Sylvia's Journal

I woke up in the middle of the night from a dream that included a large jet making a belly landing in the middle of an even larger city. It was a frightful experience and caused enormous havoc. Some people survived but many did not. I think the dream was brought about by the movie War of the Worlds that I watched with Axel for a short while. I lasted about 20 minutes into the film,  until the large thing landed, just like the plane in my dreams, and started its destructive rampage. I went to my office and planned my flights for today, listening to the shrieking and wailing coming from the other room. I can’t quite handle these disaster movies with both sound and sight. If either one is missing I am OK.

We had another day of rain and thunder which is starting to get to me (to hell with those happy vegetables). The dampness is pervasive and intrusive in my office that never gets direct sunlight to dry things out. I spent several hours retrofitting a piece of writing for a virtual course that will assure me a place in heaven. I have done something like it more times than I care to remember. Despite all that experience it still took me most of the day.

In between thunder and rain, during a rare dry moment we dug up some potatoes and onions from the garden for our meal and I picked what may well be the last raspberry of the season. We had hamburgers, steamed potatoes (with much butter) and a tomato salad prepared a la Mamadou, the cook of Ton, our neighbor in Fann Hock in Dakar, now nearly 30 years ago. Salade a la Mamadou is one of our all time favorites, but we will only eat it with fresh local tomatoes, a short window in our climate. As such, it is a scarcity food and belongs in the category of treasure meals, like asparagus, strawberries, and new herring (in Holland).

The flight planning for today’s trip was complicated because there were too many options and I did not know where to start. Bill had sent me three possible routes: one up the coast of Maine (which is, this early in the morning, once again, not clear), one to Lake George (Ticonderoga) in upstate New York and one to the Connecticut coast. The latter two are more likely as the weather maps for these places are as clean as they get. When Axel emerged from watching the movie he found me with maps scattered, print-outs of routes, and two computers humming with more weather and route maps.

Before the accident I had hoped that this summer Axel and I would be making such trips, every weekend to another place, much like I am doing with Bill now. We would have gone to visit my colleague Wolffy on Martha’s Vineyard, Katie Blair in Maine, Sita and Jim in Western Mass. But now I know he is not ready to accompany me on any trip, and, frankly, I am not ready to take him. In fact, I am not sure I am ready to take anyone who is not a pilot on a cross county trip. Alison has indicated she is ready to fly with me to Martha’s Vineyard. The question is, am I? I am agonizing over this and know that I simply have to do it, but sofar I have been postponing this. The flights with Bill are (re)building my confidence but they also make me realize how much of a rookie I still am.

I am, however, ready to fly non-pilots over Essex county and have already done so back in March with my nephew Pieter and his friend. I am planning to take Nuha up sometime soon, when she gets back from her vacation in New Hampshire. I am looking forward to that. I want to share with her the beauty of this part of Massachusetts as I know someone coming from a hot and sandy place can appreciate in particular. Essex is at its best on a clear day in any season, from about 2000 feet high.