Category: classics

  • pilgrimclassic: breathe vs. achieve

    Posted originally on 4/3/2008:

    like a sunset

    What can we do but keep on breathing in and out,
    modest and willing, and in our places? ~Mary Oliver


    Last night in our Study Group, a friend gave an awesome lesson about world religions and what we can glean from various faith traditions to augment our own spiritual paths. She read a passage about the difference between ‘western’ traditions versus ‘eastern’ traditions, specifically noting that western traditions emphasize progression whereas the eastern foster satisfaction with the here and now–“being” in the moment.

    I’ve been thinking about that a lot today. I often work so hard to achieve things, yet I crave just sitting in solitude or the time to lose myself in a flower or to lie across my bed with a purring cat beside me. I have so many lofty goals–books to write, places to travel, classes to teach, and so on. But I feel a tension between the ambition it will take to accomplish these goals…and the desire to sit in solitude.

    I think for now I am choosing the latter. And tomorrow I will take up the pursuit again. But today, I may just breathe awhile.

    The best things in life are nearest: Breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of right just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life’s plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life.
    ~Robert Louis Stevenson

  • Pilgrimclassic: Worship

    Originally posted 9/22/2005:

    Last night CatGirl spread her homework around on the living room floor. She sprawled her body out in the middle of textbooks, papers, pencils/pens, erasers, etc. As she tapped her toes together while doing math problems, well, it rivaled the most beautiful painting in the Louvre. To see her wholly absorbed in the moment as her pencil moved across the paper, to have her look up at me every once in awhile and confirm a math question. To see the small ringlet curls that had escaped her ponytail, and the way they framed her face.

    John, GameBoy and CatGirl can always capture my complete attention. To me they are the most disarmingly beautiful creatures. Perhaps it is sacrilege to say that I worship them. But I do. I devote most of my life in serving and loving these three people. They are my trinity.

    It brings to mind a quotation from Mormon apostle Jeffrey Holland that I heard a lot this summer. He said “Heaven just wouldn’t be heaven without my wife and children there.” I agree with him wholeheartedly. But I can also say that, for me, every day is heaven. Because every day I mingle with deity.

  • pilgrimclassic: Mother’s Day Proclamation for Peace

    Originally posted May 13, 2007:

    The celebration of Mother’s Day originated with poet Julia Ward Howe, as a movement for women to fight the devastation of war and to show the way towards peace. Today’s sentimental-flowers-&-Hallmark-card bedecked event hardly measures up to the fiery rhetoric of the day’s founding mother…

    Julia Ward Howe’s Mother’s Day Proclamation – 1870

    Arise then…women of this day!
    Arise, all women who have hearts!
    Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
    Say firmly:
    “We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
    Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
    For caresses and applause.
    Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
    All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
    We, the women of one country,
    Will be too tender of those of another country
    To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”

    From the bosom of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
    Our own. It says: “Disarm! Disarm!
    The sword of murder is not the balance of justice.”
    Blood does not wipe out dishonor,
    Nor violence indicate possession.
    As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
    At the summons of war,
    Let women now leave all that may be left of home
    For a great and earnest day of counsel.
    Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
    Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
    Whereby the great human family can live in peace…
    Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
    But of God –
    In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
    That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
    May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
    And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
    To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
    The amicable settlement of international questions,
    The great and general interests of peace.

  • pilgrim classic: exam day

    It’s really hard to believe that this was just one year ago.

  • pilgrim classic: if this is you…


    JOY :), originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Originally posted 2/26/07:
    If you have just finished shopping and you are trying to balance all six bags of groceries along with your purse, half an eggplant brie sandwich, a bag of sour gummies from Sweet Tooth, and your bike lock in your back basket. And as you are stretching the bungies across your taller-than-usual load, you pause for a minute and enjoy the incense wafting from the yoga studio next door. And if this is you, then the moment will be beyond perfect when you discover that someone you love has left a petite bouquet of pink poesies in your gearshift knob.

  • pilgrim classic: I, robot

    Originally posted on 3/1/2007:

    Sometimes I make jokes about being a “bionic woman” or a “cyborg.” Having a prosthetic leg with a computer-controlled knee joint lends itself to such comparisons. Truth be told, the first thing I’d reach for if there was a house fire in the middle of the night and we needed to exit quickly, wouldn’t be the family photo albums. I’d reach for my robotic leg. It would make sense, given that the leg cost as much as a luxury car. And, of course, because it’s essential for my mobility.

    I’ve been robotic for about three years. When I first heard that my insurance would pay for a computerized knee joint, I was thrilled to adopt the technology. I knew that it meant more stability, fewer falls, and a more natural gait. My prosthetist duly warned me not to get it wet, to charge the battery every night for at least three hours, and to notify him at the first sign of any malfunction.

    My kids were thrilled with my leg and its robotic possibilities. We wondered what might happen if an evil genius reprogrammed my leg and forced me to rob banks or steal diamonds? We giggled long and hard about that scenario. The first time my battery started running low, I was standing in a grocery checkout line with my son and daughter. We heard the telltale beeps and I felt the vibrating sensation like a cellphone ringer, notifying me that I had 10 minutes to get my leg plugged in or I’d lose power altogether. We raced home and made it just in time. The adventure was more thrilling than a car chase scene in a spy movie.

    Some days, however, I feel guilty about owning a leg that cost more than fifty thousand dollars. I think of my limbless sisters and brothers in other circumstances and I realize that dozens—if not hundreds—of low-tech limbs could be purchased for the price of my computerized leg. And I contemplate the thousands of new amputees returning home from Iraq, and those people throughout the world who live in daily fear of loss of life and limb.

    Last year my leg malfunctioned while I was traveling in Asia, perhaps a result of using a faulty power adapter for charging my leg. Though there was no way to get the computer repaired during my trip, I was able to continue my travels with my knee stiff–walking as if wearing a cast. Despite the impairment, I carried on with typical tourist activities: scaling the Great Wall, strolling through the markets, touring gardens, and do forth. Nearly every place we visited there were beggars, many of them amputees. I knew I needed to avoid giving handouts or I would be besieged by dozens of people asking for the same. So I kept my hands in my pockets and looked into their eyes and felt heartsick and smug. Contemplating the price that bought my mobility. Feeling my own betrayal.

  • pilgrimclassic: Casting Faith

    This post originally appeared on Nov 19, 2006:

    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.

  • pilgrimclassic: my glowing cemetery

    Originally published on June 23, 2006:
    Explanatory Note: In this post I refer my and John’s old podcast, which is no longer available for download. We have plans to resume podcasting together soon, and the first order of business will be to reinstate the old episodes. I’ll let you as soon as that actually happens!

    I was all set to write a quick post to tell you about my & John’s first-ever podcast where I read a short creative nonfiction piece about the Magna Cemetery [Note: this cemetery is typically called the Pleasant Green cemetery, as this was the name of the town in the late 1800s. After the copper mine came to the area the town’s name was changed to Magna, the name of the mine’s biggest smelter. I suppose the area was no longer pleasant and green after Kennecott came to town] and as I was googling the cemetery in hopes of finding a good picture to add to the post, I found this juicy tidbit:

    “Hauntings at Magna Cemetery: Much like the town of Magna, the Pleasant Green Cemetery reflects a sad history related to the settlement and hardships endured by the pioneers and immigrants who moved there to work in and live near the mines. Most of the people buried there did not have long lives, and mining accidents sometimes claimed multiple lives at once.

    It is a fact that the Pleasant Green cemetery glows green during certain times of the year. For a long time, people believed this was due to unsettled spirits haunting the place, though now it is understood that it’s due to the mineral luminescence from the soil. This doesn’t make the cemetery any less eerie. From the toppled headstones to the overgrown bushes and weeds, it’s hard to believe this cemetery is being used and/or that the ghosts of those buried there aren’t feeling slighted by the lack of upkeep and respect.”

    The two images I found of the cemetary are evidence of its forlorn-ness. One is from a Utah ghost site and shows an aerial view:

    The other photo shows the front entrance gate:

    It’s funny to me that I want to be buried in a place that’s so barren and ugly. But I also feel a deep connection to this space. It’s where some of the family oddballs are buried, and I think I would fit in better there than if I were interred in the perfectly-green lawns of a more typical Utah cemetery. And, it seems weirdly fitting to know that I would be buried in a place of legend, of mystery, of great sorrow, and of ‘luminescence.’

  • pilgrimclassic: a photo tribute to a well-traveled limb

    Originally published on December 13, 2006:

    Bidding farewell to most of my leg today as I upgrade the socket, cosmesis, stockings, and so forth. A pilgrimgirl first: a photo essay tribute to a well-traveled limb.

    As I put this together I asked myself why I wanted to take pictures of my leg, why this was important to me. And I realized how much I wish I had similar photos of my real leg before it was amputated. To help me remember.

    Update: here is a ‘key’ to the photos for those that are difficult to identify
    1) both feet
    2) my worn-out heel
    3) a tear in the covering at my knee
    4) the valve that seals my suction socket
    5) my big toe w/a shredded nylon over it
    6) looking down the back of the leg starting at the heel

  • pilgrimclassic: I, robot

    Originally posted on 3/1/2007:

    Sometimes I make jokes about being a “bionic woman” or a “cyborg.” Having a prosthetic leg with a computer-controlled knee joint lends itself to such comparisons. Truth be told, the first thing I’d reach for if there was a house fire in the middle of the night and we needed to exit quickly, wouldn’t be the family photo albums. I’d reach for my robotic leg. It would make sense, given that the leg cost as much as a luxury car. And, of course, because it’s essential for my mobility.

    I’ve been robotic for about three years. When I first heard that my insurance would pay for a computerized knee joint, I was thrilled to adopt the technology. I knew that it meant more stability, fewer falls, and a more natural gait. My prosthetist duly warned me not to get it wet, to charge the battery every night for at least three hours, and to notify him at the first sign of any malfunction.

    My kids were thrilled with my leg and its robotic possibilities. We wondered what might happen if an evil genius reprogrammed my leg and forced me to rob banks or steal diamonds? We giggled long and hard about that scenario. The first time my battery started running low, I was standing in a grocery checkout line with my son and daughter. We heard the telltale beeps and I felt the vibrating sensation like a cellphone ringer, notifying me that I had 10 minutes to get my leg plugged in or I’d lose power altogether. We raced home and made it just in time. The adventure was more thrilling than a car chase scene in a spy movie.

    Some days, however, I feel guilty about owning a leg that cost more than fifty thousand dollars. I think of my limbless sisters and brothers in other circumstances and I realize that dozens—if not hundreds—of low-tech limbs could be purchased for the price of my computerized leg. And I contemplate the thousands of new amputees returning home from Iraq, and those people throughout the world who live in daily fear of loss of life and limb.

    Last year my leg malfunctioned while I was traveling in Asia, perhaps a result of using a faulty power adapter for charging my leg. Though there was no way to get the computer repaired during my trip, I was able to continue my travels with my knee stiff–walking as if wearing a cast. Despite the impairment, I carried on with typical tourist activities: scaling the Great Wall, strolling through the markets, touring gardens, and do forth. Nearly every place we visited there were beggars, many of them amputees. I knew I needed to avoid giving handouts or I would be besieged by dozens of people asking for the same. So I kept my hands in my pockets and looked into their eyes and felt heartsick and smug. Contemplating the price that bought my mobility. Feeling my own betrayal.

  • pilgrim classic: because of all that armpit hair

    This is one of my most-googled posts ever. Lots of folks out there in cyberspace searching for hairy armpitted feminists, I suppose. Originally posted on March 8, 2007.

    In celebration of International Women’s Day, Take a minute to watch this short video “Are YOU a Feminist?”

    For whatever reason, feminism seems to be equated with armpit hair and lesbianism. That’s so odd to me, as I don’t know any female feminists that eschew shaving (tho a few male feminists that I know don’t shave their armpits) and only a handful of my feminist friends are lesbians. Why is the feminist label so maligned? Is this a legacy of the Equal Rights Amendment era? Or is this indicative of larger social discomfort with assertive women?

    An anecdote: I’ve recently found myself in a social situation where I’ve observed several undergrads who have behaved belligerently towards an older woman in a position of authority over them. These same students treat a young-ish man with a similar position with much greater respect. Though there are many reasons why this might be happening in this particular situation, I suspect that much of it has to do with gender. Most people seem to be uncomfortable with assertive women, but not so with assertive men. IMO, this is a shame. Though the woman might be more qualified and more capable, the man is preferred. Why?

    And, also in celebration of IWD and some truly radical feminist women (no hairy armpits, I promise). Take a few moments to watch and listen:

    Note: The original clip that I linked to seems to no longer be available. Here’s a similar vid, though with a more contemplative (less militant) bent:

  • pilgrim classic: the real me

    Originally appeared on April 18, 2007:

    No pretty flower picture today. Because it’s come to my attention (thanks to my Outhouse friends) that my online persona doesn’t really match up with “me.” For all of you who only know me online and might have this rosy-colored view of Jana, well this is for you:

    -I like fart jokes. I make at least one potty-humor comment at dinner each evening.
    -My house is a mess. When I cleaned out the fridge last week I found a ton of stuff that had expired in December of last year.
    -I like to swear & cuss, especially around John. I’m downright sailor-ish at times.
    -I can touch my tongue to my nose and I will perform this “skill” for just about anyone, just about anytime.
    -I can be pretty mean. I have strong opinions about most topics and I use big words in an attempt to demean those that I’m arguing with.
    -I frequently snort when I laugh.
    -When I run into my old boyfriends I often, rather heartlessly, ignore them.
    -Sometimes I use my disability as an excuse when I am perfectly capable of doing things. It’s just my way of getting out of things that I don’t want to do.
    -During the middle of the day while the kids are at school and John’s at work I frequently do my schoolwork sitting in bed in my underwear. Ignoring the door or the phone. Come to think of it, I rarely answer the phone anytime of day. And I’m horrible about returning messages.
    -I don’t like it when people interrupt me when I’m on email.
    -I run red lights when no one else is around.
    -I bike in ‘no biking’ areas of campus.
    -I have a double-chin, but I don’t post photos that show it.
    -I enjoy the attention that my ‘different’ body brings. I can walk down the street showing my bionic leg and know that nearly every eye is on me. There’s a headiness to getting so much attention.
    -In yoga class I’m rather proud that I’m better at many of the poses than the ‘able-bodied’ participants.
    -Sometimes when John is working on something that’s important to him I distract him with sex.
    -I kiss my cats more than my husband.
    -I manipulate people (especially men) by smiling at them and saying what I think they want to hear.
    -If you go out to lunch with me, I will probably dominate the conversation.
    -I am frequently uncomfortable with the way other people smell.
    -My garden is a big mess of weeds right now. Taking flower pictures is my way of avoiding the ugly needs-work spaces.
    -I usually drive my kids to school while I’m still wearing my pajamas.
    -I buy things online because I don’t want to be hassled with having to go to a brick & mortar store.
    -Sometimes I assign my kids to do the chores that I don’t want to do myself.
    -I almost never have any money in my wallet because I don’t want the hassle of going to an ATM or getting cash back at the store.
    -I throw away loose change that I find around the house rather than having to put it in a receptacle and roll it for deposit at the bank.
    -Sometimes I use schoolwork as an excuse when I want to evade a previous commitment.
    -I wrap my leg around John’s legs at night even though I know he doesn’t like it much. And I don’t let him reciprocate.
    -I’m not always careful about separating other family members’ laundry by color and fabric although I get really annoyed if they aren’t careful with my clothes.
    -If I buy a container of fresh pineapple, I usually eat it all myself even though CatGirl really likes it, too.
    -Sometimes I’m too lazy to turn off the bathroom light before I go to bed even though I know it makes it hard for John to sleep.
    -I’m not nice in the mornings.
    -I play games to win.