Sylvia's Journal

Last night we went to the Prout/Emmens for their annual Christmas singing celebration. Diane is very good at organizing celebratory community events (I missed one early November at Manchester’s Community Center). This joyful gathering is apparently a longstanding Christmas tradition at the Prout/Emmens on December 23. There is something magical about doing something together with people you don’t know, whether it is working, playing or singing. We were practically hoarse after having worked our way, under Diane’s enthusiastic leadership, through an entire songbook, created especially for these December 23 occasions. We were lucky to sit next to Rosalie from Boston, who had the most beautiful voice. Sometimes I could not resist resting my own voice for a moment and listening to hers. Of all the instruments, an exquisite voice like hers is one of my favorites.

On our way out I got a brief doctor’s lecture from Curt to take it easy and say ‘no’ a bit more often (I said no to that last suggestion). I am not driving into Cambridge this week. My intend is to do the minimum to keep the rising email tide at bay and look out for messages related to my upcoming trip to Ghana. For the rest this week will be dedicated to seeing friends and dropping of our traditional Christmas mustards here and there. Today we will all start our Sinterklaas preparations, rhymes and packaging, which I already described in greater detail in my journal of December 5.

Yesterday Axel accompanied me to Quaker Meeting, which is a fairly rare event. This meant that I left my bike in the shed and we went together by car. I missed my weekly energizing and meditative ride but it was probably just as well; the roads are narrow because of the snowbanks and there were still sections with ice on the road.

We were both very stiff and sore all day. We didn’t quite understand why and chalked it up to the high humidity. Such days, when our recovery seems to go backward, we need some explanation to hold our frustrations at bay. After Meeting Axel looked so droopy that I literally had to tuck him in bed for a nap. He slept most of the afternoon. His nights are still very much interrupted, sometimes sleepless, and he clearly had some catching up to do. As a result we did not make the intended visits to friends. I finished some work that needed to be in the email in boxes of several people in Ghana by Monday morning and had been weighing heavily on my mind. When I was done, Axel woke up and it was getting dark and time to dress for our Christmas party.

When we came home our driveway, nearly halved because of the accumulated snow, was filled to overflowing with cars. Inside we found Tessa with many of her old friends. They were filling up every sitting surface in the living room and seemed to be having a great time. It is so nice to see these kids, some of whom we have known since their awkward teenage years, grown into confident adults with jobs and exciting possibilities and/or plans for the future. Both Sita and Tessa have wonderful friends who we enjoy seeing.

Being the old and decrepit parents that we are, we left the youngsters alone and went upstairs to bed where we watched part of another rather depressing Ingar Bergman movie called the emigrants, showing some of the dirt (as in soil) that once covered Axel’s Swedish roots. Seeing a scene in a village church, with all the men more or less dressed alike in the pews on one side and all the women covered from head to toe in black on the other side made us realize that some of the current scenes from the Islamic world are actually quite similar, with the hell-and-damnation fundamentalist preacher exacting total obedience from his flock, all in God’s name. And that was just hundred and something years ago. What’s a hundred years on a cosmic scale?