A Mindful Life

Consider the Lichen. Lichens are just about the hardiest visible organisms on Earth, but the least ambitious.

-Bill Bryson (A Short History of Nearly Everything)

Last night I saw a movie based on a book called Half the Sky, written by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. Their work through this book and Nicholas’s New York Times column is an effort to galvanize the world to pay attention to women’s rights all over the world. I could get on my soapbox and provide statistics about poverty, sexual abuse, maternal death, but I think sharing my reflections about one story might be more compelling. Before I do, though, I will share one statistic with you: globally, at least one in three women are beaten or sexually abused in her lifetime. Since I myself am among the group of “one in three” (although I don’t discuss it often here), I want to focus on how one woman has catalyzed major change in her culture.

I want to talk about Woineshet, a young woman who was featured in short film directed by Marisa Tomei. She transformed her experience of being brutally raped into a forum for changing her culture for the betterment of women and therefore, also of men. In Ethiopian villages a common practice — which has been upheld by the law — is that of men raping women and girls, who are then usually forced into marriage with their attackers. As a result of making the offer of marriage later, men cannot be prosecuted for their attacks. In one village, about 70 percent of the marriages found their genesis in this practice.

Woineshet was 13 when she was raped. She journeyed two days for a physical exam in order to provide proof for authorities, only to be told that her virginity was in doubt because the wound looked old. Her attacker was arrested and released on bail; then he abducted Woineshet again and held her for a month, forcing her to sign a marriage certificate before she escaped. Before a judge — who suggested that she was fortunate that her attacker wanted to marry her even though she was no longer a “fresh virgin” — she replied to the question of whether she would marry her rapist with the simple answer: “I refuse.”

She has since, with the steadfast help of her father, gone on to complete her basic education and is pursuing a law degree. She has pursued her case through the legal system in order to win the right for women to prosecute their attackers. What is more heartening, however, is her work to educate people to effect change in the culture which supports this practice.

There is a scene in the film where Woineshet has visited a village, and the men and women gathered to hear her story. A young woman who was forced into marriage after her rape spoke about how she felt. She was unhappy; she wanted to have an education; she wanted to be someone; she was angry. Then the man who attacked her — her husband — spoke from his perspective, of how his actions made him feel like a successful man. It is tempting to feel outrage toward him, but instead I felt something else: hope. I listened to this man talk about how he felt at the time, and how he has come to understand how devastating his actions have been. And he offered to apologize to the woman he’d hurt, and kissed her feet. I realize those actions don’t “make it all better,” but that’s not the point. This enlightenment must occur for change and healing to occur. He cannot undo his actions, but he can atone. Person by person, culture changes. Woineshet is an example of resilience and perseverance at the young age of 21; imagine how she might improve the world throughout her lifetime.

Join the movement: Half the Sky. Women aren’t the problem; they’re the solution, along with men.

We want Claire to enjoy nature, and it can be a challenge to find unsullied open spaces close to home. Last weekend we went to Los Gatos Creek Trail to walk. We decided to try the trail head in Los Gatos proper. Well, first parking was a challenge. And then the many people biking and running made it difficult for Claire to pursue her own meandering path. But what was most intrusive was the traffic. This part of the creek trail runs alongside Highway 17, which at this location is a six lane highway.

So, Claire did get to see trees, smell flowers, and — thrill of thrills — stand at the creek side and throw stones into the water. She loved the ker-plunk sound and the splash. But it certainly wasn’t a pastoral experience. I believe I’ve hiked another part of the trail that was quieter; I need to find out where that entry point is.

Last night at dinner with some friends, a woman mentioned Penitencia Creek Park. I’d driven by it on my way to Alum Rock Park but not stopped. This morning on a whim I took Claire. This park, too, resides in the midst of urban life, but what a difference location can make! While we still heard traffic, sirens, and airplanes, it was all in the distance. The weather was gently warm and sunny. The creek burbled cheerfully as we walked by. Claire got to throw stones into it and to test what happens when you throw leaves into the water. (They rapidly float away!)

There is a pond in this large, green open space as well, and it is populated by Canadian and white geese, American Coots, and white as well as Mallard ducks. The pond is fringed with thick cattail plants which make a great landing spot for red-winged blackbirds to sit and sing. We saw a robin red-breast hunting for worms, and many fat squirrels chasing each other. And, while the trail was well-populated by people, it didn’t feel crowded. Claire found a large white duck feather which she used “to tickle the water” of the creek. And the best experience of all for her was an encounter with a small black caterpillar on the paved path. She enjoyed the feeling of it crawling over her fingers and declared, “Her name is Sam.” She put the caterpillar in the grass so it wouldn’t get squished.

As for me? For a change I felt my body relax with the release from all agendas; I was content to meander and look with Claire at whatever caught our eye. We spent a lovely hour there and came home content.

But I am oh so lucky, fortunate, blessed; nature gave me the biggest gift of my life when I was 44:

Women are born with an average of one to two million eggs in their ovaries, which are shed monthly until menopause, with a 20-year old woman typically having 200,000 eggs.

That number halves as she enters her 30s and dwindles to as low as 2,000 after the age of 40.

–Physorg.com, New Blood Test Will Show Women’s Egg Levels

This morning I went to retrieve Claire from her crib. She’d awoken moments earlier and I heard her talking quietly.

I opened the door, and was greeted with:

“Oh, Mommy, please go back to bed! I have to tell my friends about the time Piglet and I forgot to go to the grocery store.”

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She watches a show called Word World. It’s a neat concept; all the nouns consist of their letters shaped to look like the actual object. The main characters are Bear, Sheep, Pig, Frog, Duck, Ant, and Dog. Yesterday Claire kept coming into the kitchen asking me for cups of water and straws. First Sheep was thirsty, then Pig, etc. Soon the little table which serves as her “buffet” was strewn with these cups and straws.

At one point she said, “Bear is very sick. I bring her a cup of water to help her cough go ay- way.”

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Yesterday, we were waiting for our realtor to meet us at a house we were going to see. Claire’s barrette fell out. She asked me to fix it “so it will look nice.”

Life is competitive around here. It is everywhere, but I feel it especially here — in the play group, among other parents in general, especially when the topic of education comes up. Last year, four Gunn High School students in Palo Alto committed suicide by stepping in front of trains; already one child committed suicide the same way this year. Granted, Palo Alto manifests “the best of the best” — affluent, highly educated, highly successful Silicon Valley players who want their children to succeed and exceed the norm. Not all school districts are as packed with scrambling over-achievers.

We want a good school for Claire, but more than that, we want a good learning experience for her, and a good life. I want to see this movie when it comes out. And I want to be part of the solution.

If you can’t see the movie trailer, click this link.

So the common wisdom says. Apparently everything tastes good to the hungry palate.

But when sick, it’s hard to know one is hungry, because smell and taste are linked so closely; even a growling stomach feels muffled to some extent. Tonight I was able to taste my dinner. It was lovely.

I can mostly breathe, smell, and taste again. Almost 100% back to healthy.

And here is Claire, pretending to be a fire-breathing dragon. She’s become much more cooperative with the breathing treatments, especially if she has her father’s fancy phone to play plinky-plink on. Tomorrow we switch to the treatments being twice a day instead of every six hours.

I’m slowly recovering. I went to bed at 6:00 p.m. on Thursday, and with a few exceptions to get up and eat and check-in, have been unconscious for about 40 of the past 48 hours.

I miss my family. I miss my routine. I’m out of sync. Claire misses me, and so does Hub. I haven’t cooked in more than a week. (I can’t taste anything either.)

Normally I’m pretty hearty! Looking forward to being that way again.

Hub took Claire to a park. All she asks to do anymore is watch television. It’s as though she’s forgotten other things exist. But she is much much better, and was thrilled to leave the house. Her appetite is still small, but her breathing has improved and she coughs less.

I’m going to take a shower to rinse the lethargy off; I will summon some energy to be present for a little while this evening!

Claire seems to be slowly getting better. We now do the alubterol breathing treatment every six hours instead of four, round the clock. She’s fighting them mightily, so she must be getting better! She coughs less and her breathing is clearer — no wheezing. Her eating is still off, and she’s way addicted to the television now. When we’re all healthy we’ll tackle that. She wanted to go for a walk with Daddy yesterday evening but ran out of steam quickly.

Husband is on the tail end of his cold. I, however, caught it too and am in the thick of it. My upper jaw hurts because of sinus pressure. Bleh.

This will pass, and the sun while shine again. (It’s been gray here!)

Since Facebook has decided yet again to reorganize its home page, I find myself disenchanted with it. This latest incarnation provides inconsistent updates and leaves me feeling disconnected from all the folks I call friends. I’ve come to realize that I rely too much on that social network for my feeling of connection with friends.

Facebook, when it works, does allow me to see snippets of friends’ days, and to see the articles and other links they share that are interesting. (I’m on Twitter too, but I dislike the format and hardly use it except to gather or share information. Facebook’s ability to comment on an individual post makes it more relevant.)

However, now that I feel I’m missing updates, and I know others are not seeing mine consistently, I’m left with two questions:

How much to do I really need to be on the Internet, anyway?

Whatever happened to blogging as a means of connection?

Facebook is centralized; whereas I’m not going to be able to get my friends to come read my blog, I can let them see updates at FB.

But I could also email friends directly, blog, call. When they aren’t working correctly, I realize how much of a time suck all these networks are.