My new fav quote:
“The Greeks…bequeathed to us one of the most beautiful words in our language–the word ‘enthusiasm’–en theos–a god within. The grandeur of human actions is measured by the inspiration from which they spring. Happy is he who bears a god within, and who obeys it.”
–Louis Pasteur
Category Archives: deep thoughts
movie
My movie of the day was Raisin in the Sun.
I watched it as I was waiting for my prosthetist to fix my leg (love the laptop w/a DVD player!!).
A powerful must-see movie. Though the acting was a bit overwrought at times–as if the actors were more familiar with stage than with cinema–the sentiment shone through.
It made me think of my own dreams, my own battles. Made me wonder which ones are worth fighting for. Which of my aspirations are worth the daily struggle?
I want to be the type of person, like Poitier’s character, who doesn’t pander to others. I want to draw on the legacy of my ancestors (even my father) to motivate me to achieve more, to more fully grasp the opportunities that are available, to open more doors for my own children.
Though I don’t share the goal of home ownership that was so important to the family in the movie, I know the need to have my own space, my own place, my own niche in this world. And the satisfaction of knowing that I have worked hard to achieve it.
Watching this movie made me think not only of my own goals, but of my father’s legacy. He was not a laborer like the father in the movie, but he was a man who achieved much through his efforts. He came from a blue-collar family, yet earned a doctorate in Chemical Engineering. He worked hard at his job to provide well for his large family. He served as a Mormon Bishop– a lay position with heavy eccelstiastical duties–for many years.
Dad’s legacy lives on in many ways. I see it most in my son when he gets quiet as he muddles through a complicated math problem, or gets twisted up in a logic conundrum. I see it in E as she loves animals and I remember Dad’s fondness for Tucker (tho, admittedly, that was a bit of a love-hate relationship). I see him in my siblings–especially Becky, who has his same pensive disposition, and in David who shares Dad’s love of chemistry.
Just the other day I was imagining Dad here with us at our kitchen table. I thought about how he might react to the kids chatting, the craziness of mealtime. In my mind’s eye he was quiet, sort of sitting back in his seat and watching us–an observer and not an actor in the scene. And he was smiling, that slight close-lipped grin that most people wouldn’t know was a smile. But I did.
Tiger Hill
IMG_4398
Originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.
More China pictures uploaded to flickr. Click on the image above to see more.
Tihs picture is of the Suzhou garden plaza at Tiger Hill. Supposedly 1,000 workers were murdered here after they buried the King He Lu in 496 B.C.E. His son murdered them to prevent them from revealing the exact gravesite.
An eerily beautiful place.
movie
Just finished watching “Being Julia.”
I’ve had a hard time finding movies that I really like lately. Most of the acting is so bland and I found myself counting the minutes until the film is over. Not tonite, though.
Perhaps the film just struck a chord because I’m facing my own aging. That I know how Julia felt when she thought her young lover adored her. The giddy joy that came from that feeling. And then the horror of knowing that he had deceived her, had used her, didn’t love her.
I may not be an aged theater star. But tonite I felt like one. I was there with Julia when she felt the thrill of infatuation, as she glowed under the ardor of her young beau. My throat felt tight when I realized Tom’s true aims and as I ached with Julia over the same realization.
Like her, I know what it’s like to ‘act’—to play a proscribed role to satisfy others’ expectations or to manipulate the people around me in ways that will protect me from pain. Like Julia’s conversation with her son where he challenges her to step out of her ‘role’, I have had moments where my script falters—a moment of the ‘uncanny’—where I am forced into a mode more authentic [I can’t even say that word w/o thinking of Gerard in Jean de Florette. Another must-see film!].
Yet I rarely garner the sense of success that Julia experiences as she carefully crafts the dialogue of her new play—the one where she will not be the jilted lover, but rather the triumphant dame. Instead I find myself more isolated, more sure that life is not the march-of-progress story of learning life’s lessons, of each of us becoming better over time, of growing up.
In those moments I see the hazy outline of truth lying before me and I try to look away because I don’t want to acknowledge it. Learning once again that“All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players.”
massage
I came back from China tenderized. The bruises that I had up and down my shin and thigh weren’t from injuries.
They were from massages.
Yep, I’m a massage junkie. I was in China for just a few days–days chock-full of shopping, sightseeing, cultural events, etc–and I still managed almost a massage/day.
The highlights: there was the crazy guy in the Emperor’s pharmacy who practically picked me up off of my chair because he was rubbing me down so briskly [he also cracked my back in a most dramatic way w/his knee–whoa!], the sumptuous night-on-the-town foot massage coordinated by super-guide Jack [where they had me drink this dark herbal tea concoction that almost knocked me out _before_ the hour-long reflexology massage began], and the most deligtful 1/2 body massage in the Beijing airport that Dora arranged. Next time I have a nine(!) hour layover I hope I’m in Beijing where massages only cost $10! And that they use a light shimmer of oil, and that there hands are slightly cool and when they knead my face and scalp I realize that I am totally helpless because it feels that good…
Some people in our group had to buy an extra suitcase for all of the souvenirs that they bought in China. Me, I brought memories of massages that cost me less than four knock-off Gucci bags apiece…
Tiananmen Square
After being in China just a few hours, we headed off to Tiananmen Square. Note the tall poles in the flag picture and the lightpost behind me in the bottom photo. These were high-tech cameras, microphones, and listening devices that were scattered every few feet throughout the square. Before we set foot on the pavement we were warned not to talk about the student uprising and not to take pictures of the military/police. Vans, like the white one behind me in the bottom pic, drove randomly aorund the square to break up any gathering crowds. If you look closly over my shoulder in the bottom pic you can see some of the military patrols on the square…
Our little group was doing our best to follow the rules when the police decided to completely evacuate the Square. We were quickly herded to an underground tunnel, and in the process several of our group members were separated from our group. Michael, our group leader, argued with the police. He was shoved aside.
All in all, an inauspicious beginning to our trip.
[Note: I’m wearing a dork nametag in almost all of the China pictures. This identified me as a member of the mighty J4 group, and kept me out of trouble :)]
confession
I have two favorite web videos:
Wanna-Be Backstreet
Yatta (love the fig leaves)
So here’s where I make my confession…I’ve always been super-attracted to Asian men. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s because lots of the Asian guys that I knew in high school were smart (and smart is good). And I like dark haired, darker complexioned people–not that I don’t like lighter-colored people–I just find dark more captivating, more visually interesting. I often dated guys who weren’t necessarily Asian, but had darker features just because this is what first drew me to them…
So–the videos. I don’t watch these lusting ofter these men. First of all, they are probably much too young for me. Second, I just don’t feel lust over strangers. But I do find that these little clips always make me giggle. They are just plain entertaining.
But most of all I like it when my sexy Asian husband does his own renditions for me 🙂
o-r-e-o
Today in the history dept breakroom there was a package of halloween oreos. Day-glo orange creme double-stuffed between two chocolate wafers. I took one on a whim (I don’t usually indulge in breakroom junk food).
As I headed up the elevator to my office I munched on the cookie (politely resisting the impulse to tear off the outer halves and lick the creme because I was chatting with a colleague). The taste of the lard-laden filling brought back a flood of memories.
For almost a year I only ate oreos. For whatever reason, they were the only food that never made me nauseeous when I was on chemo. Maybe it was because, unlike other foods, they tasted almost the same going down as coming back up. I’m not sure.
But whatever the reason, and lard notwithstanding, they are still soul-nourishing to me.
PS: TJ’s Jo-Jo’s and Newman-O’s are tasty, but don’t hold the same visceral memory of the real o-r-e-o.
grey
As I’m writing this E is brushing my hair (heavenly).
I love getting my hair brushed, my back rubbed, shoulders massaged, etc. E’s little fingers do them all so well.
But as she’s brushing E is pointing out all the streaks of grey (not so heavenly). I feel like I’m going to have to decide soon what to do about it. To dye or not to dye.
The odd thing about my grey is that it’s only on one side of my head–my right side. I have a theory that that side of my body is where I carry all of my stress. Perhaps it has been ‘damaged’ by the cancer, chemo, surgeries, etc???
So…what do you think–does the grey add ‘character’? Is it a badge of maturity, a sign of a long-ish life lived well? Or is it time for Miss Clairol?
late fees
From Aunt Susan (a.k.a. “Conan the librarian”):
900 years ago monasteries were tough on people failing to return books, even to the point of excommunicating them and places curses on their heads. For example:
“For him that stealeth, or borrow and returneth not this book from its owner, let it change into a serpent in his hand and rend him. Let him be struck with palsy, and all his members blasted. Let him languish in pain, cry aloud for mercy, and let there be no surcease in his agony til he sing his dissolution. Let bookworms gnaw his entrails in token of the worm that dieth not, and when at last he goeth to his final punishment, let the flames of hell consume him forever.”
So maybe I’ll use this curse the next time that someone (who shall remain nameless) asks to check out his books on my card because his is maxxed out. And somehow all the books on his card get turned in on time and all the books on my card end up overdue?