Life of Wry

David Breaux gave a thoughtful presentation tonight at the Davis Community Church.  He spoke about how, in June of 2009, he came to stand on the corner of 3rd and C in Davis, California, and about his experiences as he’s invited people to share their views on compassion.  I learned even more about him and was moved by his comments.  And by his delivery…he’s a very warm and gracious speaker.  And funny.   He was also effective at engaging the people in the audience (about 50-60 people, old, college age, a few younger ones and perhaps some who are homeless), so it was also interesting to hear comments and stories from others.

Over a period of two years and thousands of conversations, he’s observed some common threads, and, after lots of thought, has come to his own working definition of compassion. He estimates he’s spoken with 10,000 people, 5,000 of whom have taken the time to write comments in his journals.  Many more walk past without talking.  Still, that’s a lot of input.

So, what has he learned?  Here is David’s definition of compassion:

 

First, compassion starts with the ability to listen. To be quiet and still and open, and to really listen– to what others say, to what your conscience says–and take it in w/o judgment.

Second, as you’re listening, acknowledge the person who’s talking.  Be active in your listening–feedback, reflect, nod, pay attention, focus on the person talking, look at them, see them and hear them.   This is amazing for the one talking; it’s affirming and satisfying to be heard.  As many in the room said, following an exercise in which we paired up and shared a personal story, being acknowledged is a gratifying experience.  Listening in this way can also be a rich experience.

Third,  do your best to understand.  David’s view is that this is the hard part and can take a long time.  In some cases, understanding comes quickly, in other cases not.  It may require you to come to know and/or appreciate the perspective or experience of a person with whom you disagree (or worse).   It can be complicated and difficult and easy to resist. He says to expect it to take time.  The understanding will come if you’re open to it.

Finally, unequivocally: act.  Empathy and sympathy are good and necessary, but acting on them is what turns a thought into something that actually benefits somebody.

I paraphrase all this, but in his words: listening, acknowledging, understanding, acting.

Seems like a nice way to be.

Note 1: I wrote about my experience working with David in an earlier blog post.. you can read more about his book here. 

Note 2: The picture is taken down the street from the church, looking up a lighted tree, on my walk home.. via Newsbeat for some candy..]

Well [hangs head], I didn’t have a picture-of-the-day for today, so, in desperation, sent myself back into the archives to see if I could find an appropriate summertime image that I might use with the caption, On this day in [insert a bygone year], or something like that.

And lo, I found one that works… not exactly taken on August 10th, but close.  Here is a 4-year-old Peter (2002, for those not wanting to do the math), standing amongst the tall corn out at Impossible Acres… at the corner of County Road 31 and County Road 97D, for you non-locals.  (Though a true local will point out that Impossible Acres was in a different location back in 2002… more like Road 96, maybe.)  I noticed that the caption on this old photo said that he’s berry picking.  Hmmm, even this non-farm girl knows a cornstalk from a berry bush.  (Apparently, I didn’t back then.)

In any case, the perfect central valley summer scene, a mere nine years ago.

So, as I said, not a farm girl (quite the contrary: grew up in the suburban wilds of Los Angeles), but I have plenty of relatives who hail from the great farm belt, Iowa specifically…so many, in fact, I know the Iowa Corn Song.  We sang this song a lot at Peterson family gatherings and, oddly (but funnily), nobody sang it louder (and more off-tune) than my San Francisco born and bred, urban street-wise mom.

Here are the lyrics:

IOWA CORN SONG

Let’s sing of Grand old I-O-Way, Yo-Ho, yo-ho, yo-ho
Our love is strong-er ev-‘ry day, Yo-Ho, yo-ho, yo-ho
So come a-long and join the throng, Sev-‘ral hun-dred thou-sand strong
As you come just sing this song, Yo-Ho, yo-ho, yo-ho

We’re from I-O-way, I-O-way. State of all the land
Joy on ev-‘ry hand. We’re from I-O-way, I-O-way
That’s where the tall corn grows

Our land is full of ripe-ning corn, Yo-Ho, yo-ho, yo-ho
We’ve watched it grow both night and morn, Yo-Ho, yo-ho, yo-ho
But now we rest, we’ve stood the test. All that’s good we have the best
I-O-way has reached the crest, Yo-Ho, yo-ho, yo-ho

We’re from I-O-way, I-O-way. State of all the land
Joy on ev-‘ry hand. We’re from I-O-way, I-O-way
That’s where the tall corn grows

We’re from I-O-way, I-O-way. State of all the land
Joy on ev-‘ry hand. We’re from I-O-way, I-O-way
That’s where the tall corn grows

 

In another post, at another time, I’ll share stories about being on my grandfather’s brother’s farm in Hampton, Iowa.  If I get the nerve, I’ll talk about the time he sent us (me, a couple brothers and some cousins) out to the grain barn with baseball bats to club mice, and how we proudly brought back our haul–fistfulls of dead rodents, dangling by their long tails in bloody bunches, to show a pleased Uncle Verner and Aunt Carol (our parents, on the other hand, were a bit appalled, though polite enough).  But it’s too grim to go into now.

Trying to segue, instead, into a closing comment about last night’s wonderfully sweet and delectable grilled corn, but not coming up with anything.. so will end my post here.

Go Iowa.

Came upon a pretty yellow posy this morning in downtown Davis.  Botanist that I am (not), I didn’t know what it was.  Sally said, “oh, that’s a dahlia.”

And so it is.

This is what I learned about them from this flower site:

• Dahlia plants bloom best in full sun and will tolerate most soil types, but prefer a sandy, well draining.
• Dahlias are summer blooming tubers that grow hardily in our USDA zone.
• There are literally thousands of varieties and hybrids.
• They range in height from as low as 12 inches to as tall as 6-8 feet.
• The flowers can be as small as 2 inches or up to a foot in diameter (the yellow one above was about 8″ in diameter, thus my astonishment).
• Some specimens may provide an abundance of cut flowers for the home, while others give you the opportunity to make a bold statement in your landscape by pruning, disbudding and ultimately forcing the plant to create a few single, gigantic blooms (again, that one above).

 

Here’s a professionally shot (that is, not shot upside-down in low light with a cell phone) picture of a pink one :

Sally visited from Georgia today.  Hadn’t seen each other, we think, in sixteen years.

Sally’s family moved from Mercer Island, Washington to Palos Verdes when we were in second grade, which means we’ve been friends for 48 years.  That’s a lot of birthdays and sleepovers and boyfriends and track meets and emails and study sessions and marriages and advice and meals and secrets and road trips and children and crises and celebrations and phone conversations and movies and inside jokes and visits and stories.

That’s a lot of friendship.

Taken this Sunday morning in downtown Davis.

Baseball was back in the spotlight today after a little break.

Today was notable because:

Peter got to sub in on another travel team, the Demons, which is always fun.

The Demons are a super nice group of kids and families and coaches and it’s really pleasant to hang with all of them.

It was in Napa, a nice place to visit (you know, when most of your games are in East Sac or Woodland or Manteca or Martinez).

Napa was foggy and cold and we hadda wrap up in multiple fleece blankets to keep from freezing, always a bonus in August.

Peter got to play six of nine positions: third (above), short, right field, left field, center field, and pitch (below).

They played an easy-going, no-stakes, just for fun double-header scrimmage against a well-matched team.

The well-matched team was the Peloteros, of the Tito Fuentes Baseball Academy (yes, the Tito Fuentes), whose son, Tito Fuentes, Jr (pictured above), is head coach and is a helluva personable guy.

 

 

Not porn.

This is the aftermath of a baseball thrown by Peter, missed by Jim.  It’s why I don’t play catch with Peter anymore.. not that he hits his parents intentionally, just that he throws hard and the ball moves and it’s easy to misjudge and the consequences of missing are, well, what you see here.

This is the inner thigh, just above the knee.

Desperate is not having a suitable photo-of-the-day and falling back on hey, I know, I’ll take a picture of my lunch!

Lame.

If I were going to try to squeeze any meaning out of this photo, I’d say it’s taken at Crepeville, a place I go for lunch about four times a week with Jim, and as such, is a pretty significant part of my life these days.  Things could certainly be worse than dining with one’s husband so many times a week, huh?  Not a bad use of time.

Plus, the food’s great.

On a tip from the guy we’d met at the top of Tenaya peak the day before, we set off to find one of the park’s many hidden treasures: a long and deep slot canyon, or crevasse, we weren’t exactly sure.. but understood it was to be found in a mountain slope somewhere southwest of Elisabeth Lake, in a ridge that includes Unicorn Peak and Cockscomb.

Alrighty then.

The trail to Elisabeth Lake starts right at the Tuolumne Meadows campground, a place we tend to avoid for the crowds.  In all these years, it was the first time we’d taken this trail.  Amazingly, the trail was reasonably spare of people.

But not mosquitoes.

After about a mile and a half, you get out of the forest and off the first slope.  Another mile or so on a gentle slope brings you to Elisabeth Lake, which we completely bypassed, instead continuing west, mostly, and up.  It was very, very pretty.

Here we’re heading toward the ridge:

This may be Unicorn, not certain:

We went maybe another mile. The closer we got to the mountain, the dicier it got, lots of huge talus, most of it stable, but some of it wobbly, and many steep snowbanks to traverse.  We figured out that even if we found the slot, it was likely filled with snow and impassable.  Plus, the mosquitoes were unbearable.  So we started back down, proclaiming the journey was the objective, and we’d had a nice hike, and it was fine.

Views on the way back looked like this… not bad!

Many open (boggy, hillocky) meadows:

And much creek jumping:

And did I mention mosquitoes?

So didn’t get anywhere in particular, but it had been a fine day, even so.  We returned to the cabins and found a table next to the Dana Fork to eat our lunches.  While sitting around talking, we made a decision to go home.. kind of sudden and unexpected, but it made sense, too.   I have so many injuries right now, each day was getting increasingly painful.. mostly the same old achilles tendon thing, but additionally some hip issues and foot issues all combining to produce shooting pains, limited range of motion, lots of tenderness.. all icky.  If we stayed, Jim and Peter could keep hiking and I could hang out, read, but the mosquitoes were so horrendous that seemed unappealing.  Peter had also had a birthday party he’d wanted to attend but couldn’t because of the trip… and this suddenly came into play.  All that contributed to the decision, and when the front desk said we could check out without consequence, that sealed the deal.

Felt a little stunned by the change of plans.  It was extremely sad and disorienting to pack up three days early.  Even after a full week or ten days of hiking it’s hard to leave Tuolumne Meadows.   But we did, with equal parts doubt and resolve.  And it was emotional.. but we left.

We did a quick and sloppy job of emptying the cabin and packing the car. The drive home was quiet.  Didn’t eat at PJ’s.  The good news is that we’ll be back next year–our cabin is already reserved–and hopefully we’ll be injury-free and California will not have record rainfall that results in a mosquitoey year.

And we did talk about all the hikes we want to do next time… August 2012 can’t come soon enough.

One of the highlights of this year’s trip to Tuolumne was baggin’ another summit, this time: Tenaya Peak.  Much as I appreciate the journey, I can get very excited about the destination.  Luckily, Jim’s that way too, so, many peaks under our belt and hopefully more to come.  And yeah.. we’ve passed along that obsession to Peter, too.  Yay us.

Anyway, today?  No clouds!!  Back to the usual, prevailing, high Sierra August weather conditions.. perfect for an off trail adventure.

Started at the Sunrise parking lot.  Within a hundred yards of the trailhead, we had to remove our boots and ford a shallow creek. Made for a slow beginning on the day, but it was fine and something to look forward to at the end of the day when we’d certainly be dragging and cold water would feel good on tired dogs.

We headed up the trail maybe .5 to 1 mile; we were looking for a spot where the drainage from Mildred Lake crossed the main Sunrise trail.  From there, we’d veer off and attempt to follow the creek all the way up to its source.  We found the crossing easily, but actually managed to lose the creek on the way up the mountain, or we followed a lesser run off, we weren’t quite sure… nevertheless, we continued to bushwack and crash through forest, occasionally breaking out onto granite slabs.  At one point, we found ourselves out on a ledge, overlooking Tenaya Lake, which was.. interesting (but very pretty).  Continued around a couple massive slopes until we found the open granite we were looking for and traversed up and over for maybe another mile or so.  The slabs were very steep, and quite exposed, in some parts, and the views were getting good!

Came upon some gorgeous terraced slabs with sweet gardens of wildflowers, grasses and moss:

They were huge (note Jim’s size alongside one of the terraces).

The view all morning was of Half Dome and Cloud’s Rest.  Here’s a nice one of Half Dome… you can see the sub-dome and can almost make out the cables on the upper dome.

Here’s a shot down Tenaya Canyon with Half Dome in the distance, Cloud’s Rest is the prominent knob on left, North Dome (a favorite hike) is the structure across the canyon from Half Dome:

Finally got to Mildred Lake.  So pretty, so central, yet there is no trail up there.  We–as usual when hiking off trail–saw nobody all day (except at top of Tenaya later that afternoon).

Hung out for about an hour at/near the lake.. talked, dozed, looked around (oh, and threw rocks).  It’s nice now..the adults can hang out doing adult things and the boys can run off and be alone in their exploration.

After lunch, we discussed the route up Tenaya.  Here are Monica, Dror and Jim considering options:

M&D opted out, but agreed to let us take Ben.  So, off we went: Jim, Peter, Ben and I.

This is what the backside of Tenaya looks like.. the side we scrambled up.  It looks simple enough, and it was, but it’s also a bit deceiving; it’s about a 700′ climb from Mildred Lake:

Here’s a close up of what we thought was the peak.  It’s not quite the high point.. which we saw once we got up there:

Here’s a view of the peak from the front side.  This is shot from Tioga Road, right along Tenaya Lake, on our way home a couple days later.  We have looked at this peak forever, driving in and out of Tuolumne Meadows; it’s very prominent and a popular peak for climbers.

Anyway, got to the top (10,301′) and had phenomenal views all around.  Here is the view looking northwest and down on Tenaya Lake, and Mt. Hoffman, highest peak in background (centermost peak in Yosemite National Park, 10,850′) which we’ve climbed several times:

And here’s one looking south and east, over Long Meadow.  Hard for me to identify all the peaks (any of them, really), but we’re probably seeing Mt. Lyell somewhere in there (highest peak in Yosemite National Park, 13,114′), who knows what else.  Sunrise High Sierra camp is to the far right.

Here are Jim, Peter and Ben on top:

And here’s one that Ben took of us:

On the top, we met about 6 climbers who’d gotten to the summit via the front side (I asked a young woman about the climb and she said there were 11 pitches… I’m doubtful… she’d done a mix of climbing and hiking to get there, so wasn’t sure).  We met a guy, Mike, from LA, who said he’s come to TM annually for forty years to climb, hike and run.  He was a wealth of information and enthusiasm.  We sat with him and our map for about 30 minutes while he pointed out dozens of places to visit well off the beaten path.  We retained little, but it was fascinating.

We left, picked our way down, this time much easier following the drainage to the bottom.. took a couple hours, I think, mostly on open granite like this (note water, which was gushing down the slabs all over the place, very powerful in parts, always glistening, and loud):

And toward the bottom, crossings like this:

We ended up back at the Sunrise parking lot in time to catch the last shuttle to Tuolumne Meadows Lodge.  Monica and Dror had thoughtfully shifted our dinner reservations to 8:00, which was perfect.

A great, great day.