Sylvia's Journal

I am following two people on Caringbridge, one is my dear friend Susan who is dying of pancreatic cancer. Yesterday her husband posted her final farewell message on the site, which included a recipe for a Thanksgiving turkey – so like her and so bittersweet. Only 4 months ago she was writing that she had pain in her belly and was going for tests in Boston. Life’s too short to postpone doing and saying and living what’s really important.

I am also following Nadin, a young woman in her twenties who has a rare disease and has been in and out of hospitals for years. The spirits of these two women remind me not to get too wrapped up in trivial worries and concerns and that connecting with others is the essence of the human experience.

We watched the Pixar movie ‘Up’ with Tessa and Steve the other day. It is a perfect accompaniment to the Caringbridge journals we are reading. It too speaks of connecting with others and doing the stuff that’s important because life is short and waiting gets you nowhere. My move to Afghanistan fits that prescription. We are open to what will reveal itself there, here, everywhere.

Yesterday morning Bill and I boarded his small plane for one of the few remaining outings before I leave. We headed southwest into Connecticut through a narrow corridor where the clouds were not hanging too low and the rain and wind had not yet arrived. I flew the outbound leg. Since I had not flown for several weeks I had to muster all my attention to fly the plane well and asked Bill to do the radio work and navigation. I should be able to do it all myself but flying is a skill set that deteriorates rapidly if you don’t keep it up. Bill offered to let me fly back to Beverly as well, but I was too tired and wanted to enjoy the ride back and relax.

Flying very low (between 1200 and 1700 feet) to stay under the clouds (some people call this scud-running), gives you the best view of the landscape below. We had not flown this route before, to Hartford-Brainard, a small but busy airport east of Hartford at the edge of the city. We had a hard time spotting the airfield and asked the tower to guide us in.

After landing at Beverly I made my customary call to Axel that the eagle had landed. The afternoon program was organized by our friend Anne who has a B&B in Newburyport. She took us to a mixed media show at the Firehouse Theater about urban renewal, crafted with slides of a depressed and yuppified Newburyport and stories from all walks of life telling the good, the bad and the ugly. After a light dinner at Anne’s house we drove back exhausted and I tumbled into bed at 9 PM – knitting a few more rows of a sweater while reading about Rory Stewart’s valiant struggles to create order in a chaotic Iraqi province in 2003.