I woke up early to see the remains of the party. Not all that bad – I have seen worse. Someone was sleeping by the fire on the beach and someone else on our couch. Steve’s mom and sister had left for Toronto, a very long drive, before anyone was up and left a note. We didn’t get to say goodbye.
I finished most of what was left of the French cheese platter for breakfast, something I came to regret. French cheese is one of these things that I dream about in Afghanistan but my stomach isn’t quite used to that kind of rich food anymore.
Sita and Jim took off next to attend the funeral of their sister-in-law’s dad who died in a car accident, too young, too painful. They left dressed in mourning clothes on a beautiful spring morning.
The few people who had spent the night woke up and left, one by one, and we started the clean up. At 9:30 AM, as used to be my routine, I biked to Quaker meeting but not after having washed the squirrel debris off my bicycle and pumping new air into the flat tires.
The bike ride to Quaker meeting is always meditative and used to be an integral part of my religious practice before we moved to Kabul. I needed that half hour badly after the disappointing news that my request for a few days of leave to attend Rutger and Payal’s monsoon wedding in July in Kerala (India), had been denied. I forced myself to count my blessings and be cool about it.
In meeting we found just a handful of people. It is Memorial Day weekend and Americans tend to go places. One hour of silence is what I needed although I could never quite keep my thoughts from racing then this way, then that. I have too much on my mind – the forced stillness was good but also ineffective. There was no communing with God as I had hoped.
Axel and I, accompanied by the happy young couple and their two dogs, went for a long walk through Ravenswood where nature offered all its springtime treasures for our viewing pleasure: Lady Slippers, wild Irises, pre-bloom Trillium, frogs, mosses, tiny Sassafras saplings, Reishi mushrooms and more. Tessa and I clicked away to catch each on camera – for her to work into art one day and for me to treasure back in hot and dry Kabul.
Afterwards we went to Downriver Ice Cream, run by our friends the Ahearns, and gorged ourselves on double scoops of Big Mug, O’ Snap, Orange Creamsicle, Deer Tracks, Snail Trails and River Runs Through It – all variations on cream, chocolate, cookies and sugar syrups.
Having satisfied our craving for ice cream we fulfilled our filial duties by planting geraniums, an annual ritual that we missed last year, at the Magnuson graves. The ancestors are now presentable again, their grave sites neat and colorful for the Memorial Day festivities across the street from the Cemetery.
Sylvia's Journal 
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