Sylvia's Journal

The rhythm of my trips abroad has slowed down a bit, but new assignments are on the horizon, at least till the end of June when two major MSH projects will end activities and go in close-down mode.

I am on my way to Cote d’Ivoire. I checked with Faro to see if he still remembered that Abidjan was the capital – he had forgotten but then remembered. Last week he saw something about Lemurs and when he heard that they live in Madagascar he flawlessly pronounced its capital Antananarivo, according to Sita. I don’t think many 4 year olds (or 40 year olds for that matter) in the US would know this.

We have had some wonderfully mild weather which melted the two feet of snow and coaxed small green sprouts out of the ground. But winter is not over in Massachusetts. We have learned not to get our hopes up.

The mild weather invited everyone to go outdoors and walk. But walking these days is, once again, not all that easy. I returned to the local PT outfit and am being treated by a young man whose father grew up in Zutphen (NL) – he speaks Dutch the way Sita does. I am also taking medicine to treat the neuropathy in my left foot; it makes me sleepy and has reduced my energy a bit.

Before heading out to the airport we took a long walk on a local estate with sweeping views over the ocean and uneven terrain. Although I enjoyed the walk it crippled me, and it required a rest stop at a local tea house before I could continue a brief visit to the Cape Ann museum. It is a discouraging development.

The Air France lounge makes the 6 hour wait for my next flight quite pleasant. Aside from the good food and coffee, there is the free 20 minute Clarins face/massage treatment. I was able to get one of the last two spots and enjoyed the treatment. Sometimes it is heavy on the product demo side, sometimes it is more of a facial massage, like today. It was delicious. I feel asleep and then was gently brought back to earth by a soft tap on my shouldere. As an extra bonus I was given a cream to keep my skin from aging and instructions about all the other products I should buy.

I settled back at my headquarter desk, always cranked up high (we can crank it up and down to work either standing or sitting – I stand all the time). We are awaiting the announcement of a new CEO, with anxious anticipation. For me the anticipation is linked to whether I will stay or retire.

I am now in the thick of two courses; one, a paying one, to refine my coaching skills. It is laced with references to recent neuroscience discoveries. The other, prompted by all the references to the brain, a free course on coursera on Understanding the brain: the neurobiology of everyday life. Although the course doesn’t start until this week I am already halfway through. I watched the lesson on hearing with Axel, to better understand his hearing loss. I also learned about my own near vision loss in the module on vision. I am enjoying the course so much that even after a full day at work and two hours of commuting, I can’t wait to log on again. I am learning a ton and hope this will, incidentally, also contribute to my brain’s health.

We had managed to plan our trip to be bookended by two snowstorms. We had missed driving all the way from home in the first storm, at the start of our brief vacation since we stayed over at Sita’s; but on the day of our departure we traveled through the eye of the storm on empty highways, barely plowed and sanded. A trip that should have taken 3 hours, took us 6 hours. Some people thought we were insane. It is amazing how the vision of sitting by the fire in our own living room during a nor’easter provoked us to undertake this trip.

Before we left we were able to visit MassMOCA which was probably the highlight of our trip. The theme was ‘wonder,’ and we did wander the halls in wonderment: Nick Pave’s 1000s of mobiles dangling and twirling from the ceiling, Sol LeWitt’s murals, and more. That alone would have been worth the trip out west, though not necessarily during snowstorms. Hubris, Axel called it, this challenging of the elements.

Just barely back from Maine we packed our bags again and left for Western Massachusetts for a few midweek days with friends at an AirBNB at the very northwest tip of the state that is famous for its mountainous vistas and museums (spellcheck doesn’t allow musea).

Before we left we had a physiatrist doc measure the functioning of my left foot’s sensory and motor nerves to better understand the neuropathy and needle pricks I experience in my left foot that is so severely traumatized, first by the accident and then by the fusion. The closest she could come to give my condition a name is ‘ski-boot syndrome,’ a disturbing sequel to my aviator’s foot (there is no treatment) and could have come from a too tight cast or else it would be nerves tangled up in a mass of scar tissue. I had already resigned myself to the fact that this is just part of my ‘condition humaine.’ I will not subject my foot to another surgical operation which, so far, none of my care takers are recommending, not even the orthopede.

We stayed the first night out west with Sita and Jim. We hadn’t seen our grandkids for about two weeks and could not possibly go to their part of the state without a visit. On Tuesday a snowstorm hit the region and so schools were closed. It was a reminder how this complicates the life of working parents when two kids under 5 are home and you try to get something done. And so the timing was good as I could run after the kids while mom and dad earned money.

The drive from Easthampton to Williamstown should be about one and a half hours but with the snow it took us quite a bit longer, over roads not plowed and the temperature dropping steadily below freezing, a bit of a hairy ride.

We met up with our friends at The Clark Museum in Williamstown, had a lovely lunch and then visited a wonderful exhibit on Japanese woodblock prints.

Just barely back from Maine we packed our bags again and left for Western Massachusetts for a few midweek days with friends at an AirBNB at the very northwest tip of the state that is famous for its mountainous vistas and museums (spellcheck doesn’t allow musea).

Before we left we had a physiatrist doc measure the functioning of my left foot’s sensory and motor nerves to better understand the neuropathy and needle pricks I experience in my left foot that is so severely traumatized, first by the accident and then by the fusion. The closest she could come to give my condition a name is ‘ski-boot syndrome,’ a disturbing sequel to my aviator’s foot (there is no treatment) and could have come from a too tight cast or else it would be nerves tangled up in a mass of scar tissue. I had already resigned myself to the fact that this is just part of my ‘condition humaine.’ I will not subject my foot to another surgical operation which, so far, none of my care takers are recommending, not even the orthopede.

We stayed the first night out west with Sita and Jim. We hadn’t seen our grandkids for about two weeks and could not possibly go to their part of the state without a visit. On Tuesday a snowstorm hit the region and so schools were closed. It was a reminder how this complicates the life of working parents when two kids under 5 are home and you try to get something done. And so the timing was good as I could run after the kids while mom and dad earned money.

The drive from Easthampton to Williamstown should be about one and a half hours but with the snow it took us quite a bit longer, over roads not plowed and the temperature dropping steadily below freezing, a bit of a hairy ride.

We met up with our friends at The Clark Museum in Williamstown, had a lovely lunch and then visited a wonderful exhibit of Japanese woodblock prints.

We spent the weekend in Camden (Maine) and surrounding towns. We met the artist and her husband and son for tea on the day of our arrival and hit it off well. We then went to explore our temporary home.

The town of Camden, as is most of coastal Maine in winter, was quiet and deserted. Only the locals remain, just a few thousands I imagined. They get through the winter by serving each other food, or conducting classes (art, yoga, resume writing), and doing such basic things as tax preparation, snow shoveling and car repairs. Winterfests are organized to keep people from shutting themselves in I suppose. The Camden Winterfest included toboggan races, snow sculptures and a film festival. The wind was harsh and the temperature below freezing which was good for the Winterfest but generally not so great for southerners like us.

After I dropped Axel off I practiced some drawing skills, guided by an imperfect homemade video of an artist who taught me the basics of analytical drawing. In spite of the poor quality of the video I learned a lot – good teachers can work in any medium. A noontime I went to Rockland, some 20 minutes away and visited the deserted Farnsworth Museum which is best known for its collection of 3 generations of Wyeths.  I admired the middle Wyeth’s watercolors which makes me want to pick that up again and take another class; all that is for later when my travel schedule allows for following a series of classes (=retirement).

In the meantime I finished reading two of the three cozy mysteries we bought last week. I am enjoying the hours that Axel has his lessons being free as a bird. I had brought bagfulls of stuff to do leaving me plenty of choices.

I had signed up for a class at the Rockland Art Loft to learn the craft of Zentangle, a meditative form of drawing that consists of a tangle of patterns, executed with great discipline on small tiles with a thin black pen. Although it was not at all the kind of drawing I had wanted to learn during the week, it was fun and added a new practice to bide time when waiting for something to happen, like medical personnel to call your name or planes to land or lift off. The pictures below are from our class. This pdf contains my first-four

One week into Trump’s campaign I am amazed at the damage he has managed to do in just one week. Reading the NYT in the morning has become a different experience with worse news following bad news. The most disconcerting is that he and his entourage deny that what he does is illegal, heart breaking, outrageous or plain wrong. His supporters are cheering in the background.  The one thing I don’t know is whether their numbers are going up or down – I hope the latter.

I have written to my representatives, asking them to lean on their more generous and rational colleagues on the other side of the aisle, but I fear that republicans won’t break ranks until after they have secured a republican supreme court.

In the meantime our lives here in Manchester-by-the-Sea are not physically disturbed as they are for so many others. At work we are still recovering from the RIF shock and trying to regain our footing. But, having passed 65, I am also starting to look at options for what to do when work starts to move to the background. We both believe it is art that will dominate our lives in the future. Next weekend we are cashing in a Christmas gift Axel received from Sita: two days of personal instruction at the studio of a great silk artist in Rockport (Maine), Fiona Washburn.

I will tag along and am fantasizing about what to do those two days while Axel is busy. I wrote to a children’s book writer who lives there to see if we could meet, but she isn’t around. She recommended I join the Society of Children Books Writers and Illustrators which I promptly did. I’ve got to make some headway with my story that has been lingering in first draft for some years now. I will also be enjoying my Christmas presents when in Rockport: the New Zealand wool that Tessa gave me and a drawing kit from Sita.

I also plan to sleep in and read a lot. Last night we went to a mystery writers’ talk at a local bookstore featuring mystery writers. One of those is our friend Edith Maxwell who churns out cozy mysteries one after another. She already has three Agatha nominations on her resume – a high honor for mystery writers. We left the event with three new books under our arm.

To forget about all the bad news we joined a contra dancing group in a neighboring town and danced the night away accompanied by several fiddlers, a guitar and a flute. We met wonderful people who had come from wide and far. It was quite a work out. This, it turned out, was not so great for my left foot which is turning into an ever greater arthritic mess – a side effect of the fusion I could not have imagined. Some things (the arthritis in the heel) are now obvious as documented on an MRI; the nerve problems need another round of diagnostics. My future plans cannot, it is clear now, involve hiking or very long walks. Art it is!

We have a new president who reminds me of playground behavior when two kids argue and the language drops down to, what in Dutch I’d call a ‘nietus-wellus’ argument (“this did happen,” “no it did not!” “It did too!”) So Trump has already become for me the nietus-wellus president. He is pushing buttons left and right and risks bringing us down to his level, which is as low as a preschooler.

The big challenge for many of us now is to not enter into the game that Trump is trying to seduce us into. As my friend says, when they go low, we go high. This means becoming more inclusive (which does mean listening to those we don’t agree with and who did vote for Trump). What we already know about many of those is that we simply have pushed them away by not listening to their stories and showing ourselves superior to them. It is not about bringing them around to our point of view but looking through their window, listening, rather than pretending to listen while we formulate our reply. I know I have done that. It is seductive but it is a losing proposition.

We need to appreciate worldviews other than our own. It is easier said than done. Again, it is about listening rather than judging.  Rather than limit ourselves to hang out with those most like us, an ancient survival strategy, we have to recognize that survival now depends on the opposite. And then there is this thing of responsibility. We cannot say ‘you broke it, you fix it, because we all broke it, whatever the ‘it’ is. I cannot, as in the past, presume that our liberal politicians will take care of things. We have to let those brave republicans, the ones who are recognizing that the train is already derailing that we appreciate their courage to stand up to what is not right. Maybe, after all, the hard lines between republicans and democrats, are going to become irrelevant.

Oh brother, we are in for a wild ride.

I was back in the US just in time to knit one more pussy hat; a hat for someone I didn’t know yet. Tessa came in from NH on Friday night – all three of us had a hat. I had wool left so I started knitting on Friday night, just hours after arriving from Paris. I can make these hats now very fast.

We had agreed with friends from all over the North Shore that we would meet in the train. How naive we were; not just about the number of marchers from this part of Massachusetts, but also in the capacity of the train system to handle the crowds. Arriving at Beverly station the platform was already full, 100s of people.

When the train finally arrived we were told no one could get on as the train had no more standing room. And here I had had an image of myself knitting, on a seat no less. We walked back to the car to drive to one of the outlying subway stations, near my work, where I knew there was plenty of space to park. A young woman asked us whether we had an extra seat in our car. Since she did not wear a pink hat, the one under construction now had a destination. As it turned out our new passenger had founded a non profit organization to make science more relevant, more experiential and anchored in the world around us. Sita had bought ‘an experience’ at an online auction of the Kestrel Foundation in 2014 and gifted us a boat tour of Gloucester harbor in a dory, rowed by a colorful figure from Gloucester. I was happy to gift her the hat which was finished when we parked at the T station in Medford.

We took the Orange line into Boston. At each stop more and more entered the now crowded cars, with their pink hats and signs. By the time we reached downtown Boston it was clear we were in the thousands. We slowly streamed along with the crowd; once more with the naive idea that we would be able to see and hear the speakers.We never did see our speakers and only heard occasional sentences (which made the crowd roar) from the mayor of Boston, our two fabulous senators Warren and Markey and then an enormous variety of people representing various constituencies that make up the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and surrounding states.

For many of us Friday’s depressed state disappeared as snow for the sun, even though we knew we had to soldier on alone and some people in dire circumstances, for the next 4 years. The sun was out, the temperature went up, and the people were smiling and laughing.

We never got to march as the entire area around Boston Common was gridlocked. The MC, after telling us that the planning had been for a much smaller crowd (by then the estimate was over 100.000), suggested we take advantage of the situation and introduce ourselves to each other and talk. Talking would after all be the glue that we would need to hold us together for the next four years. We met people who had come from far and wide, all generations, all colors of skin, people in wheelchairs and strollers; it was the rainbow flag for real representing what Trump no doubt would call, the nasty liberal northeast.

Tessa managed to hook up with a friend because we were standing under an easily recognizable marker: a bare-chested man with dreadlocks up in a tree holding a sign that said:”Here I am a half-naked man surrounded by the opposite sex and I feel safe! I want you all to feel that way too!” The message was, I suppose, that bare-breasted women should feel safe sitting in a tree surrounded by 1000s of men. I am sure that many of the women at his feet felt like I did and would have liked to tell him to get real!  But then again, who cares about a bare-chested man high up in a tree – we had better things to do, like protesting a billionaire geezer with one of his (tiny) hands on the nuclear button and the other on a tweet machine. And our tree man was a great marker.