Sylvia's Journal

The snow day was a nice way of easing into work again, light work that is. Not quite the intensity of work (in between the massages) we did in Ethiopia. Axel and I both went to physical therapy with sympathetic right upper arm and shoulder pains – mine still accident related, Axel’s probably not but who’s to tell. We learned that everything is related to everything else. All the icepacks, so heavily used in the second half of 2007, then put away, are migrating back to the kitchen again.

The work included a half-hearted attempt to empty my mailbox in pursuit of the elusive objective of ‘zero mail.’ It is a nice idea but it needs constant upkeep. Once you are back to overflowing emails there is no advantage to having been successful before, no increased skill level. It’s all about discipline; or could it be obsessive-compulsive behavior?

This morning I got up at 4:30 again. Somehow the 8 hour time difference with Addis has disappeared like magic. I slept a full night, as I always do when home, full of irretrievable dreams, not unusual either, and was awoken by my alarm. I had forgotten how to turn it off, so Axel woke up as well.

During my absence Axel and our neighbor Bill from across the cove, who share a deep interest for finding artistic and architectural treasures related to Lobster Cove, poured over a Winslow Homer picture of our cove. It did not quite make it into his collection of masterworks as the critics called it a bit messy, but Axel and Bill liked it and now I want to know where it hangs. Imagine that, Winslow Homer was here!

Tessa and Steve stayed home for the snow day as well. That made for a quick disappearance of at least two of the three large pieces of cheese I brought back from Holland, one for each couple. I am guarding the one unopened package that is destined for Sita and Jim – we have to send it by mail as it may not make it if left here and Sita is off to London and then Cologne in a few days. I have never sent cheese by mail. I’d hate to lose it; real Dutch cheese is nearly as good as a Winslow Homer – if only we could get the real Dutch bread to go with it all would be perfect.