Category Archives: family

send-off


Park pose, 1990, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.
Just finished handwriting my first letter to John in Seattle (where he’s studying SF writing this summer). But before I wrote to him, I read through many of the weekly letters that I sent him while he was in Japan on his LDS mission. He left for two years just shortly after we met. Those 20 year-old letters are so embarrassingly sappy to me now, and have moments of discomfort that make me cringe. How do you negotiate sensitive topics while halfway around the globe from each other, with a lag of weeks between correspondence (we weren’t allowed to talk on the phone, nor could we have afforded it)? There was so much unsaid, so much reading between the lines…so much wondering who we would find when we reunited…

And even though we have many ways of keeping in touch now–it’s still gonna be one long summer apart from my love 🙁

Picture above was taken the Sunday before John left for Japan, following his missionary “farewell” meeting at church. We were so silly & dramatic back then!

The Ocean & Me



This post is about my experiences with the ocean, and is one of a series to support my 39th Birthday Wish. 

My maternal ancestors come from the Isle of Man, a peculiar piece of land that’s situated in the Irish Sea. My ggggrandfather and his kin were ship captains, and were certainly smugglers like most who hailed from Manx ports.  A few years ago when we visited the Isle we saw his warehouse in the main port city.  We also saw the ancestral farmlands and the parish cemetery where nearly every headstone had a familiar name.

I didn’t see the ocean myself until I was 14 years old, having grown up in Oklahoma and Colorado.  I’d just completed a year of chemotherapy treatments and my family planned a HUGE trip to California.  My first glimpse of the ocean was from PCH, driving towards San Diego from LAX.  By that time I’d already lost my leg and was ambulating rather precariously using crutches and an ill-fitting prosthetic limb.  I don’t recall actually dipping my toes into the Pacific during that trip, though it’s possible that I did.  Much of my memory of that era is long gone–which may be a blessing given how tough a time it was for me.

Shortly after that trip to California my family relocated from Denver to Bakersfield, which meant that we lived close enough to visit the beach a few times every year.  However, because none of my prosthetic limbs were water-proof (or even water-resistant), I had to use crutches when I wanted to be on the beach.  And the logistics of trying to “crutch” in the waves was so frustrating, I never went more than shin-deep in the ocean until about two years ago.  Isn’t that crazy?  My first swim in the ocean was at age 36!  That summer John & the kids helped me do so by fetching my crutches back and forth as I needed them to enter & exit the ocean.  And I had the opportunity to swim in both the Pacific and the Atlantic ocean that year because of our family vacation to the outer banks of North Carolina.

me

When I decided to take up the sport of outrigger canoeing, I met with my prosthetist and discussed the possibility of crafting a waterproof leg that I could wear in and out of the canoes.  He’d never made a leg like the one that I wanted, but was willing to see what he could come up with!  He ended up cobbling together a “pirate” pegleg with an ankle joint at the knee (the only waterproof joint he could find that could be locked into both straight and bent positions).  There’s a little knob that I turn at my knee when I transfer from walking to sitting in the boat, that locks the knee in either position.  Perhaps the most questionable part of this leg was whether it would stay on when I fell out of the boat or needed to jump into the ocean (such as in 9-man season when we change seats for the long races).  The first time I tried was on a “huli drill” where I had tip our 6-man canoe to practice the recovery process.  I was in charge of tipping the boat because I was the steersman.  I can’t tell you how scared I was about that–not even knowing if my leg would stay on once I fell into the water, much less knowing how it would work to swim in the ocean with it attached to my body!

But what I learned from my huli drill & from the other times that I wore it in the ocean, was that leg does stay on and that it’s quite a gift to be able to walk autonomously from beach to water.  Each time that I’ve jumped out into the waves and started swimming is a miracle to me.  I don’t take it for granted even for a second!  It took me 36 years to swim in the ocean and when I did, it felt so “right.”

I suspect that my love for the ocean runs gene-deep, coming from my island ancestors who sailed the seas. But whatever the reason, when I’m in the ocean I feel connected to the universe in a way that I’ve never felt in any other space.  With the water buoying me up, the rhythm of the waves rocking my body, the sun warming my skin, and the thrill of the unknown below…it’s there that I feel the complete perfection of my life and this world.

C, Suz and me in the waves
Picture of me in the Atlantic Ocean with GameBoy and my little sister.

some lessons from the sea

Just returned from a family adventure to the Santa Barbara coast.  Catgirl & I had races launching off of Leadbetter Beach on Saturday morning, so it seemed a great excuse for the family to “get away” for a couple of days.  [Note: Why does “getting away” in LA necessarily mean hours of time spent fighting traffic (sigh). Next year we will plan better so we can take the train instead of driving…]

Our campground was one of those where there is more space for cars and RVs than for tents (hello, SoCal), and our campfire was only about 10 feet away from that of our neighboring site.  But the location was incomparable.  On the other side of that campfire was a chainlink fence and on the other side of the fence: traintracks! (oh, how I do love me a train!).  Periodically the Surfliner and freight trains would come crashing through–so loud that the ground shook and it felt like they would soon come barreling into our campsite.  Perfect!  Oh, and on the other side of a row of RV campsites was the water–the waves crashing loudly against cliffs of natural bitumen.  Scrambling along those cliffs was quite the adventure for us!  Amazing shells, rocks and other wonders.  Because we arrived at dusk we mostly explored the cliffs (at high-ish tide) in the dark that first night.  As I sat on an outcropping with my legs dangling down far enough to catch the spray of the waves crashing beneath me, all was right in my world.

Saturday morning we arose before dawn to prep for our race.  Catgirl launched with her canoe into the ocean around 8am. It was their first surf entry and their first paddle in the open ocean.  When we could see that about a mile out a boat huli’d, we quickly asked some race officials whether it was the Keiki girls.  But it wasn’t and they were quite safe and invigorated by their 4mi paddle! They hardly even look weary in this post-race photo!

Just after they returned, I set out for my own race, a 13mi triangle out on the open ocean.  I was slated in an “Open Coed” boat with a new-to-me crew.  I’d only paddled with the other two gals a few times and the three boys I met for the first time as we hopped in the canoe. My past experience with new-to-each-other crews is not so good–often it means that you don’t blend well or know how to support each other.  I had resigned myself to having a tough (meaning: long and frustrating) race.  On top of that, I’d been asked to sit in seat #1, which I’d only done a few times at practice, and never for such a lengthy race.  Seat one is particularly tough because you set the pace for the entire boat.  And every time you set your blade, you’re putting it into ‘dead water’ because you’re out in front.  It’s hard to sit up there and keep a good rhythm for any length of time–especially out on the open ocean where you’re often taking the full force of the wind and waves and having to “keep time.”  Adding  to the difficulty is that you often can’t hear what’s happening in the boat behind you, because you’re sitting so far forward of the rest of the crew.

The race started and we were dead last.  Last.  In a sea of 50+ boats, that is pretty discouraging news, indeed. I tried to remind myself that I was paddling for the fun and experience and not just for medals.  I was looking at the scenery.  I was trying not to focus on all of those other boats out there in front of us, getting smaller by the second…

And then somewhere between mile three and five, something changed.  Other crews that had started out fast were starting to fatigue.  But I could feel that my boat was just getting warmed up.  We’d figured out each other’s rhythms.  Things were starting to gel (and, especially, the guys in seat 2 and 3 were keeping us all motivated).  And then we started passing other boats.  Two, then three, then four.  More than I could keep track of.  Seat #2 kept pointing out to me how tired those crews looked and how strong we were.  We kept going.  We neared one of the oil rigs off the coast–our first turning point.  Kathy, our steerer, took that turn beautifully and we gained more ground.  By the second turn at about mile 8, we were gaining on the other crew from our own team.  I whooped as we passed, knowing that we weren’t supposed to be passing them.  But…wow!  In those last few miles the wind picked up and we started to get catch some bump.  We were surfing the swells and then we saw off the left hand side of the boat a group of about 40-50 seals, all frolicking around us–undoubtedly curious about this odd group of canoes crossing their kelp beds.  That sight alone was enough to give a second wind, but then I also heard the train off in the distance.  It whistled as it sped by us on the coast (or was this just my dazed imagination? I’m not even sure now).  I let myself feel that sound–the sound of an engine on its tracks–and kept my arms going, even though I realized that the paddle was feeling so heavy I wasn’t sure that I keep hold of it!

Heading into the finish line we were neck-and-neck with another coed crew–so close that I’m not even sure which one of us crossed first.  We didn’t place in the top three boats of our division, but  I do believe we were 4th or 5th–a huge change from dead last!  After we crossed the line and slowly turned the boat around, one of my teammates pointed out the dozens and dozens of other boats still crossing the line behind us.  We had passed all of those.  It was more than I could wrap my head around.

I was so sore, I needed help getting out of the boat and walking thru the surf to the shore.

In a daze I wandered back to our team’s camp and ate and drank and curled up on the grass for a nap.  I can’t even express just how great it feels to have worked so hard, and especially to have worked so hard as a team. I’m glad that they all believed in me, and that we kept powering through the race even though we had such a rough beginning.  And I’m learning that that’s exactly what it means to wear the IMUA jersey.

Later that night we returned to the beach near our campsite and I had lots of time to think about what I’d learned. 

Note: all of these gorgeous pictures were taken by John Nakamura Remy.  How fortunate I am to be tied to a man with such vision. A full set of pictures from the race day are here.

such a big boy!


with mommy, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.
GameBoy is turning 16 years old today, which seems unbelievable. I know, parents always say that. But…wow!

As an example of the fine human being that he’s evolving into:

The other night we were having a dinner conversation about cheating at school. GB was saying how hard it is to ignore the rampant cheating on quizzes that happens in many of his classes. Occasionally, he explained, he will hear the “right” answer to a question inadvertently when his friends are sharing such info with each other. So then, when he gets to that particular question on the quiz and comes up with the same answer as he overheard, he will purposefully mark it wrong–just to prove that he didn’t cheat.

Can you see why he blows me away? Not only is he an amazingly compassionate taller-than-me teen, but he also works terrifically hard to do what’s right. His moral compass is true.  It’s an honor to be his Mom.

And I love him so. Always have and always will.

Happy Birthday, buddy!

first morning


Happy New Year everyone! Our family just chased the sunrise, shivering together and eyes watering as we shared this first morning of 2010 with each other.

The picture isn’t much–my camera battery ran out before we were positioned to take any decent photos. 🙂

in preparation


A friend took this picture of Catgirl a few years ago, when her artwork was featured at City Hall. She not only got to “cut the ribbon” for the exhibition, but she also spoke at the City Council Meeting and was interviewed for regional TV and newspapers. This picture is her standing in an open stairwell above the exhibit as the news reporter was preparing for her interview. I love how this silhouette captures her little-girl innocence at the same time as it shows a young woman prepared to meet the world.

I’m so thrilled that it’s my not-so-little girl’s birthday tomorrow. As I wrote earlier, she’s celebrating this year by heading to Washington DC as part of a Quaker lobbying group (a group that includes her Dad). Right now she’s doing last-minute prep for the trip–learning as much as she can about the relevant issues. And she’s also finishing homework & packing. It’s a lot to juggle. But she’s more than ready!

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.