Sylvia's Journal

Every evening for the last three days I have extended my bedtime by at least half an hour. The cumulative effect of doing this is beginning to show: I could not get my eyes fully open until well into the first paragraph of my writing. It is hard to write a blog with your eyes closed, although these first few lines show that it can be done (with some corrections later). Luckily I was alert enough last night to activate the timed-coffeemaker. It is amazing what only a few sips of coffee can do.

After a workday that was much longer than the prescribed hours and that was full of task-generating meetings I hurried home in slow traffic to catch a yoga class that started at 6:30PM. It was an act full of contradictions and when I arrived home I wondered whether by “rushing off to yoga” I was missing the point. I was on the verge of canceling the plan but Axel encouraged me and calmly told me I had plenty of time to change, get my (his) mat and drive back to Hamilton.

He was right. I picked up my friend Peggy, who had landed on our beach last Sunday and had made the suggestion of taking a class together. We were the only ones and had a semi-private class of gentle stretching. It was my first yoga class since the accident and I found myself in the category of people who need lots of blankets and blocks to prop up stiff or painful limbs, as I always imagined elderly yoga to be. But it felt good and I nearly fell asleep in the final resting pose.

Back home Axel fed me the cold leftovers of a ratatouille made from what may well be the last batches of local vegetables. It is one of his best dishes and I actually love it cold.

And then there was the debate, eating up the last piece of the already short evening. My peaceful post-yoga state came to a brusque end watching the two hopefuls sparring for our minds and hearts. As the debate progressed I became increasingly irritated to be addressed as a member of this amorphous group of ‘the American people’ who seem only to care about themselves and money. I am in that group together with Joe six-pack and now also Joe the plumber. The candidates know these guys, and supposedly, by extension or association, they claim to know me. They are courting the two Joes in ways that would be hilarious if there wasn’t so much at stake. All the while Sarah is busy courting Josephine and other hockey moms in the red states that might go blue.

Watching a debate by yourself is no fun. About 45 minutes into the debate Axel left to pick up Sita from the train station; she had come in from New York, to be joined later in the night by Jim who was making music somewhere in the area. I won’t see either of them as our alarm clocks are not in sync.