celebrate the return of the light.  And as is traditional, we celebrated with crepes (the one below being a ricotta-raspberry crepe, but we also made some equally yummy lemon-curd & fresh strawberry crepes):

    The new semester began at Chapman last week so I’ve been far busier than usual. It feels good to have much to do, but it’s also overwhelming at times. Especially when we have major systems fail, as we did the first day of classes (ugh). Fortunately, I’m learning better how to troubleshoot problems with my IT team, and am becoming a better administrator:

    [blackbirdpie id=”32138156635594753″]

    And to combat stress, I’m exercising everyday, including some paddling on the weekend with my team (Go Imua!).   I also did some impressive weightlifting with friends on Monday and my regular rock climbing stint on Wednesday:

    With some of the residual stress from Toby’s death, I haven’t been terribly productive on my dissertation this week. However I do plan to work on it as much as possible this weekend, in addition to visits with friends both new and old. I’m finding that it’s important for me to make plans to look forward to–especially as those seed catalogs come in the mail and I remember (again and again) that I don’t have a garden to prep this spring, nor do I have my wee kitten to cozy up with in my big purple chair. In the past, the garden was what helped me keep death in perspective. When Paul, Sara, Linda, grandma, and Madge died–that garden kept me whole. I am missing that so much right now, because there’s so much hope in every peach blossom bud (and I still simply can’t believe that my peach tree is gone now, but I never have been able to face that patch of bare earth since the garden was razed)…

    bud

  • still cookin’

    homemade pizza

    I love moving around the familiar space of my kitchen and creating tasty food. Undoubtedly that’s why I was so thrilled to get a kitchenaid mixer as a birthday gift two years ago. And surely it’s one of the many reasons why I’ve found myself cursing or crying when I’m mid-recipe and I discover missing items that John took from the kitchen as part of the divorce…

    [blackbirdpie id=”30473585042657280″]

    But perhaps the most important realization that I’ve had about my kitchen recently, is just how much I enjoy cooking for other people–it’s such an expression of love to create artful, healthy, and tasty food. Seeing my family and friends sated by what I’ve created, is such a joy. Perhaps this stems from so many years of being in a ‘mother’ role, or perhaps it’s simply that it’s one important way that I express affection for others.

    So…I feel as though I’ve finally made it past the worst of the loss of my familiar kitchen implements and am hitting my stride again.  Last night I made an excellent lasagna (half-veg for CatGirl, half-meat for GameBoy) and it turned out tastier than most I’ve made in past years (the kids agreed–and heartily ate several servings apiece!).  The kitchen is now clean, and orderly, and mine.  I’ll miss cooking meals from my garden this summer (which was so much pleasure), but I still have many herbs on the porch and will be shopping at the Orange and Irvine Farmer’s Markets for in-season ingredients.  So you can bet that many good smells will be wafting from my kitchen.  And I hope they’ll entice you to stop by–I’d love to share what I make with each of you  :)

    PS: Picture above is of a garden-fresh pizza.  One of my specialties!

  • sublime

    Sakura in the Japanese garden

    For my friends who are under snow this weekend, here’s a view of cherry blossoms at the Huntington’s Japanese garden last Saturday.

    The weather has been so sublime here this weekend, that I’ve spent a good deal of my time out on the water. How about you, what are you up to this weekend?

  • lean on me…

    lean on me…

    Couch party
    A whole slew of friends came over last weekend to help me “break in” my new couch.  If you haven’t yet made it over, I hope you’ll consider dropping by–it’s a very comfy place to sit with a cup of tea and solve the problems of the universe.  :)

    PS:  Aren’t my friends just lovely?

  • quirky but lovable…

    toby joy in a golden ray
    Toby-cat was a gift from my garden. A stray that I’d seen but couldn’t catch. I told a friend that I’d seen a wee kitten haunting my plot, and within a few days this friend brought a clawful unhappy bundle to my front porch:

    I remember Toby well — from the moment when she was still just a rumor (“Hey, I think I saw a little kitten wandering around in the gardens! Have you seen it?”) to the first time when I actually met that little rumor face to face (I was down on all fours weeding Y’s garden, so it literally was face to face) and how, — after several false starts — I finally scooped her up in my clothes and brought her, mewing and scratching, to your door.

    She was a scrawny little thing, but I just knew, from the loving and concerned way that you’d first told me about her, that you cared so much about her and that your home would be an welcoming place for her.

    “Quirky but lovable” — that’s how I’d describe her. It’s not a bad description for us either.  :)

    We later learned that Toby’s history included an unhappy adoption from the shelter to a family with small children. She was wary and troubled. She quickly learned to love but one soul in this world, and that was our Catgirl.
    Sandra takes E

  • sweetie

    Toby Joy in repose

    This evening our vet put our TobyJoy to sleep, after her seizures had escalated to the point where further control with medication seemed unlikely. Her seizures started again a few days ago–small ones at first, then morphing into body-wracking shakes that contorted her small frame backwards and forwards.

    Last night when Toby’s seizures began to escalate I texted John, unsure of whether it was appropriate to ask for his support. We exchanged a few messages as Toby writhed in my arms, and as her legs became paralyzed. I was so confused. I didn’t know whether to lean on John–as I had so many times before–or whether this was my own burden to carry. All I knew was that I was hurting and I couldn’t figure out who else to call on. For the past two decades when I’ve been weak, John has stepped in to “fix” the problem, to offer solace, to help me to decide what to do.

    As I wavered with indecision, Toby was curled in a ball on my chest–so much like my babies did when they were little. Feeling her weight, wrapping my hands securely around her body, I settled into an armchair and sang some songs. I stroked her fur and told her how much I loved her. I rocked back and forth. I was unsure of what else to do but just be there with her. I alternately prayed she would die and then prayed that she would live. I cried. I hoped. I wondered. And eventually…the morning came.  When I needed help getting her into her crate for transport to the animal hospital, I chose to call on my friends rather than John.

    Within a few hours John joined me at the vet to ascertain the extent of Toby’s ailment and we decided to put her to sleep to ease her pain. I sat, and John stood uncomfortably nearby as Toby’s doctor explained the procedure and our options. I signed the paperwork. Because Toby-cat was so ill, we got no last visit or chance to say good-bye.

    When we settled the bill in the foyer (tears sliding down my cheeks) and reviewed the charges with the cashier, I pointed out some details to John and called him “sweetie.” It was pure instinct to address him that manner (as I always had).  The endearment spoken as we stood side by side, working through something hard together. I instantly regretted my slip, not knowing if he had even noticed it, but at the same time feeling an even greater loss than a moment before when all I was mourning was our sweet kitten.

    We then walked out to our separate cars, me carrying Toby’s crate and collar.

    John’s hands were empty.

  • I’m a survivor…

    A friend sent over this link, letting me know how the words of this song apply to my situation in many ways. I love it for numerous reasons, although it did make me desperately hungry for the ocean as I’m sitting in my office today…(oh, and reminded me how much I need to add some ab-strengthening exercises to my workout routine!)