Sylvia's Journal

The vivid dreams have slipped away because I did not go straight to my keyboard. I can’t even remember the feelings that accompanied them; nothing’s left. The act of cooking breakfast broke the tender threads that hang between sleeping and waking.

We had our breakfast by the window watching the bright red cardinal and the shimmering metallic blue starlings eating their breakfast under the tree. We listened to Jorma Kaukonen – from Jefferson Airplane fame – being interviewed on NPR talking about going back to his roots and playing guitar for us. Now that I am struggling with chords on the ukulele I have a new appreciation for what it takes to play as fluid as he does. I went to his website and read some pages from his diary, started on January 2009. It is one of the best things about living now, that you can peek into someone’s life just like that. He may be rich and famous but he comments on the weather and his travel, enjoys the company of his kids, friends and co-workers and misses his dead parents just like me.

Yesterday was cold and crisp and we ventured out only once, late afternoon, for a long walk when being home all day (and mostly sitting in front of computers) had gotten to us. I spent most of the morning trying to sort out whether I would or would not be going to Ghana next weekend. I had just arrived at the conclusion that I should cancel the trip when my colleagues got me on the phone and talked me out of that decision. So I guess I am going after all. My dream would be, one day to know three weeks ahead that I am going someplace and have visa, passport and ticket in hand. In my memory that happened more often in the past. Maybe our ultrafast communications have made last minute decision making possible in ways it was never before with all the positive and negative consequences. I remember in the early nineties that we had to set up a phone conversation about 6 weeks ahead of time (via letter or telex) with a peace corps volunteer who had to travel 100 kilometers to the nearest phone, somewhere deep in Guinea Conakry. This seems like ancient history now.

Today we are going south on an outing, visiting several places that are close to small airports. The thought occurred to me that this would have been a perfect occasion to go by air: blue skies, no wind, short hops by air (versus hours on the road by car) and several airports that I am familiar with. In fact, our hotel tonight is just down one of the runways of New Bedford Municipal Airport. Alas, this is not in the stars, and won’t be for awhile. Most importantly because Axel has not flown with me yet and we are not quite sure whether we are ready for this (or consulted our daughters). The other reason is that currently I don‘t own a plane share, and thus would have to rent a plane at 100 dollars an hour (excluding fuel) which would make the trip more costly than buying commercial airline tickets and rent cars or maybe even fly to London for the weekend.

Our first stop this afternoon will be the Picasso exhibit at Yale; then to New Bedford where we will spend the night. Tomorrow we will see uncle Charles, now in his 100th year. Axel called him last night to find out if he is available, worrying that calling at 8:30 PM might be too late. Nothing was closer to the truth. He stays up past midnight. “What do you do that keeps you up so late?,” asked Axel. Apparently he cleans his small trailer, repairs stuff that is broken, putters around in the small space, stuff like that. He did not even mention watching TV.

After lunch with Charles we will drive to a funeral home on the Cape to be with my grief stricken friend and colleague Mary who lost her son last week. She is the third person to be hit by such a tragedy in less than 2 months.