It’s one of those days when what I really need is a big dose of blue. With a dash of purple and green, too. 🙂
Author Archives: janaremy@gmail.com
on photos and synchronicity
This picture was just sent to me via Facebook by a cousin (she’s standing in the center of the picture). I’m on the right wearing my favorite-at-the-time bright yellow Esprit shirt. I’ll bet that I’m wearing it with my also-favorite bright green cropped pants. Judging from the length of my hair, this was the spring of my freshman year. Dad is on the left. He didn’t smile very often, or at least he usually only smiled with his eyes, so this is a special photograph, indeed. It was probably taken on one of my trips back to Denver to have medical check-ups to confirm my cancer remission. Perhaps Dad’s smile is reflective of his joy that all went well at the hospital.
Not to change the subject too dramatically (and you’ll see where I’m going here in a minute)…but have I ever mentioned that I have the world’s best postman? Not only is he always smiling and seems to just love his job, but he does so many little things to make sure that we get our mail. When I’ve been ill, he’s even brought it to the door rather than leaving it at our box. He makes sure that everything delivered to our old place across the street makes it to our current home. And today, when I walked up to the door and saw a note on my door that I missed a package I was super-bummed. It’s an important package that I’ve been waiting for for weeks–and I didn’t want to wait another day. So you can only imagine how much I wanted to hug this man when I saw his truck pull up in front of our door and heard him calling out my name. He explained that he’d seen me drive around the corner as he was going the other way and came back because he knew that I’d want my package. If I’d had any money in my pocket, he would have received a very generous tip right then. But he’s the kind of person who doesn’t do that kind of thing for a tip and that’s what makes him so very cool.
So the package…
It’s a slim manila envelope bearing the return address of the Denver Children’s Hospital. These are the pathology photographs that I requested weeks ago, but had to jump through many hurdles to procure. I unseal the envelope and pull out a small stack of color photos tucked into the three-fold crease of a xeroxed pathology report. The first photo is of my right leg. My eyes focus in the center of the image, on the biopsy incision on the side of my knee. And I realize that I’d forgotten about that, only remembering the smooth pink scar that ran down the front of my kneecap from a fall in second grade. The biopsy wound was just a few weeks old when my leg was amputated, which is surely why I forgot. And a memory surfaces of the icy walkway that led to the front door of my junior high school, and how I was terribly afraid of falling as I navigated it on crutches, my prosthetic leg more of a liability than an asset in the Denver winter.
But it’s 90 degrees here today, the Santa Ana winds having finally hit Southern California. I’ll bet that there are fires already burning somewhere. And my throat has been dry all day, so dry that it was difficult to carry on a conversation with my daughter after school. The weather widget on my web browser tells me that tomorrow it’ll be cooler–in the 60s, even. It’s hard to believe that, right now.
Mary Monday: on beauty and god
On Friday I shared a favorite poem, “Pied Beauty”, with friends. It was the first time I’d read it aloud since college and I’d forgotten the spell of Hopkins’ words:
Pied Beauty
GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
As I traveled this weekend to speak at a conference and spend time with friends (such beautiful souls), I stayed up far too late and awoke early each morning. Despite that, I was rarely exhausted–as I was absorbing the energy of everyone around me, infected with the excitement of hearing their stories. I suspect that my travel-mania and joy in having new adventures is as potent as any drug…
Revisiting my Mary Oliver this morning, the prose poem “West Wind” resonated with me. This weekend I listened to tales of many spiritual journeys. Tales of joy, abandonment, fear, ambivalence, faith and struggle. Some were hard for me to hear as they hit so close to home. Others reminded me that my journey is unique among many paths. And thus, Mary’s words about the pull of an embodied god feel so true this morning…
and bone, began to sing out, the way the sun
would sing if the sun could sing, if light had a
mouth and a tongue, if the sky had a throat, if
god wasn’t just an idea but shoulders and a spine,
gathered from everywhere, even the most distant
planets, blazing up. Where am I? Even the rough
words come to me now, quick as thistles. Who
made your tyrant’s body, your thirst, your delving,
your gladness? Oh tiger, bone-breaker
oh tree on fire! Get away from me. Come closer.
Picture above is the shell of a crab from a ramble on the beach in Cape Cod. I loved how every detail of this shell was so artful–how the closer I got, the more there was to see. And now that I’m home, the pull of the ocean is so strong I can hardly sit in my chair to write…
Mary Monday: The Poet With His Face in His Hands
I’ve decided to start a new blog feature, “Mary Monday,” where I will feature an excerpt of a Mary Oliver poem with an accompanying photograph. I will probably branch out beyond Mary occasionally, but for right now I’m so thrilled by her poetry I think I could spend quite a long while focusing on just her oeuvre.
excerpt below from “The Poet With His Face in His Hands”
You want to cry aloud…
But to tell the truth the world
doesn’t need any more of that sound.So if you’re going to do it and can’t
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can’t
hold it in, at least go by yourself acrossthe forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets…and you can stand there, under it, and roar all you
want and nothing will be disturbed.
uprising
This song came on the radio the other night as I was driving home from a particularly difficult meeting. Ever since then I’ve noticed that it’s popped up on my radio or playlist just at the moments that I’ve most needed it. I especially love the chorus:
They will not force us,
They will stop degrading us,
They will not control us,
We will be victorious
This song is a bit more militant than much of the music I tend to enjoy, but the drums kick and I do love me some drums. Full lyrics are below…(Note: the video is a bit odd. I suggest you close your eyes as you listen and just let the energy of the song wash over you…)
Uprising by Muse
Paranoia is in bloom,
The PR transmissions will resume,
They’ll try to push drugs that keep us all dumbed down,
And hope that we will never see the truth around
(So come on)
Another promise, another scene,
Another packaged lie to keep us trapped in greed,
And all the green belts wrapped around our minds,
And endless red tape to keep the truth confined
(So come on)
They will not force us,
They will stop degrading us,
They will not control us,
We will be victorious
(So come on)
Interchanging mind control,
Come let the revolution take it’s toll,
If you could flick a switch and open your third eye,
You’d see that
We should never be afraid to die
(So come on)
Rise up and take the power back,
It’s time the fat cats had a heart attack,
You know that their time’s coming to an end,
We have to unify and watch our flag ascend
They will not force us,
They will stop degrading us,
They will not control us,
We will be victorious
mornings and magic
I went out canoeing this morning for the first time time in too long. There was a thick marine fog layer all around Newport so paddling out of the harbor was a bit surreal and even somewhat scary. I went out on a 2-man canoe with a teammate and we were joined along the way with team members in one-man outrigger canoes.
The two of us had never been out on the open ocean in such a small boat before. Especially given the somewhat choppy water and the lack of visibility (we were guessing that it ranged from 20-40 yards depending on how the mist was shifting around), we were wary of heading out past the harbor. Our concerns ranged from whether large boats could see us, to whether we could find our way back to the harbor once we were out on the ocean. But the foghorn on the end of the jetty was blaring loudly and the OC Sheriffs’ boat was nearby looking out for those who might need aid. So we went for it.
We aimed for the bell buoy that sits about 1/4 mi out from the jetty (following its clanging sound and the bellowing of the sea lions that recline around its base) and kept paddling until we could see it emerging from the mist. Then after turning around and realizing that the shore was gone, we paddled back by watching where larger boats were emerging through the fog. When we were about halfway there we sighted the arc of a full rainbow off to our left hand side, noting that the end of the rainbow was sitting right in the harbor mouth. We followed it in and made it back safely. I don’t think I’ve ever had more fun chasing a rainbow!
All in all, we paddled about 8-9 miles. It was such a great feeling to pull in to shore having worked so hard out there! What made it even a bit better was getting an award (a gorgeous handcrafted ceramic tile) for being an “inspirational” novice paddler this past season. Sometimes the thrill of finding a sport that I love so much still seems too much to be true. And every time I get out on the water I realize how fortunate I am to be a part of this sport & the IMUA family. Everyone has been incredibly patient with me as I’ve been learning and growing stronger this past year! It’s a bit like following that rainbow back into the harbor–I just know there’s more magic that lies ahead if I just stay on course and keep paddling. 🙂
to any fellow being…
I expect to pass through life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.
~William Penn
As I’m unpacking my suitcase and remembering so many details of my latest journey, I’m once again humbled by all of the amazing people whose kindness helped me along the way. On a smaller scale, I’m ‘crowdsurfing’ like Amanda Palmer–allowing myself to be supported by the generosity of the people (especially strangers) around me. A few memories:
–the waiter in a chain restaurant where I stopped briefly to get warm on a long-ish walk in the snow. He was out of tea and admitted that their coffee was terrible. He brought me several cups of hot water (without charge) so I could use my own “emergency teabag”.
–finding super-friendly staff & overstuffed chairs for reading and relaxation at The Tattered Cover and Under the Umbrella cafe.
–the hospital archive making an exception for me to spend time deep in the bowels of the basement (in the ‘restricted section’) poring over records. And the woman who was overseeing me, keeping me supplied with jasmine tea and a kind word. And the random hospital worker who helped me find my way back in the maze of hallways and locked doors after I stepped out to find a restroom.
–Meeting up with friends and colleagues at the WHA conference: sharing tasty cafe food (and not-so-tasty hotel food–ugh!), dips in the hot tub, and late-night pub conversation.
–My uncle’s yum breakfasts: toast with homemade jam, banana pancakes, over-easy eggs.
—Meghan’s delicious vegetarian dinner meal, including pumpkin pie for dessert (my very very favorite!). Meeting her kids, her spouse, and her crazy kitty was awesome, too, as was listening to Brandon’s inaugural concert at Metro State.
–a SuperShuttle driver who gave me extra-detailed directions for navigating the remodeled Denver airport (oh, and not to mention the hotel concierge who ran out into a rush-hour-trafficky street to wave down said shuttle).
–two friendly young nursing students at Caribou Coffee who insisted that I didn’t look old enough to be getting a PhD (oh, if they only knew…)
–all of you on twitter and Facebook who “liked” my posts, who sent me notes of encouragement and whose support made me feel braver and stronger than I truly am.
–the remarkable synchronicity of meeting Sara at the Walnut Room, along with Jolie Holland and her partner Gray. Lounging in the green room before the show, Sara treating us all to a “take your chances massage” (oh, how did she know exactly what my poor shoulders needed?) and feeding me her amazing homemade Thai soup. Then, Jolie listening to my plans for rooting around in the archives as she prepped for her gig. My favorite of Jolie’s lyrics: “I’ll dance at your funeral, if you dance at mine…“
–you great Denverites who smiled back at me.
–the flight attendant who, after seeing how sore and exhausted I was last night, bumped me up to Business class and gave me an entire row to stretch out and sleep on my flight back home.
–And, to make all of this possible, a thanks to the International Center for Writing and Translation for financially supporting my work this year. And huge kudos to my beloved John, GameBoy & CatGirl who are unflagging in their encouragement…and who nourish my pilgrim spirit better than anyone else ever can.
backrubs!!!!
This was just one page of the 1200 or so medical records that I viewed over the last few days while in the archives at the Denver Children’s Hospital, where my osteosarcoma was treated 25 years ago.
This record cracked me up when I recognized my own handwriting on two of the line items (the rest of the form was penned by my very-favorite nurse Penny). As I was considering why and when I’d written on the intake form, I had a vague flashback memory of sitting on the hospital bed next to Penny, joking together as we filled out the form. I think she had to leave the room for a minute to attend to another patient and I wrote in those answers myself, the “no hospital food” and “LOTS OF BACK RUBS!!!!!!”
After viewing so many pages of records that were about me but where my presence was only indirect, it was such a pleasure to see my own handwriting. It also made me remember the little ways that I took control of my experience in the hospital.
Oh, and one more thing about Penny: she’d been a massage therapist before she was a nurse. And she did give the very best backrubs and headrubs (one good thing about being bald was that there was no hair to interfere with a vigorous head massage)…
walking, in winter
Yesterday was the first day since I’ve been in Denver that it was warm enough for a long stroll outside. So I found a park and went a-wandering with camera in hand. It felt so good to be in connection with the natural world again. After a few days indoors I’m so hungry to walk with plants and rocks and trees.
Soon, I will be blogging about all I’ve learned and experienced during this trip. But right now I’m still trying to make sense of it, to continue living in the moment of new & unfamiliar spaces. Sometimes it takes so much work to be open that it’s hard to even put chronology and perspective on all the happenings of each day. The intensity eclipses the meaning of each individual moment. For now. Until I have the time to sift through my memories and write.
the view
Picture above is the sun setting over the Rocky Mountains, as seen from the 38th floor of a Denver hotel.
Part of my “trip reading” during the Western History Association Conference is The Best American Essays 2009
A favorite quote from her Introduction that applies to blogwriting as well as more traditional forms of the essay:
We speak a good deal these days of the loss of community, and many of us feel that we have lost therefore something very precious. Essays can move us back into this not-quite-lost realm. Tackling a hundred subjects, in a hundred different styles, they are like letters from a stranger that you cannot bear to throw away. They haunt you; they strengthen you.
Perhaps I’ve been so busy contemplating the world of the ‘not-quite lost’ that I’ve had my head in the clouds for most of this last week. Somewhat literally, of course, as I’ve been staying in high-rise hotels for the duration of the conference, but also in that twice I’ve found myself lost and wandering around Denver city streets. How I can still get lost even with the aid of googlemaps is beyond me. But maybe there are only so many weighty thoughts that can occupy my brain at any given time….