Author Archives: janaremy@gmail.com

If this is you….

If today you found yourself curled up on the couch after lunchtime, indulging in novel-reading, and while reading, there was this tender conversation between two soldiers–one who’d only just barely had a finger amputated and one who had lost a leg long ago but was dying of consumption…

And if when the younger, now-nine-fingered soldier handed the dying soldier his missing finger for it to be buried along with the dying soldier, you started bawling and had to put the book down.  Because if this is you, you realized that so rarely had you ever read a scene that captured the loss so well.  And when older soldier explained to younger one that he would still feel his finger there–even decades after it was gone–you wiggled your phantom toes a bit and remembered that you feel that way, too.

reflection

As part of organizing my new office at Chapman University, I’m moving most of my academic books from the shelves in my living room over to campus.  Every time I pull a history book off the shelf it brings back memories of the specific graduate school seminar where we studied that work.  So in packing the bags of books I’m also re-living much of my graduate school experience.  There are so many memories held in those pages!  Most of all, it is sitting around the seminar table in the basement of Murray Krieger Hall and grappling with the ways we imagine the past and the best practices for doing our own writing about it.  I remember failures.  And moments where I really “got” an idea as brilliantly as a lightbulb turning on inside my head.

My journey through graduate school has not been easy–balancing my family’s needs with my own need to write and study has meant major sleep derivation, and sometimes half-baked scholarship.  In those seven years since I started graduate school I’ve battled a life-threatening illness, I’ve left my Mormon community behind, and I’ve become a person that would be hardly-imaginable to my 32 year-old self.  When I signed up to get a PhD I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t all that!

So many of those thoughts where swirling around in my mind when I came across a dusty copy of The History of Tooele County.  It was a gift from Mike Davis, the historian-writer who strongly urged me to attend graduate school and was an ardent supporter of my creative nonfiction writing.  I’d written about my Utah family and their problematic relationship to the land that’s poisoned by the Kennecott mines that loom so close nearby.  Mike talked with me about the Iosepa cemetery, which is one of my all-favorite burial grounds (a close second to the Pleasant Green cemetery).  He understood the tensions I felt between my bone-deep allegiance to the place of my family and to the utopian promise of the “West,” while also validating why I felt so betrayed by the Mormon naivete that “all is well” in Zion. One day we walked along the beach in San Diego as we talked about all of this, and he asked me how I could continue to believe in the Mormon church, knowing all I did about its failings.  I looked at my kids who were running in the waves alongside us and thought of Davis’ own wife who was about ready to give birth to twins.

“I love them so much,” I said, pointing to my kids. “How could I ever live with the constant overwhelming fear of losing them if I didn’t believe in eternal families?  I can’t not believe that they will always be with me.”

He replied to me on an equally deep level, expressing his love for his children, and his fears for their futures.

There was something about walking along the rocks and sand and waves that cemented that interaction in my mind long after it was over, and all of that returned as I held the old book in my hands yesterday.  It’s been a few years since I chatted with Mike and since then I’ve faced down a lot of fear.  I no longer feel the same sense of needing to believe in Mormon cosmology to assuage my concerns about losing my children, even though I do constantly worry about their safety.

It brings to mind some favorite lines from a Mary Oliver poem, “Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith”:

And therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine,
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in dirt

swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?

One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn’s beautiful body
is sure to be there.

Catching Up

About four hours in to each of my long outrigger races, the shakes begin.  I’m cold, but bundling up for warmth does almost nothing to reduce the jitters.  It’s that point where my body says ‘no more.’  It wants me to stop.  And it takes everything to keep going…

When I was traveling around Boston and visiting with friends that I hadn’t seen for a year, a few mentioned that I’d changed.  Getting a full-time job seems to have altered me at a metabolic level–I am not only thinking about work most of the time (and rather tied at the hip to my computer just in case something goes terribly awry), but I’m also far less to prone to just relaxing.  My major realization from the Exponent retreat was that I need to make sure to keep space in my life for the things that calm me.  Like friends and nephews and picture books and long walks and wading.  One symbol of the way I “let go” over the weekend was that when my Prezi for my talk didn’t materialize (due to being saved on the Internet and I didn’t have any ‘net access at the camp), I let it go and I didn’t beat myself up about it…

But let me back up a bit, back to the shakes…  I don’t think I mentioned here that I accomplished the Catalina crossing once again. We had a wicked south-pulling current and it was a longer-than-long race–my GPS marked 37.7miles, and 6.5 hours of paddling.  I steered two long pieces, and afterwards my forearms were so sore from trying to hold the paddle in place against the waves, that they kept rapidly cramping and contracting–resulting in my fingers twisting into strange claw-like shapes.  When I got off the boat after the finish line, John was snapping photos.  Later, he said he wasn’t going to show me the pics because they were so unflattering—I can only imagine how tired I must have looked.  It’s one of those accomplishments that doesn’t feel good until a few days later, when the body has had time for some repair work…

So as I’ve finished the team outrigger season and now have some more space in my life, I’m considering where I’ll look next for my exercise and my fun.  I feel as though I need a bit less of the long-haul endurance work–both at work and at play.  I want to continue to develop my strength, but I also want to just “be.”  I need to remember what that feels like.  Again.

Bullsh*t Feminism

Just for the record, I’m a big fan of bullshit.  In fact, I buy huge bags of it every spring to use in my garden.  Sure it’s stinky, but it gets the job done.

Recently, the Feminist Hulk (a tongue-in-cheek twitterer) sent out a tweet about bullshit and it was widely “re-tweeted” (or copied, with attribution) by many users in The Exponent community.* It read:

When I first saw this tweet I bristled a bit at the profanity.  These words carry more weight and are somewhat more offensive when in print than when heard in casual conversation.  However, that’s precisely why I liked the tweet.  I felt uncomfortable and it caught my attention.  And that discomfort made me think about how feminism is portrayed on The Exponent blog.   The look of our blog is organic and feminine: pastel colors, the leaf motif, subdued fonts.  The photos in the sidebar are artful–all of winsome smiling young women.  Not a scary old hairy feminist in the bunch.  I’d say that we sit squarely on the “softer side” of the feminist line when compared to mainstream feminist blogs like Feministing, Bust, or Pandagon.

So when the bullshit post from above was re-tweeted on the official Exponent channel, several of the bloggers protested on the private permablogger listserv.  And when the week’s aggregate feed post went up, the bullshit tweet was removed because it was considered too vulgar for an Exponent post.

I’m shaking my head here, as I ponder whether feminism is best served with a wink and a smile.  Our sisters who fought for the 19th amendment weren’t afraid of a little discomfort.  I’m not necessarily suggesting that profanity be used in every Exponent post–just the opposite.  When used judiciously, the discomfort that results from a smartly-used swear word can serve to illustrate an important point.  Because if the Hulk tweet had said simply “RESIST THE PRESSURE TO DOWNPLAY FEMINISM TO MAKE PEOPLE MORE COMFORTABLE.  DISCOMFORT CAN BE PRODUCTIVE,” I seriously doubt it would have had even half the intended impact. Discomfort can be productive.  But when we carefully sanitize our writing so we don’t push boundaries or let things get a bit ugly, are we missing out?

In fact, not one reader even mentioned the Hulk tweet or the profanity in the twitter blogpost.  If someone had been offended, I’m sure they would have let us know–the fact that the profanity passed unnoticed by our readers makes me wonder if there was even any cause for concern in the first place. 

When I use steer manure in my garden I have to be cautious to ensure that it’s been properly aged or it can burn young seedling plants.  Similarly I can see why profanity needs to be used with caution, because of the possibility of “burning” those blogreaders who are only just barely acquainted with feminism or who might be turned-off by a bit of bullshit.  But at the same time I can’t help but wonder if the discomfort is really our own, and not that of our imagined audience–and if it is, then what are we really afraid of?

*Note: For new readers of my blog: I’m a founding member of The Exponent blog, which focuses on Mormon feminism and other topics that are relevant to progressive LDS women.

Boston, Boston, Boston!


my henry, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.
In just a few days I’ll head to Boston for an adventure & some time with the Exponent women. I’m not yet sure what lies in store for me there, but Boston has never disappointed! Will it be cemeteries and Harvard tea? Or will it be another grand leap into Walden Pond? Or will I connect with Friends? Or will there be time for communing with the sea?

Perhaps it will be all of the above!

vulnerable


hospital gowns make me feel vulnerable., originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

Among the many remembrances of my cancer experience that I carry with me daily is the constant fear of my cancer returning. Though there is little chance that my bone cancer will recur, statistics show that childhood survivors of cancer have high incidence of other forms of cancer as adults. We seem especially prone to breast cancer. Which is why I get screened regularly despite having no family history of the disease.

So last week when I had two scans show up with something questionable, I started to get awfully nervous. I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing that I had an anniversary getaway planned already to get my “mind off of things” or if it was a bad thing, because it was so hard for me to relax.

On Friday afternoon I had more thorough diagnostic scans taken at UCI’s cancer center and I just received word that I’m clean.

Such a huge sigh of relief. Such a weight off my shoulders. Such a thing to celebrate.

comfort

her side of the bed

Last night John walked into our bedroom and found me with the bedcovers covering part of my face. It wasn’t until he said something that I realized my hands were pressing the layers of quilt and sheets over my mouth, in an act of self-comfort.

I think I’d told John before that when I was younger I slept with the covers over my head. Especially on nights that I was scared. Because the warm cocoon of blanket seemed so much safer than whatever loomed in the dark night.

weekends


splash, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

It feels so luxurious to have a long holiday weekend! I’m loving the time with family and friends–I even played a board game last night for the first time since April! Such indulgence! 🙂

However, this morning I actually got up extra early snuck back to work for a few hours to do some much-needed furniture rearranging. It felt so good to make the changes that I’d been planning for months. Now I just need a few good plants, some artful color on the bookshelf, and some pictures on the walls. It’s amazing how much it’s starting to feel as if my office is actually mine now.

I also am knee-deep in one new web-based project that I’ll be debuting soon–it’s the culmination of many months of thought and planning. I can’t wait to share it with you…

So tell me, what are you doing this holiday weekend?

simplicity


pale pink camellia, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.
This morning in Quaker Meeting we considered the value of simplicity. I thought my readers might enjoy seeing the queries that go along with that value:

Simplicity

Life is meant to be lived from a Center, a divine Center… a life of unhurried peace and power. It is simple. It is serene. It takes no time, but it occupies all our time.
~ thomas r. kelly, testament of devotion, 1941

A life centered in God will be directed toward keeping communication with God open and unencumbered. Simplicity is best achieved through a right ordering of priorities, maintaining humility of spirit, avoiding self-indulgence, resisting the accumulation of unnecessary possessions, and avoiding over-busy lives.

Elise Boulding writes in My Part in the Quaker Adventure,
“ Simplicity, beauty, and happiness go together if they are a byproduct of a concern for something more important than ourselves.”

  • Do I center my life in an awareness of God’s presence so that all things take their rightful place?
  • Do I live simply, and promote the right sharing of the world’s bounty?
  • Do I keep my life uncluttered with things and activities, avoiding commitments beyond my strength and light?
  • How do I maintain simplicity, moderation, and honesty in my speech, my manner of living, and my daily work?
  • Do I recognize when I have enough?
  • Is the life of our Meeting so ordered that it helps us to simplify our lives?

made in China


IMG_2437, originally uploaded by mind on fire.
My favorite travel bag is the one that I’m carrying in my right hand in this photo. I bought it in China the morning before I returned to the States. It was $6. I didn’t haggle. It says “ESPBIT” on the logo, which looks just like ESPRIT unless you take a moment to really think about it. It was hard to choose between a red one and the green one–I’m glad I settled on the red.

I needed an extra bag to bring home some trinkets: a wooden dragon for GameBoy, turquoise silk pajamas for Catgirl, a black cheongsam for me, as well as several pouches of jasmine tea. For John I brought a delicately carved “chop” engraved with his name in Chinese.

Now I carry my ESPBIT bag to my outrigger races, to conferences, and just about anywhere else I travel. It’s outlasted nearly every other suitcase that I’ve purchased.