Sylvia's Journal

Aside from running errands for Sita, Jim and Faro, and preparing banana ice cream (cut up three bananas in small pieces, freeze, puree in blender or similar device – voila) I have been using this unexpected slack time to catch up on reading and surf the net. It produced a major jolt in my brain, creating new connections, laying new neural tracks and starting a bunch of conversations that are about possibilities rather than results. It confirmed my belief that slack time is critical to creativity and connectivity.

In the process I learned about tons of interesting conversations that are happening in universes that are parallel to mine/ours. So today I was a connector.

Faro has been sleeping right in front of me for the last few hours while Jim is working on a couch in the next room and Sita is preparing for her vacation/work trip that includes the wedding of her brother in law on Saturday. This is all very taxing for someone who is on pain medication and had abdominal surgery yesterday.

We calculated the amount of soy formula Faro will need while in Italy as we are not counting on that being available in the local Bellagio supermarket – we think it will cater to a different population than soy-drenched Northampton. To be on the safe side Axel and I will pack two enormous containers in our baggage.

While Sita was buying her biennial supply of markers, a multi-hundred dollar expense, I bought the floor model of a kid-sized whiteboard/blackboard easel that was on sale – a clear oma-impulse. The sales lady and I disassembled it in the store and I re-assembled it in Faro’s bedroom.  He had his first marker experience and seemed to like it. Afterwards he had a little practice on the piano – music and visual arts should be embedded in his genes but we know that practice is part of the deal.

I have been singing Dutch children’s songs with him. He particularly likes the song about Kortjakje (meaning short jacket) who is sick throughout the week but not on Sundays when she goes to church with her bible with its silver fittings. Or the sheep with its white feet, a lullaby that does indeed make his eyes a bit droopy. Sita remembers those songs but only the sound so she asked me to record them. Together we have been singing row-row-your-boat whenever he starts to get cranky. The words ‘merrily merrily merrily’ immediate bring a smile to his face. I knew music was in his genes.

Exhausted from all this hard of practicing his scribing skills, piano and listening (when he is not drinking) he slept the rest of the day – dreaming of great things to come.

Sita’s bad luck got my entries out of order. This predates the panic call.

On Saturday we drove out for a lovely breakfast somewhere on a pig and peach and apple farm. This is Western Massachusetts at its best. We stocked up on juicy white peaches, apples, jellies and more. Faro’s other oma and opa arrived midway through the morning and we hung out in the local park, watching dragon flies skim the water and birds dive for fish.

After lunch we sat in the garden, the other oma having first dibs on Faro, since I will have him for 10 days in a row, soon. Sita and I weeded the zinnia plot, overgrown with grab grass. It is a dirty but very satisfying pastime, weeding. We drove back in the late afternoon.

We are going through some 10+ late summer days. Sunday was one of them. After a very quiet Quaker meeting, where we welcomed Carole back from 3 weeks at an orphanage we support in Kenya, I pedaled back to Manchester.

We had a lunch date with Alison and Carry, two ex-colleagues and dear friends, accompanied by their mates. While Axel went to get the lobsters (only our 2^nd time this summer), I prepared a Martha Stewardesque table for 6, in spite of the cracked plates and mismatched glasses, under the tree looking out over the cove.

Axel made us poblano-cucumber margaritas, a concoction that may well be our all-time favorite summer drink. After lunch Alison and Mark ventured out in the kayaks while I swam behind them to the sentinel rock at the mouth of the cove from where I could just see Alison’s kayak as it was turned over by a wave.

I swam back to shore to get my kayak for a rescue maneuver but she was already being towed into the cove. The unexpected swim was wonderful because of the unusually warm water. By the time we arrived at the beach we discovered one thing that tends to come along with unusually warm waters: a dark red and translucent jelly fish the size of a dinner plate and thousands of small ones, the size of a finger nail. Suffice to say we did not go back into the water.

As I was paying the cashier in the supermarket for the ingredients of what was to be a spectacular desert to follow the poached wild salmon, Jim called. Could I get in the car and drive out to Western Massachusetts?  Sita had gone in for what should have been a routine procedure, part of the aftermath of the difficult labor three months ago. The emergency C-section back then had not been neatly completed.  There were adhesions and things needed to be corrected. Why this had to wait to five days before our departure for Italy is a mystery.

But things had gone bad – a puncture, nick or perforation led to profuse internal bleeding and she fainted just as she was discharged. When she came to she was in agonizing pain and wheeled back into surgery. That’s when I got the call. Jim was with baby, unprepared for a long stay into the night.  The only thing that worked out well was that the baby is used to being bottle fed. If he hadn’t, it would have been a very abrupt weaning.

I canceled the desert, Axel packed me a commuter dinner and I headed out to Western Mass, just barely after the heavy commuting traffic had eased up.  I made the 125 mile trip in just over 2 hours (don’t ask) and found a restless baby and a distraught Jim.

The hospital closes exactly at 8 PM. Except for the emergency entrance and the wards, there was not a soul to be seen, a ghost hospital. Doors closed after you went through and locked, requiring a search for someone with an electronic key to get you back in. Jim’s cell phone battery had died and the charger was of course at home.  To make things worse there is no phone signal in the hospital. We had already experienced that in another wing, three months earlier, but the day surgery family waiting area was also without signal. So you have to go outside, but then the doors lock behind you. Ughhh. I was able to bring relief (cellphone and baby wise) so that Jim could go outside and let a long list of anxious people know what was going on, and, after the phone call, get back in.

Faro and I were the only two in the large day surgery family waiting area. A large flat screen monitor was mounted on the wall. It indicated, with color codes, the various stations one has to go through in day surgery. I can’t remember them all but there are about 9 stations. The screen was empty except for one line: patient initials S,M. Under the station column her row was colored blue, meaning she was in PACU. A discarded brochure explained to me that that meant she was out of surgery and in the recovery room.

In the meantime the baby started crying, wanting more milk, but nothing was prepared and there was only one, used but empty bottle. I also had to go to the bathroom. It reminded me of the trials and tribulations as a new mother, lacking hands, juggling, packing the baby up for a trip to the bathroom, with the added difficulty of doors shutting behind me, not to open again.

Eventually we were notified that the patient was in her room – on the joint replacement ward for lack of beds elsewhere. She was groggy and in great pain and utterly depressed about the bad turn of events. Seeing us all back in the same hospital where she struggled through and after delivery was an unpleasant deja-vu. The only difference was that Faro was gurgling and smiling at his mom who couldn’t hold him but gurgled right back.

And now I am waiting for the house to wake up, anxious to get back to the hospital. Only three days after I was here last, the cats are starting to accept me, no longer an interloper.

The weeks are racing by, hurtling us towards the fall, but we don’t mind because September means Italy, now on the horizon. Everyday something wonderful happens and if nothing wonderful happens then I go to the garden to see the wonders there:  tomatoes in all colors, chard, Portuguese kale, Brussels sprouts, midget cucumbers, purple and green beans,and the giant blackberries that taste like vitamin C. We should wait for them to taste like sugar but the critters already do that. So we scrunch our faces and pick the seeds out of our teeth.

Midway through the week Tessa and Steve came over for dinner. They have just one week more before their lease ends at which point they and our grand dogs will move back in. We are making space, giving stuff away, moving stuff around, temporarily parking things here and there. It is not clear when and where their new lodging will be – so for now it’s mom and dad’s.

On Thursday we packed a picnic and joined the crowd converging on Castle Hill for the before last Thursday evening concert. Tessa is usually there with lots of friends but now that she has her own business she has deadlines to meet to secure her reputation and get the word-of-mouth that is so important for her start up. Instead we met up with a, for me, unknown cast of characters. At our age we are pretty settled in our circle of friends so adding a bunch is neat. We shared a potluck picnic and met more friends of new friends, while listening to Entrain (sp?) at a distance that was comfortable to the ears and allowed for conversation.

One of our new friends, a Spaniard who makes walls in Chile, drove to our house the next day to bring us the best European defense against mosquitoes. He swears by it (and Europeans need it badly here in Essex County – so they are good judges).  Until recently it was not approved for sale in the US so we don’t really want to know what is in it.  We are moved by his generosity and will treasure the gift simply because of how it came into our possession.

On Friday we decided it was time for a Faro fix. We had only seen our grandson on Skype for the last three weeks so it was time to see him and hold him. We took a piece of furniture from Tessa and Steve along that needs a parking spot for the next months, to serve as an extra excuse for making the long track west and back.  Since Axels’ asthma has kicked up again we booked a hotel for the night as we feared that a night in a house full of cat hairs and dander would make things worse.

I got to spend much quality time with our fast growing grandson who was exhausted from eating and growing by the time our dinner was served – a tasty combination of colorful foods that did not include any animal products.  Our doctor, asked about the China Study during a visit, agreed with the basic tenets of the book, though not with every detail. He told Axel that in his long career as a family practitioner, he has seen that vegetarians tend to live quite a bit longer than the meat/animal product eaters. We have strayed a bit from that path but Sita has not. Long live Faro!

After the dishes and grandson were put away we played Monopoly, supposedly the fast version, but after two hours we yawned so much that we interrupted the game. At that point Axel had much cash but few streets, Jim had little cash and few streets, I had a little more of each and Sita was accumulating money from rents at a disgusting rate.

We drove over the mountain to our hotel in Holyoke. We have stayed there before. We call it a Patel Motel because it is owned, as so many others of its kind strewn along the Mass Pike and its extension through Northern New York State, by Indians, many of whom are named Patel, who seem to have a knack for the hospitality industry.

It is dark again when the alarm wakes me up at 4:30 AM, signaling 6 long months of getting up in the dark. It is also cold in the morning. I am not yet putting a coat on, but soon that will be the smart thing to do. When I drive home from work it is still hot.  The changes in temperature are getting bigger each day. I am watching the trees for signs of fall – not quite yet.

This is a good time of the year to live in the moment as the moment is full of goodies. Axel put a Pooh quote on our refrigerator to remind us. It goes something like this:

Pooh (to Piglet): “what day is it today?” Piglet: “it is today.” Pooh: “Today is my favorite day!”

This morning on my ride home I saw a falling star. The sky looked like a Disney picture, with Tinker Bell shooting across it, just a few hundred meters above the road. The star’s tail was thick and clear, pastel-colored. I have never seen one so close and so clearly. On impulse I made a wish for our grandson’s continued good health and good temper.

Tessa and Steve came over yesterday with the grand dogs. We fed the humans a great meal from the garden (potatoes, squash, zucchini and beans) and the dogs the whey from the yogurt cheese. Everyone was happy.

On Mondays I usually work from home, but an important visitor from Afghanistan was in the neighborhood after having completed a 2 week course at Harvard.  And so I drove to work at the usual early hour.

I shepherded our guest from meeting to meeting and to Whole Foods for lunch. Ramadan is over. Muslims around the world are in the middle of the Eid celebrations but at MSH it is an ordinary day; much like our December 25 and 31 were ordinary days for us in Kabul.

While Axel was trying to get T-Mobile to accept their guilt in letting third parties bill us for random and non-existing services (T-Mobile customers check your bill carefully), I cut the raspberries back. My work was more satisfying. While on the phone with a call center somewhere in India, he looked up this third party company that bills us every month. As it turns out it sits at the top of a list of companies being investigated for shady practices. Huh? Duh?

After cutting back the raspberries I dug up one of the three remaining half rows of potatoes. This surfaced another few pounds, good for the next few weeks. After this we have one row left for the winter.

It is good there are shops around to complement our harvest. I don’t think we would survive the winter – our winter squash died after it produced one small acorn squash and was just starting on another – the main vine had shriveled up for reasons unknown.  The berries never make it to the freezer, nor are the beans.

On the other side of our little peninsula, someone is having better luck with winter squash – two men have made it a full time job to grow two giant pumpkins; one is already 1200 pounds and the other is a couple of hundred pounds behind. They are shooting for a 2000 pound pumpkin which would be a world record with a nice cash prize. One giant vine is feeding each pumpkin – each commanding a circle that is 30 feet in diameter. The caretakers nip any new growth in the bud to make sure they all feed the mother ship. It looks like the invasion of the body snatcher, a little creepy.

A very talented friend of mine published her first novel. It is a murder mystery solved by a Quaker linguist. My friend is a Quaker linguist so she knows how the mind of a Quaker linguist works. I signed up for getting the first four chapters to preview http://www.barkingrainpress.org/speaking-murder-acquisition/ hopefully just in time for our Italy vacation.

Axel saw his shoulder surgeon yesterday. We actually got to see him rather than one of his underlings. After a few pushes and pulls to his shoulder he pronounced that Axel(‘s shoulder) was doing exceedingly well!

Last night I met our neighbors, one house removed. Axel already knew them, especially since he and the lady of the house had grown up in Manchester. Her family is but one of the many who built the giant mansions around us, a hundred years ago, and who then intermarried, connecting everyone to everyone.

We had decided on a moveable feast: cocktails at our house, dinner at theirs, and then a house concert further down Masconomo Street by four astonishingly talented young musicians who played Schuman (Clara and Robert) and Brahms. It was the second season of the fledgling Manchester music program.

The ensemble consisted of two violins, one cello, one viola and piano. In various combinations they played pieces from Robert Schuman, Clara Schuman and Johannes Brahms. In between pieces we learned about the interconnected life stories of the three composers, illustrating how the ups and downs in their various relationships informed the music they played for us.

Axel tried his first full night out of the recliner. This was only possible with the help of some powerful painkillers. I made him a nest from pillows, so high I couldn’t see him.  It was a disorienting experience, the new location and the drugs, and not entirely pain free, but we call it progress nevertheless.

And now it is Saturday morning, my favorite part of the week. We changed the breakfast furniture around so that we can sit on my mother’s little couch and look out over the wet cove and garden, drawing inspiration from the most beautiful place in the world.

I was supposed to have gone flying with Bill this morning but the FAA has issued a flight restriction over Manchester (NH), which effectively closes down our small local airport. So we are grounded and I have to think of something else. There are too many great choices: drink tea and continue to read  Kurlansky’s book about Gloucester (The last fish tale), dig potatoes, make Kimchi from our kale and cabbage plants, or learn Italian. To be so blessed!

Everything on our dinner plate was from the garden except for the chicken. The large zucchini was cut up in inch thick slices, splashed with a garlic-ginger-soy-rice vinegar sauce and the put on the grill; an alternative to the zucchini bread that I don’t have any use for.

The green beans came straight from the vines, cooked al dente with a little bit of salt and nutmeg; eaten with fingers. The tiny potatoes, cooked in the skin, were the remainders of our latest harvest. We start eating the largest potatoes and then work ourselves down to the ones no bigger than a half inch. Yummy all by themselves, without any additions, not even salt and pepper.

The chicken came from the store. It could have been different but Axel has so far resisted my entreaties to get chicken – primarily for their eggs. I could imagine, at some future time, maybe after a 4-H class, that we could actually kill and eat our chickens but something more drastic has to happen to the store chicken and to Axel’s mindset about chickens.

Axel and Steve cleaned out the attic of the barn to make space for stuff from Lanesville that has to be out of the tiny doll house in less than a month. Tessa and Steve are coming back to live with us, just when Axel has created some order in his clubhouse.  But we do like them around, just not the dog hair.

At work I have been making some long days, mostly because of a training in a virtual facilitator program called Zing that I am quite excited about.  I now have some allies who are also seeing its potential. The process of getting the training populated and funded taught me a thing or two about change processes – just the topic I am working on for an e-learning course; the material delivered on my doorstep so to speak. It also taught me something about salesmanship and the role of champions and sponsors.

In the meantime the budgeting process for our coveted overhead monies is in full swing at work, with lots of people busy planning, budgeting, adding and subtracting and, soon, horse-trading. My dance card is, to my surprise, oversubscribed, quite a drastic change from last year. I can see now how I was left out, not being around for the process, invisible in Kabul. It makes me wonder who is now in that position, invisible in their field posts, but ready to come home. When you get as big as we are, personal relationships aren’t sufficient – you need a system that picks up the signal when someone is ready to come home.

August is a time of friends visiting Lobster Cover. Last night Ok and his family arrived from DC, on a college exploration trip. He hadn’t been here for more than a decade, we figured. In that decade he acquired a family. Old friends from the 70s, we had lost touch and then were reunited because we both worked in international public health, he at the World Bank and I at MSH.

Although he moved around in higher circles, we did have a shared an experience in Nigeria and then one in Washington, trying to get the Africa folks from WHO and the WorldBank to find common cause. I never knew what happened after that but learned last night that it did make a difference. We don’t always get to see the consequences of what we do. When the consequences are not good or lacking, not knowing is just as well; but when they were good, we do want to know, ha!

Now on to the more mundane parts of our existince; for the second time in 2 months Axel let his fingers do the walking trying to figure out what refrigerator to buy. The first we ordered on June 23 never showed up even though the money had been taken out of our account that very day. We cancelled, got our money back and started all over again.

Today and yesterday are tax free days (6.5 percent), an annual event in Massachusetts aimed at boosting the economy when people are, apparently, not buying enough.  It seemed a good idea to try again and save some money, especially since our existing refrigerator is still making death rattle noises.

We ended up buying the same refrigerator again, still back-ordered till late September, but for much less money. Sometimes bad things turn out to be good things. We also bought a range hood to replace the unsightly thing that is now disgracing our kitchen, because buying more got us even more discounts. Afterwards we toured SEARS, being reminded over loudspeakers that we should be buying more because everything is discounted. We fell for it and then ran into the other set of Faro’s grandparents, also with a filled shopping bag. The tax holiday works!

Onwards to AAA to get my international drivers permit for Italy. The stories we read on Trip Advisor about car renting in Italy were daunting so we are taking precautions – an international driver’s permit is one of those.  When we filled in the papers on Friday Axel discovered his US license had expired. He paid a heavy price for that: half of Friday – a gorgeous day in Lobster Cove – he spent driving to and from, and standing in line at, the Registry of Motor Vehicles – experiencing budget cuts first hand. We hope he gets it in time so I don’t have to do all the driving.  We also got a complimentary Italy guidebook and a map that includes Switzerland and France. “Can we go there?” Axel asked, but I think we will be busy enough in Italy, exploring the lake, eating spaghetti and drinking espressos.

On Sunday we had our little SOLA reunion and the first face to face encounter between a student and her Skype auntie. It was wonderful and moving.

The two Afghan girls had completed their intensive English language program at Salve Regina college. They had done well in their final presentations to host parents, skype moms and dads and other well-wishers, and had been whisked away to Maine. There they mingled with the natives, played banjo, learned to kayak and the basics of swimming, and ate blueberries until they popped. They were as far from Afghanistan as they could be.

Sunday afternoon they pulled up at our house. Axel hadn’t seen the girls since May 2011 and I hadn’t seen them since my departure from Kabul last September. We could not have imagined they would be at our house one summer later. And here they were.

On Monday Bill had graciously responded to my request to take them up in the air by organizing an aerial view of Boston. We followed route 1 south  at 1500 feet, circled over my office and the Charles River and Fenway Park and then flew back the same way we had come. It took 20 minutes round trip, a little faster than my daily two plus hour commute.

Flying past Logan the Skyway traffic controller requested us to move a little to the side to make way for jets coming and going. We gladly obliged and then made our way to Manchester to circle over our house. The steep banking made Z. reach for the little plastic bag and soon the blueberry breakfast was out of her stomach and sloshing in the bag. As a result we didn’t see Paula in her (Dutch) orange tee-shirt waving at us from the house. We headed back to base and to land before the bag filled up. Before we had gotten into the plane Z pronounced that she wanted to be a pilot. After the trip she retracted that.

From the air we moved to land and then to sea on a whale watching tour. By the time we reached Stellwagen Bank  we had seen one harbor dolphin, one minkie whale and one humpback. By the time we returned to Gloucester we had followed a mother and her calf and seen a few other whales feed and dive deep, and feed again in one series of long gracious moves. Seeing these giant mamals up close was another first for the girls.

We ended the day that had been full of wonders (wonderful) with a restaurant dinner. The girls got kid menus while we adults feasted on more adult fare.

On Tuesday we stayed close to home. The girls pulled out the kayaks while the tide was low and there was no chance of getting in over their heads.  The dress for the water adventure was unusual: one wore a chiffon dress while the other had each part of her body covered, except for hands, feet and face. It didn’t seem to cramp their style. Never has the cove seen such happy faces as they paddled along, singing Afghan songs in loud voices that carried their joy over the water to us adults who stood watching at the beach while our hearts went pitter patter. We would have held back the tide and stayed there, if we could.

In the afternoon real life came crushing into our idyllic reunion – separating the girls as one headed back to Maine with her skype mom and dad , ending our wonderful time together, and sending me back to a work assignment that was due before the end of the day.  Two days from now normalcy will return to lobster cove as Skype auntie Jo will take Z. back to her Rhode Island host family where she will remain until the start of the school year. She will say goodbye to her Skype auntie and resume the distance relationship that has created a bond no one could have expected over a year ago.