on (not) wearing a costume

I had the perfect Halloween costume all figured out for this year. It's actually a running joke that I should dress up as the heroine from Planet Terror (because of the amputee-thing) and I finally decided that I would take the time to pull the costume together (oh, except that I wasn't going to wear a bikini-top, because that would be truly scary)...


But I encountered one huge problem...when I went to buy the replica gun to use for my prosthetic leg, I realized that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to actually purchase a weapon, even a 'fake' one. I know I'm a sissy...but I couldn't even let my kids own or use water guns because they represented something that was so violent and reprehensible to me. And there's something about guns that just repulses me, every deep part of me that cherishes life (even animal life). Even in fun, even as a costume, I couldn't violate that--I knew if I did I would be betraying myself.

So...no groovy heroine costume. Instead I rummaged through my drawers and came out with a permutation of my usual gypsy-boho-cabaret dancing girl. To a gathering the night before Halloween I wore my favorite corset, a black tutu, and some leggings. I felt completely comfortable and so me. On Halloween itself I wore something very similar, but with an a-line black skirt and a deep blue underblouse...

By way of full disclosure: I did shoot a gun at least once as a teen. It's a pretty vivid memory because the kick knocked me right over (granted, I was doing it while balanced on one leg, so it's not like I was the steadiest shooter in the West). I think it was my Dad's shotgun and it was loaded with birdshot.

PS: John was out of town on Halloween weekend, so these pics kind of suck because I was trying to take them of myself...
PPS: I was feeling a bit under the weather on the actual night of Halloween, so after dinner with friends I came home and worked on my dissertation for several hours. I am such a dork.

short shameful confession #10

As soon as I get my paddling gear together and start heading out the front door, I begin salivating like Pavlov's dogs. The reason why? As I drive down to the outrigger launch site in Newport Beach I munch on sport blocks, gels or goo. It's one of the only times I eat refined sugar and my body loves it (craves it, is addicted to it) so much.

See previous short shameful confessions

to loosen my heart...

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit."

~Dawna Markova

I love this quote from the comments on a recent news article about a teammate's death. I've thought a lot about the risks of my daily activities: whether it be driving down the freeway, taking a cross-country flight, or paddling off into a foggy night. I know there are inherent risks in many things that I do and by simply living I choose to risk my significance. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mary Monday: I want to write with quiet hands....

farmers market flower seller, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

Yesterday I started "NaNoWriMo," along with numerous other friends and every member of my family (yay!). I won't be writing a traditional novel--I'll mostly be writing on my dissertation with some essays and blogposts along the way. I already write hundreds of words per day, so this is an experiment in seeing if aiming for a particular word count is any more satisfying than my usual methods.

A few weeks ago when I was hanging out in the Tattered Cover bookstore and was overwhelmed by its vast selection, I got discouraged. Surely the world already has plenty of novels and poems and books of history...but I am moving forward with my writings anyways, all the while hoping that the universe won't begrudge me the opportunity to tell my stories.

So today's poem is about writing, as an inspiration to all of you poets and novelists out there.

An excerpt from "Everything" by Mary Oliver

I want to write with quiet hands. I
want to write while crossing fields that are
fresh with daisies and everlasting and the
ordinary grass...let them be

songs in which nothing is neglected,
not a hope, not a promise. I want to make poems
that look into the earth and the heavens
and see the unseeable. I want them to honor
both the heart of faith, and the light of the world;
the gladness that says, without any words, everything.

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.

Catgirl goes to Washington

the way she sees the world, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

Our teenage daughter is headed to D.C. in a few weeks to join in an FCNL delegation to lobby Congress for specific measures related to peace, the environment, immigration, etc. Catgirl is so excited about this opportunity and so are we!

This will be a big adventure for her and she's already committed to blogging daily about all that she experiences. And you can bet that I'll be linking to her posts and adding my $.02, too!

Members of our local Quaker Meeting are supporting her efforts and she's also looking for anyone who might have an extra transferable JetBlue award to aid with her travel expenses. If you'd like to be part of her support team, please contact me (remyjATuciDOTedu).

Catgirl has asked for this trip for her birthday--isn't that wonderful?* I can't help but think back to when I was her age and marked my birthday that year by having my first chemo treatment (ugh!). So I'm super-especially delighted to help her celebrate this year in such a memorable manner! What an amazing gift she is to me, to our family, and to our community.

Pic above taken on our trip to the Capitol last winter, with the Jefferson monument in the background.

*By way of full disclosure...the birthday girl also asked for a pair of Cons in addition to the trip--she is, after all, a teenager! :)

a good hair day

Midday yesterday a neighbor dropped by for a neighborly chat (more specifically, she brought her pathology textbook so I could ogle the osteosarcoma x-ray images). I apologized for how I was dressed when I came to the door, explaining that my beachy clothes were rather soggy because I'd just gotten home from paddling with a teammate. Then John poked his head around the corner, he also damp and shirtless. He'd just stepped out of the shower. We joked a bit about the silliness of us both being home mid-day in a state of deshabille...

The truth is that we met for lunch so I could cut his hair--so he could look just a bit less mangy-Neil-Gaiman and a bit more GQ. I'm not the world's best hairstylist, but I've been cutting John's locks since we were first dating. There's little else that I love more than plunging my fingers deep into his dark curls (and for those who've ever heard the story of how we first met, you know that that lovely head of hair was what first caught my eye).

So last night when I was at the Regina Spektor concert, I was so glad that she played Samson in her encore set...because it's long been a song that reminded me of John--there's something so powerful about his lovely hair, if only because it's just one of those many things that make my heart melt whenever he steps into view.

PS: I'm glad he passed the hair genes on to at least one our kids. Methinks the world needs more good hair like his.

so blue

San Gabriel mission, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

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. :)

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

this crab has leopard spots, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

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 the speck of my heart, in my shed of flesh
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...

in the city of the saints...this weekend!

I'll be speaking at this conference in Salt Lake City on Saturday and would love to see lots of my readers there. We'll certainly all go out to dinner together afterwards, too, so keep your calendar open. :)

Please don't be shy about coming up and introducing yourself--I love meeting folks from the pilgrimsteps community!

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!

Mary Monday: The Poet With His Face in His Hands

a park, in winter, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

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 across

the 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