Sylvia's Journal

I woke up this morning without much pain, stiff of course but not much more. It took a while to realize that the pains were minimal and if I could only get rid of that stiffness all would be normal again. Instead of doing my various stretching exercises in the shower downstairs I did them upstairs. As a result the walk down the stairs was good, very good. I could have fooled anyone; that is how normal I can be. The word normal keeps coming up. Normal. Normal. Normal. I so badly want us to be normal again and do the things we enjoyed doing. Like walking the Masconomo-Proctor Street loop. Axel can already do it but I learned, after doing the little loop of Smith Point that an up-and-down walk like that is still a huge thing for me.

We are daring to talk about other things that were part of our normal life, before, like skiing, hiking, kayaking. It’s a bit of a joke right now. But they are actually serious dreams, for next year, not this. Such conversations create images that pull me; a short term vision that fuels my determination to be serious about the exercises, not to slack off. They do the same for Axel. He was told by his therapist that he needs to take his exercises slightly over the edge of comfort. If he doesn’t do this she can see the difference and his progress stops. It is that direct and that simple. So now he is doing his exercises as if his life depends on it. It does!

Yesterday we went on two visits. We are a bit difficult to accommodate on such visits: Axel gets stiff and reverts to his zombie walk when he sits too much, especially in low comfy chairs, and I get a swollen foot when I stand too much. So I tend to install myself someplace and stay there while Axel keeps getting up and moves around.

We visited our new neighbors Ellen and Bill Cross who built a beautiful new house across the cove from us. They introduced us to friends who have recreated the estate (‘Cragsyde’) of George Nixon Black that used to be across the Cove as well in the early 1900s, on which Axel’s grandfather and grandmother, he the gardener and she one of the servants. It was a big rambling shingle style ‘cottage,’ built by architects Peabody & Stearns from Boston. Ellen and Bill’s friends rebuilt the house on Swan’s Island in Maine according to the original plans. The original Cragsyde was torn down in the 1940s. They showed us a video about the mansion and its inhabitants with old folks reminiscing over still photographs. We hoped to catch a glimpse of grampie and granma but they were not in it. Axel had brought a small silver cup to our meeting that was engraved with the words ‘George N. Black for his display of chrysanthemum plants, 1904.’ This cup had been on display in the Magnuson greenhouse with other prizes. As it turned out, Jane, who is a bit of a history buff about Black and his Cragsyde, had an entry in her chronology about when this prize was awarded, November 12, 1904, and that it was awarded to Black and his gardener, Axel Magnuson. It was very exciting to hear about all the history, knowing that Axel’s family is deeply embedded in the story.

Later in the day we went to see Jim’s family for a post-Thanksgiving dinner at their house. We all ate too much, as one is supposed to do and watched football games, which one is also supposed to do. The latter I don’t get and don’t want to get. For me American football is nothing more than a bunch of bulky men with angry faces tripping over one another. This description is considered blasphemy, but I just don’t get the attraction. Having a very large, 40-something inch screen with large men tumbling over one another flashing through the room is a bit distracting for me. I find it hard to converse with others. But for most Americans this is easy and totally normal. Ahhh, normal, some normal I like and some normal I don’t.