Sylvia's Journal

It is now Sunday morning; one wedding and one memorial service after my last post. The wedding took place on Friday at a beautiful estate west of Boston. There are several of these jewels hidden in the woods around Boston. They harken back to the good old days when wealth could buy you distance from the misery of poor city dwellers; wide vistas, big lawns cut by hired hands, verandas to catch the sun or shade from it any time of the day, light everywhere and rain spouts made from copper.

The weather was on our side – a lovely late summer afternoon amidst family and friends, good food, good drinks and a smiling couple. For me it was also a reunion of sorts as the bride and groom had met in Afghanistan as MSH employees. It was thus also a coming together of MSH’s Afghan hands, including its founder; some flying in from as far as France and Japan. Most are still with MSH except the bride and groom.

I was paying close attention to the many creative touches of the wedding organizers. Exactly one year from now Tessa and Steve will wed. Years ago when the date was picked we thought it was an eternity, but now we are getting close.

The next day we paid our respects to Axel’s cousin Anne who died this summer, succumbing to two vicious cancers.  Axel and Tessa had gone out to California to say their goodbyes.

Anne’s husband flew to Manchester with her ashes. We had a brief service at the graveside where her mom and dad are buried. Many from her high school class were there as many had remained in the neighborhood. Family from Cape Ann, New York and the South Shore also attended. And so we had another reunion, this time at our house, which lasted into the evening. We looked at pictures and reminisced, enjoying, for a second day in a row, a beautiful late summer afternoon, in the company of friends and family, with good food, good drink and a swim in Lobster Cove’s clear waters.

The third reunion was with the grand kids and their parents. They stayed the night. I couldn’t be happier. Saffi is now 2 months old and working hard on strengthening her neck muscle, much like I am working hard to strengthen my shoulder except she does it without weights and rubber bands. She has started to explore her surroundings with greater interest and smiles when Faro comes into view. It’s all one big treat. And now breakfast: pancakes in honor of Faro.

Faro played in the water with a basketball that had come floating in while Saffi slept in a sling close to her mom, oblivious of the fun to be had at the waterfront.  We climbed rocks, and played around the heavily corroded pipe that drains the Putman estate. Faro likes to climb on top of the 1 foot diameter pipe and sticks his head in. He listens to his words as they reverberate deep inside the pipe, throwing in all the names of his family on the other end of the beach: papa, mama, Saffi, opa and oma.

At lunch time the Easthampton family departed to visit one other set of grandparents before heading home. I took advantage of the cool breeze to clean up that part of the flower garden that was starting to seed itself – it is already a tumble of perennials – so control measures were needed. Removing the many dead stalks also allowed me to get to the hundreds of cherry tomatoes that are ripening on the vine.

Today was the first time that I was not able to swim across the cove or to the mouth of the cove as I have done so many times during the summer. The water was too cold; the kind of cold that hurts when you dive in and isn’t going away within a few strokes. I sputtered and gasped for a short distance and turned around.  I tried again after warming up a bit in the sun but it made no difference – maybe swimming season is over. Something has shifted – it’s fall, and the wind is coming from another direction.

For three days four Fellows of the Japanese Women Leadership Initiative came to MSH to learn about us, about women and leadership, about how we teach management and leadership and how to do political advocacy, NGO financial management and fundraising. It’s a competitive process, to become a Fellow. The prize is worth fighting for: four weeks of learning in Boston; interspersed with sushi meals, dinners, receptions and outings. But it is hard work; one of the Fellows started her Japanese workday by email once we had reached the end of ours.

Last year we were invited into this one month program for a day and a half. Its success led to a request to double the time. I am the chief cook and bottle washer of this program: logistics, administration, delivery. I started working with the same faculty as last year but then this one left and that one got sick and that one sent a replacement, requiring all sorts of last minute corrections. But in the end everything fell in place. This always happen when you are passionate about something. It is an informal program. We sit around a square table and talk for three days in a row about topics we care about. I love doing this workshop which I hope becomes an annual event: it is exactly what I like doing and am good at, without having to get on a plane.

Like any other event, including those that take 24 hours to get to, through the skies, it also makes for long days as there is still travel and traffic: I arrive in the office at 6:15 AM (to avoid traffic and leave me some extra hours to prepare). Our Fellows arrive at 9AM. We stop at 5PM. I clean up, get in the car and hit traffic. 13 hours after I left the house in the morning I pull up at Lobster Cove. Some days I put on my bathing suit and walk straight into the ocean. It’s good that the program is only 3 days and that it is at this most beautiful time of the year when the water is still warm enough to swim in.

I am back at work. Aside from trying to fill my dance card for the next few months (it is nearly filled), I am preparing for a three day workshop next week with four Japanese women selected to be a month in Boston to learn about American NGOs and to strengthen their leadership skills in order to bring about positive social change in Japan and get women to join the effort in droves.

The Japanese Women Leadership Initiative (JWLI) is a 9 year old program that was conceived by an amazing energetic Japanese woman and two American women, one who was my boss once, a long time ago. I have been so privileged to be the lead for this activity at MSH and I am enjoying it enormously. I get to design a program, bring in great people to teach with me, and be invited to sushi dinners at an office high up in the center of Boston with 360 views of the city and its surroundings; really, what more could one wish?

We start next week. I am the chief cook and bottle washer for this event and have been focused primarily on the logistics of pulling this off. Yesterday I had reserved time to focus on the content but other things intervened. I am teaching about leadership, management and good governance as well as political advocacy, the latter two areas where I still need some prep time before we start on Tuesday morning. At the same time I am preparing for my upcoming trip to Kinshasa and figuring out what my role is in a new reconfigured MSH. There are no dull moments and life remains full.

Our Labor Day weekend eased with the transition from summer’s carefree existence to work. The days were 10+ days with blue skies, daily swims in Lobster Cove’s crystal clear waters, cooking meals from the harvest from our garden (leeks, beets, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, bok choi,chard, peppers, fresh herbs), fresh eggs from Tessa’s chickens and offerings from our local farmstand. Life is very good.

I am knitting an aran cardigan. The long vacation days helped me to make good progress. Although for me knitting is usually a winter activity I discovered that I can do it just as well without a fire and a good movie. A good (audible) book, a foggy day or a warm evening are also good conditions for knitting. Even though my travel schedule kicks in shortly, I am sure the cardigan will be done by the first snowfall.

While knitting I have listened to some great books, All The Light We Cannot See, Behind the Beautiful Forevers, The Red Badge of Courage, A Marriage of Opposites, The Boys in the Boat. I so admire the authors of these books. My friend Edith is also an author, in the ‘cozy mystery’ genre. She cranks out book after book, on her 11^th or 12^th now I believe, after she decided that writing was her passion. I started one book for adults, a very long time ago in a moment of inspiration. It never got beyond chapter one. And then there is the children’s book Sita and I are dreaming about. It has been languishing for more than a decade, even though the story is done. But the illustrations, the most important part of a children’s book, are missing. Sita being a working mom of two kids tends to get in the way. We may need to wait until her kids don’t need her attention all the time.

On Thursday night, very late, Tessa, Steve and the dogs arrived. Usually they camp out in the yard as the cabin has only two bedrooms. Sita, Jim, Farro and his 5 week old baby sister Saffi arrived the next day.

Until now we always occupied the master bedroom with its kingsize bed and Sita, Jim and Farro had the smaller bedroom with the creaky twin beds and the alcove for Farro’s portable crib. But Farro is 3 now and doesn’t fit in a crib anymore and he also has a sister who cries when she is hungry, about every four hours.

We had set up a roomy tent on the screened-in porch for Farro and vacated the large room for the small family.  Tessa, Steve and the dogs slept in the tiny tent, smaller than Farro’s, on a flat spot in the yard, surrounded by blueberry and huckleberry bushes.

As soon as everyone arrived the fog lifted, the rain disappeared and we had blue skies until our departure. Jim had to work all week which meant he had to find a spot with a good internet connection between 9 and 5.

The rest of us went on nature walks or we made trips to the beach where we tried to teach Farro how to swim. We chased crabs, looked for mussels and took turns planning and cooking our meals. During the weekend we kept Farro out of his parents’ hair so they could catch up on sleep. We would go ‘motoring’ down the quiet dead end street on his little wooden bike with no wheels. I think they are called pre-bikes, or balancing bikes, but Farro called it his motor bike, hence the motoring. Last year he would only walk alongside the bike but this year he was quite adept at balancing.

Sometimes we would park the bike at the rocky beach down the street and clamber down to the water. Here too his balance was good and we learned, from experience, that black rocks are slippery. We would sit on a high rock and throw a stick at Chicha who likes nothing better than chasing a stick all day long. Farro still needs to work on his throw but we made progress.

We visited the Coastal Maine Botanical Garden which is one of the most stunning places I have ever seen. A friend of Axel had his wind installations exhibited all through the gardens. The gardens are for all ages: the children’s garden with its tiny lobster traps, its tiny house with its kitchen and pretend food, the watering cans, the chickens, the library and puppet theatre. For older kids there is the fairy village where countless fairy houses dot the landscape, some art installations by themselves. And then there are the walks, the flowers, the arrangements. We visited the gardens twice this year as there is too much to see for one visit.

At night, when the babies and dogs were asleep we would play Settlers of Catan long past our usual bedtime.

There is something to say for having three generations together: once you agree on the meal the cooking and washing up gets easier, mom gets a break from taking care of a neonate, toddler gets more attention and so do the dogs.

Our first day at Camelot, which is the name the Californian owners gave the small cabin, we were fogged in. I never got out of my pajamas. I knitted for hours on end, sitting in a comfy rocking chair by the hearth, unlit, listening to The Light We Cannot Seen, or may be The Red Badge of Courage. Both providing backgrounds of war and suffering that stood in sharp contrast to our vacation in the land of plenty and peace. The fog and rain were nothing to get worked up about, even if they stayed with us all week.

We had brought Heather Atwood’s new cookbook (In Cod We Trust) and experimented some interesting dishes. We slept late, went to bed late and had no exercise, other than picking blueberries which were everywhere for the taking. One day we went to Rockland to the Farnsworth Museum, admiring the art of three generations of Wyeths, but mostly Andy Wyeth’s masterful watercolors.

During one brief interlude of sun we explored the cove down the street for mussels. We found only very few. Axel discovered a few small green crabs hovering around the pockets under the seaweed where the mussels must have lived in great quantities. He was ruthless in eliminating them, as there were few left. It is not in accordance with our Quaker principles but they are the enemy, having decimated Lobster Cove’s mussel population.

We had oysters in empty Boothbay Harbor. When it was dry we walked in the other direction to Newagen, at the end of Southport island or we visited Southport’s stunning public library to check out their book sale tables or to get a brief moment of connection with the outside world through their free internet . I used it for downloading audible books and jigsaw puzzles rather than checking email. I had found myself weaned quite quickly from that habit.

We sat on the Newagen pier trying to pierce the thick fog with our eyes. Somewhere there was a famous lighthouse on a small island nearby. Occasionally tourists stopped by and asked about the lighthouse. They must have thought we were locals, and asked about the lighthouse. Axel had memorized the plaque at the entrance of the pier and pointed into the whiteness saying that is about ‘about there.’  They left, their cameras unused, shrugging their shoulders, some lighthouse. We stayed for hours. I knitted. When we left to walk home we each had a thin layer of tiny droplets  on our heads, from the soft wet wind.

We learned later that the lighthouse keeper’s cottage is for rent. For a minimum of 2 nights it costs around one thousand dollars. I can just imagine the brochure with its photos of an attractive place with 360 degree views. I hope no one was staying there that first week because the views would have been missing most of the time and the rain kept coming back.

We started our first day of vacation in Maine with rain pouring down on the thin-planked roof over our head in the simple cabin that has been our off-the-grid destination for the last 3 years.

I never got dressed. We lived on the products of our garden and the contents of our refrigerator in Manchester, all packed in a large cooler that stands outside on the wet deck.

We listened to The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, a Victorian mystery read by several great actors. I listen while knitting a complicated Aran sweater for myself, my vacation project, while Axel learns how to turn handwritten lines into typed text on is phone. We may be off the grid but we are not off our devices.

We had some ambitious plan to be all packed on Friday night and then cast off to Maine early in the morning for our first day of vacation. But then other things intervened. We had dinner Friday evening on the other side of Boston with current and ex-colleagues from long ago. We indulged in multiple trips down memory lane and lots of gossip, mostly of the benign kind. By the time we got back home packing was out of the question.

Then I learned about the appearance of no less than two ‘Strandbeests’ at Crane’s Beach, a warm up for the Peabody and Essex Museum’s upcoming feature of the Dutch creator of these wind-driven installations. Axel  learned of a childhood friend’s death and memorial service also on Saturday morning. No early cast off thus.

The Strandbeest demo on a real beach rather than on videos or in a museum seemed too good an opportunity to pass and worth postponing our departure. I was disappointed. As underwhelming as the demo (and creatures) were, the success of the PR strategy which had included traditional and social media had  overwhelmed the small roads leading to the beach. The ride from Manchester to the beach parking lot, usually a 20 minute ride, took one hour and a fifteen dollar parking fee, discounted because I am a PEM member.

Thousands of people were already on the beach and thousands more streaming in, to see the installations in motion. They were not as large as the Strandbeest I had seen in action on the long Dutch beaches on video, and their walk was limited to five meters forward and then being dragged back again from the edge of the water onto the beach – that’s how the wind was blowing. The ‘beests’ weren’t as alive and lively as the one I had seen in the videos.

Axel’s experience had been more moving than mine, celebrating a life that had braided New England and Sicilian families into a tight knit community of mourners. He came home with a deep appreciation that we all make our own lives in the company of others, rather than being individuals who happen to have had good luck or bad luck in life.

We packed till mid-afternoon and finally set off when Sita texted us with the question whether we had arrived. As it turned out, the late departure was smart. The traffic of holiday makers had eased and we were in Boothbay four hours faster than last year when we had left in the morning.