Sylvia's Journal

I am back at work after a wonderful few days at home with my family. It is a bit of a slow time, with deliverables delivered from the previous assignments and the next one, though only 9 days away, not ready for action yet.

I am taking care of small bits and pieces of work, promises I made and trying to refresh my memory of how to work a database that has been languishing since before Afghanistan because of a false move between computers. No database expert has been able to help me so far so I think I am going to return to my notes from an internet course, more than a decade ago, given by our local community college.

One of the more difficult bits and pieces on my to do list is writing a letter in support of an Afghan colleague who is applying for a visa to the US because he has received threats that make living in Afghanistan increasingly dangerous; something about kidnappings and kidnappers being killed and revenge. I realize how lucky I am to live in a place that has a functioning legal system, recourse for wrongful actions and some basic protections. He has none of that, in spite of the billions of dollars that we have poured into Afghanistan. Such basic stuff that we take for granted.

I look out of the window and count my blessings: green, sun, water, a good job here, and 30 miles to the north more of that.

One of those blessings is Tessa who arrived on July 2nd 29 years ago. I remember the day like yesterday. First there were the croissants that Axel had intended to crisp in oven of the birth center. But the oven was defective and it went into self-cleaning mode which means the oven locks and heats till 500 degrees. It brought the fire trucks out instantly and was a nice distraction to the more and more sever contractions. It made for a memorable birth, as if one needs to be made more memorable.

That little redhead has now grown into a confident and competent 29 year old owner of a graphic design firm with an ever increasing cast of clients, engaged to a wonderful man and with two sweet dogs, our grand-dogs. What more could I wish?