Category: deep thoughts

  • down memory lane

    My first blog was at www.enivri.com. When I ceased paying for my own domain name, the blog disappeared and I never bothered to save my posts anywhere.

    John recently showed me how to use the “wayback machine,” which gives a window into my world from 4 or 5 years ago through its archives of my old blog. This is cooler than cool.

    –See my post on enivri.com after my first attempt at rock climbing [Note: my butt is not really as big as it looks in this particular picture]
    –The post where I write about our move to a teeny-tiny apartment at UCI–a rather momentous event in our family’s history.
    –My farewell post at www.enivri.com.

  • sock dreams

    Am I the only one who swoons when cashmere, angora and thigh-high are mentioned in the same sentence?

    Not to mention the satin, mohair, and chenille…

    [Can you tell I’m sitting in my sister’s chilly basement, wishing for something to keep my toesies toasty?]

  • thoughtful

    “Who is not afraid of pure space–that breathtaking empty space of an open door?”
    ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift From the Sea

  • real women

    My netflix tonight was “Real Women Have Curves.” It’s taken me way too long to watch this film. And, of course, the best scene is the one in the factory where the women are competing for the most curves, the most ‘cellulite.’

    It reminds me of this now-popular blog that features photos of the bodies of real mothers. Though my stretch marks have almost completely faded in the last 10 years, I can still feel their striations as I run my hands over my lower belly. They are scars to be proud of, the physical sacrifice for my two babies that’s been well-worth every mark they left on my flesh.

    [Note: but I’m still not brave enough to share any photos of my current belly (my least favorite part of my body). And, unfortunately, I have no such photos from my pregnancies, either–I think Demi Moore hadn’t yet broken the belly barrier back when I was pregnant]

  • Note to the long-legged orange and black spider that lives in my car

    Dear Spider:
    I want you to live and long and fruitful life. I want you to spin lovely webs, eat gobs of tasty flies, and make many 8-legged babies with your beloved….

    So please, please, stop climbing up my leg while I am driving the morning carpool to summer school! I am sure there are many much nicer places to make your life than in my car. Like those bushes that I parked nearby today. Don’t those bushes look much nicer than the hotter-than-Hades interior of my aging station wagon?

    For the love of Arachne, please take note that my gearshift knob is not a nice place to sun yourself, and that the trauma caused by your two journeys up my calf this morning will not foster long life for either of us.

    Sincerely,
    pilgrimgirl

  • seen

    A bumper sticker in the parking lot of my optometrist’s office:

    “Nobody’s Imperfect”

    Coming soon: photos of the new glasses that I was picking up at said office….

  • perfection?

    This afternoon E asked me if I’ve ever had a perfectly wonderful day or a completely awful day. I suppose I’ve had my even share of each, just like everyone else living on this planet. I said in reply:

    “Just about every day is perfectly wonderful to me.” And I meant it.

    As I sit at my computer tonite feeling droswy, but not yet quite willing to call it a day, I can look back at all that this day has brought: a relaxing morning after the kids left for summer school where I got much accomplished around the house and had some QT with Ellycat, my delight at the kiddoes’ return from school at lunchtime, my appointment with the optomotrist where I chose some pretty funky new glasses, two hours of swimming laps while the kids were in swim practice and remembering the strength of my former swim-team self, a simple dinner with the whole family, a quick jaunt to the garden to water and to visit with friends, a few hours after the kids were in bed to unwind with a recently arrived netflick, a drowsy John waiting for me to retire to bed with him.

    Hmmmm….perfectly perfect, in my opinion. :)

  • suitcase


    Imagine an attic of an old mental asylum, filled with the trunks and suitcases of the now-deceased patients. Then imagine that the suitcases are found and the contents are documented to tell the stories of their former owners. Amazing stuff.
    My favorite story is Madeline’s.

  • epitaph

    Seen on a headstone at the Siloam Methodist Church Cemetery, somewhere on the rural roads of North Carolina:
    Written under the husband’s name, “Her Hero”
    Under the wife’s name, “His Habit.”

  • you know you’re getting old when…

    You’re teaching class, standing up in front of 60 undergrads, and about ten minutes afterwards realize that your fly was down the whole time. And after the realization you’re not even embarrassed.
    But I am pretty glad that today’s the last day of classes. If one is going to teach with one’s zipper unzipped, the final day of the quarter is a good time to do it.

  • behind the smile


    This link will take you to a Japanese site where scientists have attempted to recreate the voice of La Giocondo and her master. Worth listening to, just for the cadence of the the Italian language.

    Note: you’ll need to use Internet Explorer to view the site. If you don’t read Japanese, just click on the buttons beneath the images to hear the speech

  • hide n seek


    I’ve had several dreams this past week about hidden secrets.

    In last night’s dream I was in China where I was taking covert pictures of government doings with a super-small spy camera (about the size of a pen cap). I realized that I was going to be called in and searched and I was desperate to find a place to hide the camera. I had watched my spy companions be tortuted and killed, and I knew I would suffer the same fate if they found my pictures. I wanted to find an item that I could attach the camera to where it would blend in. My last thought before I woke up was that I should clip it to my robotic knee. But I wasn’t sure that they would let me keep my leg–would part of my torture involve stripping me of my mobility?

    Oddly enough, I wasn’t really scared about my personal safety–I was only concerned about keeping the photos safe.