Category: friends

  • forty

    In years past, I’ve had some momentous birthday celebrations. I’ll certainly never forget my 38th, and my 39th went well, too. However as my birthday approached this year, I found I just wasn’t up for a fundraising campaign. Such efforts take a lot of work, and…there are so many other things taking my mental energy already. I didn’t even know if I wanted to have a party at all this year, or just spend time with the people that I’m closest to–or perhaps even alone.

    However, at the last minute I sent out an invite to some friends and suggested that they gather for a casual evening at chez Remy to celebrate along with me. And I think the evening turned out to be just the right way to mark my 40 years. Friends tell me that I was giggling so hard at moments that my lips were turning blue (I suspect that this was actually a bit of blue frosting off of some cupcakes, but either way….such fun).  There were big hugs and and tasty food and plenty of animated conversation.   That friends traveled from near and far to join me, means more than I can say.

    I didn’t take any pictures–I wanted to be fully present and not behind the lens. But a friend managed to snap one pic of me, and I’m grateful for the way it shows my uninhibited joy. Forty years is a long time to be spinning on this planet, and all forty have them have been wonderful. I can’t wait to see what the next few birthdays will bring my way!

  • scholarly (or not)…

    When I host parties, I like to mix up old invitations between old and new acquaintances.  So whenever anyone new arrives at the door, I make them endure a round of introductions wherein I typically introduce my friends by their graduate school affiliations.  Over time, I’ve come to realize that intro-ing my friends by their scholarly identities is pretty snobby of me, because it tends to marginalize those of my friends who aren’t in academia.  So at my last party I attempted to make introductions in a new vein, and it was far harder for me to do.

    The thing is, I don’t think my academically-inclined friends are any more brilliant or interesting than any of my other friends.  But I think I’ve moved in academic circles for so long, that I’ve fallen into this habit–we tend to define ourselves by our field and our institutional affiliation.  And perhaps most significantly, as someone who is a nontraditional student, I worked so hard to get me some academic credibility that I think I probably wear it too boldly on my sleeve.  I don’t do so to raise myself above anyone else, but to acknowledge my own journey from housewife to scholar.  It’s been a hard-earned path.

    As I’ve considered the qualities I’d like to have in future romantic partners, I’m weighing the pros and cons of dating other academics.  While it’s nice to be with someone who can understand the tensions and pleasures of my research, I wonder if it makes more sense to pursue a relationship with someone outside the ivory tower?  Because it could allow for more balance in a life that’s already rather stress-filled with writing deadlines, grant applications, and teaching (not to mention the pressures of simply finding a job!). On a related note, I’ve found Kelly’s list about what she’s looking for to be rather helpful in my considerations, but it doesn’t mention career paths specifically.

    What do you think, internets?  Is it best to choose a partner who follows a similar career path, or one who is different (but complementary)?

  • 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?

  • Only good…

    thoughtful

    I spent time with two different close friends yesterday and both said something similar to me about my life since separating from John.  Both affirmed how much good has happened for me since then.  One even went as far as to say that “only good has come of your splitting.”

    I don’t know if I’d wholly agree that it’s all been “good.”  After all, it’s been emotionally difficult (even traumatizing) to navigate the realities of sharing the custody of our children, and of facing the future without a spouse at my side.

    However…I am the kind of person that tends to rebound quickly from setbacks.  That’s a lesson learned from so many difficult experiences early in my life.  And I was already headed on an exciting professional trajectory, which in some ways is only made smoother now that I don’t have a partner to negotiate with over the details of my choices, or to distract me from my goals.  There’s an absolute headiness that comes from knowing that I’m charting my own course now, and can depend on my own strength to get me there.

    I’m reminded of an experience I had taking a friend out paddling for the first time.  Usually, I take it pretty easy on those who aren’t used to the physical toll of canoeing–it’s hard work!  Often we don’t even make it to the PCH bridge, which is about a mile away from our launch point.  However, this friend (a vibrant divorced professional woman) was a powerhouse in the canoe, despite not having an athletic lifestyle.  When I asked her about it later, she said that she’d learned many years ago to do things herself: when she remodeled her home, landscaped her yard, and so forth.  That being single taught her to tap hidden reserves of strength.  I could see that when she paddled and I could see it in her life.  And now….I’m learning that lesson, too.

  • feeling blue…

    Today in sunny Pasadena, rambling through the Huntington gardens, one can’t help but feel more than a little bit blue.  By blue I don’t mean sad, I mean staring into the blue blue sky and being overwhelmed with its beauty blue (my thoughts in this vein inspired by William Gass–many thanks to David for the recommendation & my very own copy of On Being Blue):

    [flickrslideshow acct_name=”pilgrimgirl” id=”72157625414624608″]

  • This life…

    This life…

    It’s funny that as much as I want to get home now (am bone-deep aching to sleep in my own bed again), this life that I’ve built here in Pasadena will not be an easy one to leave.  The solace of wandering the grounds of the Huntington during the early morning hours, the quiet rhythms of working deep in the recesses of its reading rooms, and the network of friends in its environs will be sorely missed.  And while I can’t believe that I’m saying this now, I’ll even miss those long late night (or early morning) drives up the 5 or 57 as I schlepped back and forth between here and Orange County to spend time with my children (oh, Prius, how I love your sing-along-able stereo!)

    Pasadena is now coffee meetups at Busters, morning light on the sunporch with a purry Tigris-kitty, working dinners at the Novel cafe, deep evening conversations on overstuffed white couches, dissertation sprinting until my fingers ache, pumping iron at the Y, flannel robes & snuggly-soft blankets, your poetry, cheeseburgers stuffed with potato chips and extra pickles, sharing favorite vistas at the Huntington, sweet-smelling care packages by snailmail, collegial conversations, the corinthian column of Christmas, wearing cons & jeans nearly everyday, and the sound of rain on rattly-old glass window panes. But perhaps most memorable is meeting people who don’t know of me as John’s wife or as my children’s mother–who know me only as Jana. And who like me just that way.

    My pilgrim soul has found so much delight in these steps of my journey.  Thank you.

  • Seattle-bound

    My plans for this trip had to change at the last minute, due to my confusion over the ferry schedule back to Seattle.  So instead of an extra day to explore Vancouver Island, I gained a day to explore Seattle (how odd that it is, really, considering that in just a few days, John will be settling into making this city his new temporary home…).  One of the joys of such a spontaneous change is that I was able to quickly make contact with a Seattle blogger that I’ve followed for several years.  She and I shared a friend in Sara, but have never met.  We also share a love for gardening and the Japanese culture, as well as experience with cancer.

    The change in travel plans has meant less time as a tourist—I never did even make it to a tea shop in Victoria—but more time talking with fellow travelers at my conference.  Last night I ended up sharing dinner with a woman that I’d just met, after we learned that we had children of similar ages and temperaments (and we’d bought similar take-home gifts in the UVic bookstore).  As we walked on we realized that both of our spouses build/manage databases and we also share a passion for 19th-century women’s history.  Sharing a cab to the ferry this morning I had similarly provocative conversations with scholars from California,New York, and Illinois.

    As I write this, I’m looking out over the rolling waters of the Juan de Fuca strait and dreaming about paddling those waters someday.  My very small taste of the Pacific Northwest & Vancouver Island has me convinced that this is a place to return to again soon.  A place that I could even call home someday.  But even more than the connection that I’m finding to the cities and structures of the area, I’m feeling full of the conversations and connections that’ve emerged in the past few days.  I’m coming home full of ideas and possibilities, ready for even more such experiences at the conferences coming up in July, and for my research projects.

  • early rising


    steps to nowhere, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    This morning I awakened spontaneously, at about 6am. Perhaps it was the soft light filtering through the windows that woke me, perhaps it was the noises of Friends around me stretching and shifting in their bunks. In any case, I figured that as long as I was up so early, I would attend the early Meeting for Healing that was scheduled before breakfast.

    We were staying in Temescal Canyon, just a few miles away from Malibu, with Quakers from all over southern California. It was our family’s first regional Quaker gathering–so much of it was new to us.

    For example, the night before I’d watched a group of Friends worshipfully dancing in rhythm around candles. That had been strange to me, but beautiful. I hadn’t ever seen anyone participating sacred dance before. I’d sat and watched out of the corner of my eye while chatting with a few other women. Amazed at bodies young and old, in rapture. I’d been tempted to join in, but realized that I could enjoy it better from watching on the sidelines…

    This morning as I stepped into the room where the Meeting for Healing was taking place, it seemed like any other Meeting for Worship. A small group of Friends sat in a simple circle of chairs. The one main difference was the empty chair in the center. Within a few moments a woman stepped forward and sat in the chair. All remained silent for quite some time. And then another woman walked over to her and placed her hands on the other woman’s head. Then hovered her hands over the seated woman’s shoulders, neck, and arms. Then she walked around and hovered her hands over the Friend’s legs. Then she returned to standing behind her chair again and placed her hands on her head for several moments.

    After some silent time, that woman left the center chair and another woman took her place. A Friend from the circle came up behind her and wrapped her in a warm embrace, holding her tightly for several minutes.

    This process continued through several different people who chose to sit in the chair. Friends spontaneously rose and ministered to them in very physical and loving ways. Through embrace and touch.

    I was moved by this so deeply that it was hard for me to process what I was seeing. Such generosity of spirit. Without rules. Without gender. Without words. Wrapped in love, hope and faith. It was as mystical and as strange to me as the dancing had been the night before. But it was also completely comfortable and familiar.

    When I was in the hospital last summer, our Meeting gathered and prayed for my healing. Then, I had no idea then what exactly it meant for Friends to minister to each others’ bodies and spirits in such an intimate manner.
    But I’m beginning to understand now.
    And I’m also slowly realizing that those times I am so insistent on carrying my own burdens…
    even when they are weighty…
    Perhaps sometimes
    I can let a Friend reach out and help me along the way.

    Picture of some stone steps along a pathway near the Lodge where we at our meals at Temescal Canyon. I loved the stonework all around the camp area and especially here, covered in red leaves.

  • el dia


    farmers market flower seller, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    I saw big bunches of marigolds at the Farmers’ Market flower seller yesterday and remembered that El Dia de los Muertos is approaching. I wanted to buy an armful of them, but instead bought practical things like onions and apples and cucumbers.

    I got up extra early this morning, wanting to spend my daylight savings hour doing something memorable. So I greeted the sun in a quiet house while reading poetry. The poem below reminded me of my friend Alana, who dressed as a spider deity for Halloween. She told us that she keeps a strand of spiders on her wall year-round–they remind her that one’s daily work is to spin a web, even knowing that it will probably be destroyed, but to get up each morning and continue spinning anyways.

    At our little Halloween gathering we did brief tarot readings of each attendee. Some of the cards were affirming, promising prosperity and success. Some were sobering reminders of one’s priorities (dissertations, anyone?). I pulled the Three of Swords, which is not a happy card–signaling betrayal and pain like a stab in the heart. But as soon as I saw it I was delighted and knew it was mine. It felt right to have an open wound acknowledged, to speak of my hurting.

    A Noiseless Patient Spider
    by Walt Whitman

    A noiseless, patient spider,
    I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
    Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
    It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
    Ever unreeling them–ever tirelessly speeding them.

    And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
    Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
    Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,–seeking the spheres, to
    connect them;
    Till the bridge you will need, be form’d–till the ductile anchor
    hold;
    Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.

    I think my soul is truly surrounded in measureless oceans of space. That phrase captures so much of what I feel and where I am. Thank you, Walt.

  • I shall wear purple (in my hair)


    I can wear flowers in my hair every day!, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    This year I celebrated the 25th anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. With that, I held a spectacular fundraiser to provide prosthetic limbs for a Chinese girl who was my same age when she lost her legs. Such an exciting event!

    Recently an IMUA teammate was diagnosed with cancer and shaved her head in preparation for chemo. Oh how well I remember the trauma of losing my hair! It came out in big handfuls over the span of about two weeks, until it became so thin that I started wearing a wig. In solidarity with our teammate, many IMUAns added a streak of pink to their hair or shaved their head, too. I’m not much into the pink activism that surrounds breast cancer, so I opted out of the pink streaks and instead added a bit of purple (with Sharine’s help–thanks!!).

    Adding some purple to my hair is not something that I’d normally do–I’m a plain Jane sort of gal. But so far it’s been super-fun to have that bit of color showing through. I love that every time I look in the mirror I have an affirmation of life beyond cancer. And that feels very good, indeed.

    Another of my friends is doing a fundraiser for a cancer charity in honor of her mother’s recent diagnosis. She’s shaving her head soon and I’m so excited for her (and also for the neat hats that she’s knit to go along with this adventure).

    I’d love to hear about the ways that you’ve supported your family members and friends with their cancer diagnoses and other ailments. Tell me all about it!

  • on cancer, canoes and connectedness

    About a year ago, when I was on an adventure in Boston, I met up with my friend Sara. Or rather, she met up with me–waiting eagerly at the train station at 6am-ish as I arrived not-so-freshly from a cross-country red-eye flight.

    We spent a magical day together, filled with good strong coffee & bundt cake, napping on the couch with the rascally Sam-kitty, visiting Author’s Ridge, and then the very best part: we spontaneously decided to go canoeing down the Concord River. Let me just say why this was kind of an odd idea. Me, I’d been seriously ill for the previous six months and had just had surgery three weeks earlier. Sara had also had a rough year herself(!), including surgery for a brain tumor and metastasized cancer in various places around her body. Oh, and we both happened to be missing our right legs, too (that damn cancer, taking both of our legs many years ago). But we did it anyways. It was a gorgeous autumn day on the river, straight out of a postcard. We paddled for an hour out and about as long back in. We talked and she joked about my awful steering (ha! the irony!). I hadn’t been canoeing in years and it meant so much to me to be out on the water with Sara, in that very special place.

    Fast forward a few months…when I learned that Sara had died. Within hours of hearing the news, I was out on the water paddling with my outrigger canoe team. I wanted to tell my new teammates about how sad and empty I was feeling, but I knew I couldn’t hold it together to even speak the words. I just paddled and felt my gut wrench with every stroke. At one point we paused in the mouth to the harbor and I looked out over the waves and the rolling sea and connected with Sara one last time and said good-bye.

    There’s something special about the space between the open sea and the calmer channel waters. The boat floats differently there, as if it’s eager to get out on the ocean. The anticipation picks up, along with the current and the cresting waves on the rocks. While there I find myself gazing out to the ocean, feeling its pulse and sensing my place in all of it.

    I don’t pray anymore and I don’t believe in divine intervention in my life. But if there was a place where wishes could come true, where I could believe for a moment that I really was connected to something cosmically bigger than myself and my hopes could be made manifest, it would be right there in the harbor mouth. And that’s how I felt again tonite, too.

  • why I am missing out on all the fun this year

    The Sunstone Symposium is an event that I look forward to every year. It’s a chance to re-connect with old friends and to make new ones. I chat, discuss, explore, debate, and generally find myself completely intellectually stimulated. Last year, for example, I practically moved mountains to be there–flying across the West just days after my surgery to make a 3-hour appearance. I was in horrible pain, but it was so worth it. I needed to be buoyed by the love of my brothers and sisters after all that I’d been through.

    This year, however, I’ve long planned to attend and when it came down to finalizing my plans I realized that it just wasn’t going to work out–for so many reasons. A few of them:

    –My lingering cough (going on week #4) now is only slowly abating. The dry desert air of Albuquerque exacerbated it so much that I had difficulty even giving my paper last weekend. I am not at all excited about traveling across and to another desert climate so soon again. I fear it would prolong my healing by weeks.

    –The damn economy: John’s hefty paycut, my canceled summer school class, and the still-looming fear of John’s position being nixed altogether as UCI implements its huge budget cuts. Also, the reality that my department no longer has any funding for me and no one’s hiring History professors. We had friends (bless you!) willing to help with our travel costs/accommodations, but the crux of the matter is that the cost of being away for the weekend was too high for us, right now.*

    –We need some family time. When we go to Sunstone the kids are either stuck hanging out at the back of conference sessions or they stay 90 miles away in Cache Valley with extended family. CatGirl and GameBoy are growing up so fast, we hate to keep using our vacation time for activities that aren’t centered around them. We’ve been doing a few local ‘stay-cation’ type activities this summer and intend to continue this until school resumes, rather than taking a longer trip that will exclude them.

    There are other reasons, too, having to do with my overall inability to balance everything in my life right now. I feel the need to simplify some of my commitments. I realize that just trying to be a PhD student and a parent/spouse takes nearly all of my time. Adding in teaching and exercise and gardening and housekeeping between the gaps and nearly every moment of every day is packed. I’m not complaining, I’m just saying that sometimes I have to make choices and let things go. This is one of those times. I will miss my friends desperately this weekend and I am so so sorry to not be there in person to speak on my panel. However, my thoughts will be read by someone else & I’ll also be posting my talk here on the blog. So anyone else who’s had to make similarly tough choices about Sunstone, can participate vicariously here along with me.

    *I should add: we are doing fine economically due to our typically-frugal ways–we’re just erring on the side of caution right now, e.g. wanting our car to last a few more years, avoiding large purchases, etc. Vacations for a family of 4 are pretty expensive, even when you have friends to stay with, a vehicle to borrow, or folks sharing their food. :)