The quiet fog of yesterday morning created the perfect condition for rowing in my ocean shell. I haven’t used it much because the water is seldom flat like a mirror. Axel had walked around the loop and reported he saw another rower on the water. This was all I needed to put my boat in as well. I rowed around the point and to Singing Beach. As it turned out the water wasn’t as calm as it looked from the shore, no waves indeed, but the swells were slow and broad. On the way back I practically surfed into the cove.
Kairos, the brand new bridegroom of two days ago, looking smart in a suit, smiled at us from the front page of the Boston Globe Magazine while we were having breakfast. As Boston’s chief planner, he is presented as the visionary of Boston’s future urban landscape. With one degree of separation we are proud to be associated with such talent, and such vision.
From Friday’s Chinese/Japanese wedding we moved to another cross cultural life stage marker, a Canadian/Brazilian christening. We drove to Worcester, passing exit eleven which takes you to Umass Memorial’s Trauma Center, one of many reminders that are beginning to wash in over the transom. We met with part of Tessa’s in-law family and watched Steve act as godfather in his crumpled white shirt.
The ceremony was conducted by a priest who might well be a stand-up comic the rest of the week. We could not decide whether his stunning irreverence (“you may ask why we don’t use beer, like a Bud Light, or Coke, for the baptism..”– we had not) was because he was trying to make the service palatable to a group of people that included many who, I suspect, were feeling a little out of place in a church.
The entire ceremony lasted about 30 minutes. We were let go with a reminder not to be ensnared by Satan with his tricks and empty promises. After the ceremony, on a hot deck with a thunderstorm brewing in the far distance, we were fed a combination of American and Brazilian goodies and mingled with friends and family. Escaping from the heat into the air conditioned home, there was no escaping the giant media center (this is beyond TV) that dominated the downstairs. It included a Wii Sports system that I had heard about but never seen. Soon I found myself playing a virtual tennis game, with a remote control as racket on behalf of a little virtual creature names Christian. He or I, or we did the most awesome backhands and tired ourselves out quickly. You cannot be a couch potato and play tennis, in case you did not know. I could have chosen to go bowling or golfing without ever having to leave the pleasantly air-conditioned room. With the gas prices going up and up, I wonder how many people are retreating into their media centers.
And then it was time to head to our next social engagement. My colleague Edith, actually the boss of the boss of my boss, is heading home back to Belgium. We had hoped to have one more dinner together at Lobster Cove before her departure. The weather and the theft of some checks messed up our plans. Instead of a cookout or dinner we witnessed what it takes to report stolen checks, inform the police and manage a helpful but berating husband (“how could you…?”). By the time the thunderstorm and police had left it was too late for dinner and we headed home to find Sita and Jim returned from their trip to and through the insides of America. Sita’s slideshow stood in sharp contrast to the picture album Edith had made of her two-year stay in New England. If you ever had any doubt that there are at least 2 Americas, we have proof.
Sylvia's Journal 
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