Author: Jana

  • Dear LDS missionaries

    clementine oranges

    This letter is prompted by two recent visits from LDS missionaries. One was two nights ago, when I was knocked out on drugs and could barely register what was happening in the living room. Apparently the elders came by “just to visit” people on the ward list. John politely explained that he’s not a member of the church and said that our family has officially requested “no contact” with the church. He asked the elders to pass that information on to the powers-that-be in the ward, given that our earlier request was not honored. The letter below is from the previous of the two visits…

    Dear LDS missionaries who helped me carry my groceries in the rain:

    First of all, it was very nice of you to help me–particularly with that box of clementine oranges that I was grasping awkwardly with two fingers while having 3 or 4 bag handles draped over each arm. It was obvious I was about to lose some oranges, so the help was very considerate.

    I liked how genuinely surprised you seemed when I greeted you each as “Elder” and asked where you came from. That you were both from rural Utah didn’t surprise me very much–you both looked pretty intimidated by the heathen graduate students milling around our neighborhood. When you found out that I was nearly done with my PhD, one of you asked for suggestions for a good college major. My reply that a degree in engineering might be a good way to support a family was sincere–I worry about young LDS couples and their ability to survive in today’s economy. That you both looked at each other and admitted that neither of you can do math reminded me just how very young you missionaries are, and I realized how hard it must have been for your mothers to let you go for two years.

    It probably seemed like the reason that I didn’t invite you in after you helped with the groceries was because I was busy. But it really was because I didn’t want the conversation: the one where I would explain about apostasy, about not going to church for awhile. And about institutions and inequity and history. About needing a new place to call home. About wounds. About the kinds of life experiences that couldn’t be articulated to two nineteen year-old boys who don’t even know what to study in school.

    I wanted your memory of the afternoon to be one of rescuing a fellow Saint who was about to lose her oranges. Not of a lost soul for you to pity.

    And when I prayed, as you walked away in the rain, that you would avoid the doors of my neighbors who have been the most hurt by the Church’s influence…that was one of my most sincere prayers in quite some time.

    Love,
    Jana

  • the phantoms


    Alice’s garden, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Let me just say first that I’m not writing this because I’m seeking sympathy, or pity. It’s just one facet of life as an amputee, and since one of my primary aims of blogging here is to discuss the experiences of my different body, that’s why I’m writing this post.

    A few times a year, I get the phantoms. I’ve mentioned them occasionally on my blog before. There’s not much of a pattern to when they happen, except that I’ve noticed they are more likely to occur when I’m dehydrated or sick. They were pretty bad when I was pregnant, too.

    Generally, I don’t think being an amputee is all that painful. As long as I’ve got a prosthesis that fits well, my pain level is probably not all that different from anyone else who’s heading towards middle-age. Of course, when my leg isn’t fitting well or when I’ve got pressure sores or rashes on my stump, that’s a bit of a different story. But I’m lucky not to be experiencing any of those problems right now.

    The past few days we’ve had a cold/flu bug going around our family. Yesterday I pressed on with my regular schedule despite feeling pretty cruddy. And then it hit me right around dinner time–the nerves in my right leg started spasming. The pain level is pretty close to what I felt when I had labor contractions before my babies were born. It starts in my leg and causes my entire body to shake for a few seconds. To be fairly descriptive of how it was feeling yesterday, it was as if someone had poked a metal wire up along the side of my femur bone and then ran a jolt of electricity through that wire every few minutes. Oddly, the pains are different each time it happens. It used to feel more like my toes were being twisted off one-by-one. Or that someone was ironing the bottom of my non-existent foot.

    There are a few remedies that work–walking helps, as does some pressure on my stump or a warm shower. But really the only thing I’ve found that truly helps is a dose of a strong muscle relaxant. So that’s what I took last night, and then slipped into sleep, only waking occasionally to note that the spasms were becoming weaker as the night wore on. When I awoke this morning I felt stiff and sore in my right hip, with just a very faint metallic-tingly feeling. As if my leg had “fallen asleep” and was just waking up.

    I don’t know how other amputees experience phantom pains. Those I know, I’ve never thought to ask. It’s not something that I think about very often, or that impacts my life in any huge way. It just happens sometimes. And I don’t think I’m particularly heroic for having endured phantom pains–we all have these little tricks that our bodies play on us once in awhile. Whether it’s lower back pain, that stiff elbow, or the arthritis that gets to us when it rains. I figure we’re all just doing the best we can and some days that means we have to take it easy for awhile.

  • Mary Monday: poetry in motion


    crane taking off from Spider Island at high tide, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Spotted this crane heron while paddling on Saturday and was lucky enough to capture him just taking off (most likely my fault–my boat is nearly 20 ft long and the strong current was carrying me a wee bit close when I snapped this).

  • It’s time for a new carrot

    harbor mouth with the nose of my boat
    The past few days have been the most extreme tides of the year–the water so high that it’s barely possible to paddle under some bridges, then the water so low that the Back Bay is mostly mudflats. This has also resulted in HUGE amounts of debris being pulled into the water–some chunks of it are large tangled island masses of branches and trash that are 4 or 5 times the size of my boat. Much of it is just random floating crap–so paddling through the channel is a bit like a slalom race. Yesterday I veered around something that looked like a tree branch, only to learn seconds later that it was a huge log (most of it submersed under water) and it made a loud thwack it collided with my outrigger. I was afraid that I’d cracked something and might even be taking on water. But the next few minutes went smoothly and I forgot about it until I brought my boat up to the deck for cleaning. I found an ugly gash on the ama (the outrigger float), exposing the carbon fiber shell under the gelcoat finish. Fortunately, it seems that the damage is purely superficial. It was still discouraging, though.

    The scratch on the ama was on my mind when I went out again this morning. I work pretty hard to keep my boat in good condition–taking good care of her so she’ll do her best for me. I hate to see her get dings and scratches. And then I had this ‘aha’ moment: the best way to keep my boat in ‘pristine’ condtion would be to keep her stored away safely. She can’t help but show some wear if I keep taking her out on the water. And it was right then that I decided to wear out my boat–by paddling regularly and hard. Of course, I’ll still be on the watch for floating tree trunks…but I won’t stop getting out on the water just because I’d like to keep the pretty paintjob.

    The other thing that was foremost in my thoughts as I paddled this weekend, was the news that I got on Friday: our division was canceled at the World Champs because too few teams could afford the trip to New Caledonia. I knew this might be a possibility because several teams had already pulled out. But the final news was pretty disheartening. I’ve used that upcoming race as a “carrot” to keep up my practicing and cross-training all winter long. And I was so looking forward to paddling the waters in the South Pacific in May. But of course I still aim to do so…someday.

    So now I need a new carrot, a new goal to work towards. It might be a special race or reward for reducing my per-mile speed by a specific amount. I’m not sure yet. But if you have any good ideas, I’m all ears. (oh, and I’m also looking for a new way to ring in my biggest birthday yet now that I’m no longer planning to win me a shiny medal that week).

    And just like the inevitable scratches on my boat, I’m sure I’ll continue to encounter a variety of bumps as I continue paddling–canceled races, bad weather, damaged boats, etc. But if I was gonna let the challenges stop me, I’d never have gotten back in the canoe on that memorable first race…

  • My blogging life

    Cross-posted at History Compass

    Three years ago I outed myself as a blogger–to both the folks in my department and beyond, as I started using my real name online in places that could link back to my identity as a graduate student. Prior to that, my blogging was something that I did on the side, pseudonymously. However, for a variety of reasons, it seemed time to meld my online and real-life identities.

    Two years ago I wrote a post on my History blog about the “seduction” of the blogging life, and how it was an asset to my work as a scholar. I explained,

    Yet what I find the most seductive about blogging is the continued experimentation. It’s a challenge to find something new to say every day and to find new ways of saying it (especially when my life is just a mundane mix of grad school, parenting, and spiritual seeking–it’s hard to imagine more boring story fodder). So I have to think about how best to ‘hook’ my readers, how to provoke a response, and how to write with such skill that my posts are linked by larger blogs.

    Now that I’m addicted to blogging, I wonder how it will affect my professional life. Though I’m a few years from facing the job market, I can’t help my think that search committees might be put-off by my flower photos and rambling observations. Often I vow to stop blogging and focus my time on more legitimate academic pursuits (just think, people, of all the book reviews I could be writing instead of blogging!).

    But then I consider this: Blogging lubricates my writing muscles. Pounding out a two-paragraph post during my morning latte primes me for a day of historical inquiry…

    Now, I’m finding myself in a place where I’m a bit weary of blogging. Certainly that’s a strange confession in a blogpost! But it seems as though blogging doesn’t carry the same excitement for me that it once did. It might be because I’ve become an avid tweeter, or because I’ve been at this blogwriting gig for nearly a decade and I’ve run out of things to say. Or maybe it’s because I spend so many hours at the computer with my academic work, when I have some moments of discretionary time I want to do something wholly different (like read poetry). Surely it’s a phase that will soon pass. But it feels fairly odd to me right now, knowing how enthusiastically I blogged in years past.

  • Thaw


    in love, in spring, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    From Audre Lorde’s “Thaw”
    (for those of my friends in colder climes who are ready for spring)

    The language of past seasons
    collapses pumpkins in spring
    false labor slides like mud
    off the face of ease
    and whatever I turn my hand to
    pales in the sun.

    We will always be there to your call
    the old witches said
    always said always saying
    something else at the same time
    you are trapped asleep
    you are speechless
    perhaps you will also be
    broken

    Step lightly all around us
    words are cracking
    off we drift
    separate and syllabic
    if we survive at all.

  • Mary Monday: and hold it up to the light


    sweet peas, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    A friend recently posted this poem to her Facebook page, and I just love it…(and as for the picture, I am dreaming of sweet peas a lot these days–because mine are not yet flowering…)

    Introduction to Poetry
    Billy Collins

    I ask them to take a poem
    and hold it up to the light
    like a color slide

    or press an ear against its hive.

    I say drop a mouse into a poem
    and watch him probe his way out,

    or walk inside the poem’s room
    and feel the walls for a light switch.

    I want them to waterski
    across the surface of a poem
    waving at the author’s name on the shore.

    But all they want to do
    is tie the poem to a chair with rope
    and torture a confession out of it.

    They begin beating it with a hose
    to find out what it really means.

  • harbor mouth


    the harbor mouth, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    The picture above is what the harbor mouth looked like a week ago, when I was headed out solo in my one-man canoe. Since then, two canoes have been destroyed on those rocks ahead (though, fortunately, all the paddlers were safe) during our recent storms. Here’s what the harbor mouth looked like two days ago (via daily hotshot):

  • Mary Monday: Now or never!


    geraniums, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Some salient thoughts from Thoreau:

    Take time by the forelock. Now or never!
    You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this, or the like of this. Where the good husbandman is, there is the good soil. Take any other course, and life will be a succession of regrets. Let us see vessels sailing prosperously before the wind, and not simply stranded barks. There is no world for the penitent and regretful.

  • let it splash…

    When the ocean surges, don’t let me
    just hear it. Let it splash inside my chest!
    ~Rumi

    Kuroshio Sea – 2nd largest aquarium tank in the world – (song is Please don’t go by Barcelona) from Jon Rawlinson on Vimeo.

    via worldhum

    I can’t even express how deeply it thrills me to realize that these creatures are swimming below and around me when I paddle on the ocean–thus, I need poetry (and photography)! The ocean itself seems a kind of creature, its cycles and rhythms are at both completely regular and completely unpredictable. Added to that is the beauty of all that finds home within its depths…

    On Saturday, for the first time, I tested out a waterproof camera setup to take out with me on my outrigger canoe. I snapped pics of pelicans and shorebirds, and the various landmarks that are part of the Newport channel. And here’s me, on my boat*:

    me & my boat!!

    I wish the ocean was as clear and blue in the Newport area as it is in the Japanese aquarium captured above. I rarely ever actually “see” anything swimming in the water except for the trash floating on the surface. So that’s one reason I’m really thrilled to be headed to the South Pacific in a few months–to see some really clear blue water. Of course the other reason for my excitement is that I’ll be competing in my first international outrigger competition. And that, my friends, is as amazing and unbelievable as life can be…

    *We rigged up a sweet steering system for my canoe so I can maneuver with just one foot pedal.

  • the conversation

    pretty sky
    Came across this quotation on a humanist listserv this morning and just had to share:

    From Kenneth Burke’s,”The Conversation of History”:

    Imagine that you enter a parlor. You come late. When you arrive, others have long preceded you, and they are engaged in a heated discussion, a discussion too heated for them to pause and tell you exactly what it is about. In fact, the discussion had already begun long before any of them got there, so that no one present is qualified to retrace for you all the steps that had gone before. You listen for a while, until you decide that you have caught the tenor of the argument; then you put in your oar [or, your padddle]. Someone answers; you answer him; another comes to your defense; another aligns himself against you, to either the embarrassment or gratification of your opponent, depending upon the quality of your ally’s assistance. However, the discussion is interminable. The hour grows late, you must depart. And you do depart, with the discussion still vigorously in progress.

    Kenneth Burke, The Philosophy of Literary Form (1941)

  • You will survive

    When I was 13, I was struggling to survive, too, so the message of this video resonates with me even though I have no experience with human trafficking. And…I am so pleased to be part of it–you can see me, along with others from Orange County Friends Meeting at 2:12.