Sylvia's Journal

When you walk out of the house a subtle but penetrating scent of lilacs envelops you. They are at their peak in three magnificent colors: white, pale violet and dark purple. The sight and scent make you want to stop the progress of seasons. This is a great time of the year at our house (something I say nearly every season).

We touched down in our tiny Canadian Regional Jet yesterday at 6:30 PM. Axel was waiting for me. We had some turbulence on the way back from Washington which made me break out in a sweat. I have never quite responded this way to turbulence. The little plane veered left then right and my body instantly relived the anxious moments on our climb out of Kabul six weeks ago. The body remembers, I remembered!

Yesterday morning I had breakfast with Mr. Abed, the founder and chief exectuive of one of the world’s biggest and most famous NGOs which is called BRAC. I had met him some 17 years ago at his headquarters, sitting on the topfloor of a highrise that was, at the time, unusual in the otherwise low city of Dhaka. Then we talked about sucession planning. I mentioned to him that seventeen laters he was still at the helm. Indeed he is, but he has strong leaders at each of BRAC’s enterprises: a university, a series of profit-making enterprises and the social programs. When you teach about leadership it is very exciting to meet someone in person who is/does everything you associate with leadership. Story telling is one of those abilities. I had heard the story about the introduction of oral rehydration therapy in Bangladesh before, but hearing it come directly from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, made for one of the better breakfast dates I have ever had. We explored how BRAC can include the teaching of leadership in its preparation of the next generation of public health leaders.We are both seeing a trip to Bangladesh in the future.

After breakfast I checked out of my room and went to see my friend Tisna and her husband in their building project, a brownstone near Dupont Circle that has been undergoing reconstructive surgery for several years now. They are no longer camping in their own house and the end is in sight but for me it seemed like a long way off. I suppose it all depends on what you are used to. We are also perpetually busy with our house but not that busy and we can actually sit and read most every night. Such homely relaxation is not in the stars for them quite yet. But when it is done it will be magnificent, in a wonderful urban setting.

When I arrived home we made ‘a tour of the estate’ as we call it. It has become somewhat of a ritual upon my homecoming: we pour ourselves a drink and slowly walk around the house, checking whether the seedlings are emerging, the progress of the lettuce, the length of the grass (Sita mowed yesterday and so everything looks pristine). I noticed that creatures have nibbled a particular plant. I may never come to flower and so I can’t remember what it is supposed to be which makes it less of a loss. The Columbines that reseeded themselves (with some help) are deep blue. I suggest them as a subject for a new line of note cards. On the seaside lawn the lily-of-the-valley are in full bloom and filling the air with their fragrance. Axel’s mother used to bundle and sell them on the flower market; the revenu went into their Bermuda fund, an annual vacation. I never quite understood how such a tiny humble flower could fund such a trip but, apparently, city people pay big money for small bouquets of these lovely flowers. I have never been to Bermuda and it is not a destination so we just let the flowers bloom to their hearts’ content and then they die to do it all over again next spring, to our continued delight.