Author: Jana

  • joy


    CatGirl and the Blue, Blue Sky., originally uploaded by mind on fire.

    I love the way Catgirl is completely absorbed in the moment here. No worries, just pure joy.

    And, of course, the azure California sky is always the perfect backdrop…

    Pic by John

  • sporty

    Because unipeds can be athletes, too (even those of us who suspected our sporty days were long past). Just sayin’
    :)
    Pic by John

  • with kisses…


    garden, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Real Roses

    There are manufactured roses – long-stemmed and perfect,
    thornless and free of both scent and greenfly.
    They are predestined to live their hour in dressing rooms, in boudoirs.
    They are extravagance made tangible, shielded by cellophane.
    They die before they open.

    Real roses tumble their petals onto piano tops and carpets.
    They have thorns and too many leaves and smell of summer gardens.
    They come with kisses.

    ~Clara Ortega

  • canoeing


    Jana’s Outrigger Canoe., originally uploaded by mind on fire.

    Sitting in seat 4 in this picture as we’re bringing the boat into shore, just an hour or so after the first time I steered the boat on the open ocean. The swells were gentle and it was far easier than I thought it would be (a bit of irony in the picture: see my crutches lying in the blue boat cover to the left of the pic?)

    It’s actually a bit tough sometimes to paddle one-legged, simply because I can’t push with my right leg to get the trunk twist when I paddle on the left. But I’m holding my own and there’s something pretty exciting about doing a sport where what’s above the waist means more than what’s below.
    :)

    Pic by John, my own personal paparazzi

  • I love you.

  • cherubic


    garden, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    This funny little guy keeps watch over the wild roses. He does his job quite well.

    Right now I’m blissing out with some Vanilla Rooibos tea. Yum!

  • her stories


    rose arch, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    I’ve just heard that my GrandmaB–my last living grandparent–is ailing and may not live much longer…
    The yard around her home was full of rosebushes and she knew each of them by name and could tell you just where she acquired them (many were gifts from family). While we lived near her, she would let me cut large bouquets of roses to brighten up our humble apartment.

    It was she who got me so excited about the fragrances and textures of roses. If I had a time machine I’d love to turn back the dial and stroll through her yard with her again one last time…and hear her stories of flowers.

    Pic taken in May last year. My rose arch is just on the verge of being so spectacular again…

  • inside


    iris, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Inside one of the gorgeous irises blooming in my garden right now. Loving the colors, textures, patterns. I could gaze at this for hours.

  • a good deal


    rudebeckia at Alcott’s, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    I have travelled a good deal in Concord.
    – Henry David Thoreau

    I’m realizing today how much I love travel, how enticing it is now that airfares are low. To just go. To walk away from the familiar again. For awhile. (Boston & environs, you are calling my name)

    Pic taken just after touring the Alcott’s home in Concord with Sara and Sandra

  • a bit of beauty


    garden, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    The first peach blossoms of the season. Aren’t they lovely?


  • It’s a rare thing to meet a kindred spirit, much less one whose body is so akin to my own and who knows the terrain of cancer even better than I.

    Sara, when I think of you I remember our adventure-filled days together, your amazing baked goods, your love for all things cat (especially that wily Sam-kitty), your persistence at living by your conscience, your cozy book-filled home with its crazy slope-y wooden floors and our sharing a rich dark brew while gazing out over your garden. And of course, paddling together down the Concord river last fall when the leaves were turning and the sun was so bright that it made my eyes water…just as they are now, upon learning of your death.

    You were beautiful and good and real. Thank you for sharing your self with me.

    Picture of Sara and me on the banks of Walden Pond, Fall 2007

  • Walt Whitman is my trump card…

    This weekend I played the bestest-evah game of “Apples to Apples” (and not to worry, I quickly converted everyone to Irvine-style rules…)

    And when I got home, as I reflected on the happenings of this weekend a phrase from a favorite poet came to mind:


    I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,

    I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.
    ~Walt Whitman
    Leaves of Grass

    PS: pictures to come soon, I promise!!
    PPS: We found a most colorful way to send Brooke on her way to CT wrapped in the snaky love of sisterhood, several sistahs learned how to crochet by the power of inspiration, and we spent time a-plenty musing on p-words. Oh, and we had us a bit of R&R along the way. :)
    PPS: It’s so lovely to be home once again and to feel the safe arms of my beloved.