During my commute home I listened to a reporter from Kabul giving an update on the heroic efforts of brave women who are trying, against a thousand odds, to get some legal teeth into the protection of women against their violent society. It is a long battle with women having to water down their demands in exchange for something, which is better than nothing. It was painful to hear the demands of the men they are negotiating with. The things we take for granted.
At home a few raw vegetables were laid out on a cutting board, suggesting I prepare dinner, no husband in sight. I was tired and hungry and cold, after a 10 hour workday full of overlapping meetings and a slow commute home. I felt so very sorry for myself, declined to cut the vegetables (swallowed the giant carrot whole) and angrily emptied a plastic container with leftovers in the microwave, so there!
But then I read an article about the nearly broke fishermen of Gloucester, being flattened by government regulations. I thought about the Afghan women and their battles, the family of an ex-colleague who died unexpectedly and too young, and another ex-colleague who seems to be bearing a cross that gets heavier by the day.
I sputtered a little when Axel came home but managed to abandon my self pity after counting all my blessings, being spared all these intractable entanglements and great griefs. I ended up having another dinner which was even better than the first, all in good harmony.
Sylvia's Journal 
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