Sylvia's Journal

Over dumplings and noodles we counted our blessings, my friend A and I, after visiting the Henryk Ross exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, memory unearthed. On view are more than two hundred photographs, buried and then unearthed after many years, of life in the second largest Jewish ghetto in German-occupied Europe. They were unauthorized pictures of daily life in the ghetto from 1940-1945. They are views of cruelty, suffering and resilience, familiar no doubt to Syrian refugees but unfathomable to us living in peace and comfort.

I was struck by how many people smiled when it seems there was little to smile about. There are the last glimpses of people marching towards their deaths. Only a few hundred survived from the hundreds of thousands that were forcefully resettled there and then deported. That the photographer and his wife survived is a wonder. A videotaped interview with them at the start of the exhibit left me in awe about the courage they took so that we now can remember. If you live near Boston, make sure you see it.

Spring is always a time of new beginnings, even if the weather keeps teasing us with temperatures going up and then down again. I have always liked how the Persian calendar starts the new year on March 21, with its Naw Roz  (New Day) celebrations. It passed us by this year, except for the many Naw Roz wishes exchanged on Facebook.

At MSH it is springtime as well. We have a new CEO. The first encounters have been wonderful and hope giving, in sync with the ice melting in our yard and the sprouting of garlic.

We are gearing up for our yearly Easter celebration at our house to remember the good things that happened around Easter.  With my travel schedule these celebrations are not always easy to schedule so we take Easter broadly, anytime between Easter celebrations from the west and from the east. They happen to fall on the same date this time, and it looks as if I am around. Invitations are still in the conceptual stage.

My travel schedule has been light and so we have taken advantage of my presence here by seeing our kids and grandkids as often as we can.  Sita and kids picked me up from the airport when I returned from Holland on the 13^th, given me at least a few hours of quality time with Faro and Saffi. We learned that Faro has been accepted in the Chinese charter school in Hadley; Sita and Jim are deliberating whether to claim his spot or not. I already have a fantasy of going to a Chinese restaurant and Faro ordering for us in Chinese!

Last weekend we visited Tessa and Steve. We saw the hole in the roof made by the tree that tipped over their bedroom. No one was hurt but the damage is considerable. We also saw the new puppy that brings the number of dogs in their house to three. The older dogs were not very happy with the intruder, a bit like I remember Faro responding to his new sister, hoping she would go away.

We visited the Currier museum in Manchester (NH) and its Deep Cuts Exhibit showing what is possible with paper and scissors. Many pieces were statements about something not right in the world.  One can say a lot with a piece of paper and a pair of scissors. It does require that one has a lot of time on one’s hands, patience, sharp embroidery scissors, a steady hand and excellent eyesight. Axel thought some of these pieces were veering into OCD.

Afterwards we strolled along the main street of Manchester, given the puppy its first experience of a city. There was much to see and smell. A dance competition let out and the street was overtaken by various pods of young girls with their hair tightly pulled up into a bun, heavily made up and wearing their various team jackets. The combination of these girls and the puppy slowed down our progress considerably. Tessa patiently explained to each new group the brand (Australian shepherd and something else) and name of the puppy (Hazelnut), triggering tons of oohs and aahs and requests to pet.

I had asked for a nice room with a view, which is what I got but not in the way I had expected. The view was an enormous tree, close to my window. At first I was annoyed because it was actually blocking my view, until I noticed movement. On closer look the tree was full of bats. These are, I believe, the fruit bats. They used to live all over Plateau in the tall trees that used to stand everywhere. They would leave their guano on the cars of all the people that work here, until someone in the government thought it was best to cut the trees. But clearly this tree was spared and some of the homeless bats moved in.

It is like a nightmare to peek between the leaves and see fat bodies wriggling while hanging down. They wriggle to get as much shade as possible. I see large bats the size of kittens and their offspring, the size of hamsters and mice.

And then, as if by order from above, they swarm, even though it is not yet dark, about an hour before sunset. They rise from the tree, circle it, thousands of them, looking like a swarm of birds, and then, as quickly as they appear they are gone, God knows where, to catch their daily meal.

I remember watching these bats from the terrace of the Grand Hotel in Niamey decades ago. I realized this was a ritual that was eons old. No hacking of trees could stop it. I am sure people have even used chemicals. They are a sturdy lot and their offspring will go on living in trees and hunting at night, long after we are gone.

And so, I had been given after all, a room with a view.