Sylvia's Journal

Axel is now 68 and one week. I used to think that 68 was ancient but now of course I think it is young. However, I am acutely aware that my father died when he was 69 and my mother became a widow at the age of 67. Now that we have arrived in that neighborhood it seems unthinkable that suddenly there would be The End.

When we are with others in our age cohort we cannot help talk about this or that ailment. We have become our parents, something we didn’t want, and laughed at, way back. But now of course we understand. Health is the most precious thing we have, to do what we most want to do. Maybe this is why youth is associated with impatience and old age with patience. We have to accept and do things slower than we used to do them. Except my older brother who seems to be in a reverse trend and at age 67 bikes from Holland to Finisterre in Basque land and then does some more with his son(s) to other destinations in Europe that take them out of the flatlands. I am impressed and humbled.

We celebrated Axel’s birthday last week for two days, the second at a Castle Hill picnic enlivened by a salsa band. We danced and ate and met friends. Then Tessa presented a birthday cake fit for a king or queen. She had made it with unmentionable amounts of butter and sugar. I knew that but Axel did not. He surely would have received some demerits from Weightwatchers if they had found out. I was told that when you know the ingredients of something it affects how you digest it. Empirical evidence showed this to be true – I felt like I had a brick in my stomach while Axel felt just fine – we had consumed the same amount.

It seems silly to take a break from Lobster Cove during the height of its best season; to leave on a Friday afternoon with everyone else from Boston, on a sunny day while moving towards rain and dark skies; to sit in traffic and do a one hour trip in 2 hours. But we did it for a reunion of former colleagues who I have known since 1983.

We used AirBnB to find a room during the Beacon to Beach race and Maine’s busiest time, when all other places were either full or very expensive. To our big surprise we found a room for a very reasonable price and a delightful hostess.

After a fabulous dinner, the first one is to re-acquaint and get updates, we are getting ready for the second which is when we can all pretend to be 30 years younger and hold our rowdy/raucous annual general meeting and decide where we will meet next year and call members of the group who can’t be with us, even if the time zones don’t match and people get woken up. It’s punishment for not being present. Another punishment for not being present is being the object of gossip.

Saturday everyone roams around freely until it is dinner time again. We went with Alison to the Shabbat Day Shaker village where the last 3 shakers in the world live. Some of our misinformed stereotypes about he Shakers were corrected. We got to see several of the hundreds of patented inventions (the circular saw, the flat crib brush, permanent press fabrics) that came from this industrious, god fearing, egalitarian and very entrepreneurial community that is now on the brink of extinction.

They are still recruiting and it occurred to me that they offer an interesting alternative to our hectic life. They are living in the world, so it would not be a retreat. Like the Buddhist monks we saw in Sikkim, there is internet, they do online sales of their branded products and you can communicate by text. The only thing that may give some people pause is the ban on the intermingling of the sexes and their very deep faith. But maybe that is exactly what would be attractive to some. axel, who we nearly lost to the singing monks in Vezelay (France) more than a decade ago, was not interested.

We had Sita and family over for a few days. She and her friends are preparing a memorial of their friend Shelby next week that includes an extensive show of her artwork.

We benefitted from having Faro over to watch up close his amazing development, especially his linguistic progress. Faro, in his turn, benefits from being at a house that has its own beach and a shallow, self- cleaning, pool – no matter what the tide is – with all sorts of interesting stones and critters.

It was a beautiful day on Saturday. We went to Rockport for its charming Farmers’ Market and got a good supply of maple syrup and pickles; the latter from a company in Salem that makes the best pickles (Maitland), in a spicy and medium spicy version. The juice is a key ingredient for a wicked good dirty martini.

We had our picture taken at Sweet Remembrances, a dress up portrait studio where Sita worked during a summer some 15 years ago. You can pick a style and then the props to match (or not) your theme. We had done this in the past, using clothes from the roaring twenties. Since the choice of clothes for a 2 year old was a little limited we agreed on a mixed Pilgrim/Native American theme. It was quite a production and Faro managed remarkably well, primarily because he had free access to lots of interesting props to play with while we dressed.

In the afternoon we checked the lobster traps and pulled in two lobsters. The crab trap was empty. The crabs have figured out how to escape if we give them enough time. We were told to check them twice a day but we don’t. The carcass of the 40 pound striper caught during Tessa’s party, was eaten clean. The full-bellied crabs were grazing somewhere else in Lobster Cove. Only a handful of tiny hermit crabs remained in the trap. We are actually not that motivated to catch them because the preparation of the crab bisque is a little cumbersome. We should be more diligent as they continue to eat the baby mussel population, offspring of the mussels we transplanted from Ipswich Bay.

Tessa, Steve, his sister and boyfriend and the dogs joined us on Sunday for a glorious morning on the beach. When it started to rain everyone left and we withdrew into the New York Times Sunday edition and the New Yorker for some quiet time after the invasion.

You may not believe in Mercury retrograde, but three plane crashes in one week, two of them from cities I frequent (Amsterdam and Ouagadougou)? Although they have nothing in common with each other (seems two were weather related), I do fly through some bad weather occasionally and the Sahara is famous for its unstable air.

People who do believe in this phenomenon point out that it is about magnetic fields. I know, from putting my hotel key card next to my cellphone in my pocket or purse, that magnetic interference disables the card, requiring a trip back to the reception to reset the card. So why would this not happen on a grander scale. Has my internet connection been off a bit these last few weeks?

I am recovering from my pneumonia in fits and starts; it is definitely not a straight line up. Still, like the rates of stocks seen as a graph over time, the trend is overall upward.

I have started to do some work, adding about an hour every day; one a program that is part of a local foundation’s interest in advancing leadership skills for women in Japan – the brainchild of a former MSH executive (and my boss) who passed away unfortunately. But in this initiative her influence continues. I was asked to be part of this because of my work in Japan. It’s exactly the kind o work I love.

I was supposed to have been furiously writing this week about our work with ministries of health around the world on such things as good governance, leadership and management. A series of meetings took place which I missed, making the writing task a little harder as I am missing a lot of context. All this is now postponed till next week. I may do the writing from home where distractions are less than when I am in my cubicle in our ‘office garden’ in Medford.
All

I have been convalescing at Lobster Cove since Sunday afternoon. Axel fed me the healthy diet the doctor prescribed: sun, fresh fruits and vegetables. He didn’t prescribe the lobster that Axel had caught on Sunday morning but we had them anyways. Axel has been catching a lot of lobsters lately and so we eat a lot of lobster.

For the fresh vegetables and fruits, the garden is providing us in abundance: lettuce, kale, bok choy, raspberries, and herbs. The blueberries and tomatoes we get from the farm stand as our own crop is not yet ready for harvest.

Today is a day of mourning in Holland as most of the bodies are transported to the town of Hilversum where the identification will take place. In that town two entire families got wiped out. When 200 people fall out of the sky, for a small country like Holland, it affects just about everybody. I followed the Dutch news and saw the memorial at Schiphol. One of the messages read ‘klootzakken’ which literally means the plural of scrotum; a name you give to people you are very angry with.

And then I read this morning about the coup in the DRC with attacks on the airport in Kinshasa, and other strategic points. The attacks came out of left field and took everyone by surprise. One of my colleagues is stuck in a guesthouse. She has a one year old and a husband who are no doubt anxious to see her home. Scary, and a reminder that things are a bit topsy-turvy in the world at the moment.

This reminds me of the day of our plane crash, now exactly 7 years ago. We were told that these kinds of accidents and untoward events happened because of Mercury Retrograde. This is what I know about Mercury Retrograde: Sometimes the other planets appear to be traveling backward through the zodiac; this is an illusion. We call this illusion retrograde motion. Mercury’s retrograde periods can cause our plans to go awry. However, this is an excellent time to reflect on the past. Intuition is high during these periods, and coincidences can be extraordinary. When Mercury is retrograde, remain flexible, allow time for extra travel, and avoid signing contracts. Review projects and plans at these times, but wait until Mercury is direct again to make any final decisions.

So I continue to stay at home and lay low, avoid travel altogether and don’t sign any contracts.

The team I helped to set on its leadership development course less than 2 months ago in Cote d’Ivoire is doing the second workshop in the series of 4 on its own. I am in frequent contact with the team and marvel at their enthusiasm. Despite being in a place with poor internet connections, they insisted I be part of the workshop.

After trying various ways to connect we finally settled on Skype and I found myself live in the workshop, presumably projected on a screen and with my voice amplified. It is weird to be in a workshop and yet not – they could see me but I was looking at my own video picture – remembering to look at the camera on top of my screen rather than the screen itself. I received the beloved West African clap (someone hollers ‘triplet’ which is followed by three small claps and one thunderous one with hands pushing the clap to the object of the clap) – twice even. I received them with a smile, knowing I was on camera. I am awed, amazed and honored by the way this community has boarded the leadership train.

I left work early to enjoy Lobster Cove on another beautiful summer day, before heading out into the steamy Sahel on Friday. Axel had not checked the lobster traps yet, which he had baited with the remains of the 40 pound striper. His 12 foot dory isn’t quite made for two adults and hauling in lobster pots– he usually does the lobstering on his own – but I decided to be his lobstering mate, more ballast than help. The ocean was choppy with big swells, which made for good exercise for Axel the rower. His months of exercise at the gym are paying off. It felt great to be out on the water and I counted my blessings – what a place to come home to.

Four of the five traps contained only undersize lobsters which we threw back to grow some more, replacing the two day old striper bait with freshly caught and still bloody herring. Wondering what we would have for dinner we hauled in the last trap which contained it: 3 lobsters, two of them a pound and a half. It is the time of the year when lobster start to molt, shedding their old hard shell and growing a new one that is soft for a while. For this they come in closer to shore.

One of the large lobsters still had a very hard shell, which required a hammer to open; the other large one had just molted and thus had a very soft shell. It splashed liquid all over me after it was cooked. We didn’t touch the third one yet; it is neither hard nor soft.

The perfect day was completed with a massage by our friend Abi who worked hard on my sore foot – the healing process of my ankle seems to have stopped for a while, even made a turn for worse. I have picked up my PT exercises again which seems to help a bit. I was told by the orthopede’s assistant that it is not unusual for such regressions, what with the other joints and muscles having to work harder with the main joint being fused. It may be the equivalent of a strike, a protest against the extra work.

We had caught many crabs in Axel’s new trap, with the tailfin of the 40 pound striper as bait. But the crabs are smart, especially the larger ones. One of them opened the hatch and all but the small ones escaped after having filled their bellies with decomposing striper meat, yum.

We returned the trap to the middle of the cove and caught another load. There is no lack of green crabs in our cove, which we already knew as the new generation of mussels have been eaten, leaving us with the same elderly mussels and thus diminishing returns. I suppose that eating the crabs is just another way of enjoying our mussels, a second hand way.

Steve and Tessa cleaned up the estate, we had one more meal, using up the leftovers from the party and then we parted. It was a wonderful celebratory weekend. Steve brought the crab trap up and I turned the inhabitants into crab bisque, an improvised soup that included all the vegetables in the refrigerator that needed to be put out of their suffering. It came out perfect and will feed us for a few days.

In the afternoon we went to the funeral service for Sita’s friend Shelby. It brought together the old high school group of friends, uncomfortable in their funeral attire and still grieving deeply about one more friend who was no longer there. It was a very Catholic service which to some was soothing and to me a source of distraction. The language was about joy and hope and reuniting with Christ; the imagery of sitting at the same table as God. It doesn’t work for me but I can see how these beliefs can be a comfort to others. Knowing Shelby I imagined her looking down and giggling about all the hooplala.

After the service there was the cemetery and then the Franco-American club where food and drink awaited us. Sita and Jim had driven out and parked Faro at his grannie; so we didn’t get to see him. His presence might have lightened up the mood but he was napping, saving the mood for later during the long ride back home.

Shelby was an artist and a very creative mind. Her portfolios were on display and her mom and I shook our heads, acknowledging how death is such a waste of talent.

A hurricane’s passing east of us produced a lot of rain on the 3rd and 4th of July. For the first time in years it wasn’t sweltering hot during the 4th of July parade and for the first time in years we weren’t even there to witness it. Axel had promised Sita and Jim we would babysit while they made music with many other bands and friends in the afternoon of the fourth. And so we drove out to western Massachusetts on the 3rd and passed the 4th as if it was an ordinary day, made extraordinary by being in the presence of our grandson. We are now teaching him where Ouagadougou is – after a little thinking he responds, Burkina (we dropped the Faso part to keep it simple, not wanting to overtax the developing synapses). By the time he is 6 he should have the map of Africa in his head!

When we returned home the preparations for Tessa’s annual beach birthday bash were in full swing. It is now the fifth year of the Silent Disco as the center piece of the celebration. Tessa made a special sweatshirt, reminiscent of Endless Summer with its yellow, pink and orange hues and SDbTS V printed in between the lobster claws (Silent Disco by the Sea, 5th year). Silent disco allows for a dance party with a DJ but without disturbing the neighbors, as the music is only heard through headphones. It’s one of those party innovations that makes so much sense – one can dance to loud music and then have a quite conversation just by removing the headphones.

While Tessa’s party was starting with people tricking in from noon onwards, we dressed up to go to Axel’s 50th high school reunion. He is considered part of the class even though he left before graduation. It was a bittersweet affair, with happy reunions and sad tales of loss of life partners and health. The goodbyes were particularly difficult as everyone knew some people would not be there for the next reunion.

Back at home the pace of the party had picked up. There was much coming and going all through the day, the night and even the next day. This is a party that looks like a bell curve, with the top of the bell curve somewhere between 10 PM and noon the next day. When the weather is as perfect as it was this weekend, the party goes on until it is over. Now, on Monday morning, one more tent remains, with two occupants who really know how to party.

On Sunday morning, one hour before dead low tide, two friends of Tessa went out in a canoe and caught a 5 feet striper. The striper did not give up the fight easily, capsized the boat and broke the rod. The capsized boat also contained an iPhone, a camera and another rod. All were retrieved later except for the iPhone which is now, I suppose, a curiosity for the creatures on the ocean floor.

The story of the fish, and the fish itself, were shared for the rest of the day. Last year a large striper was also caught, so this is now the new tradition, and although the process by which the fish was caught was a little scary, we hope Tessa’s fishing friends will continue the tradition. Fish cooked on the grill at the beach, along with bacon and eggs, made for a nice morning-after breakfast.

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?

I came home to my favorite place and people of the world on what we call a 10+ day. And these days stayed through the weekend. But I also came home to the most devastating news that yet another very close friend of Sita had died. Thirteen years ago this scenario played out and now these wounds are ripped open again and we are once again grieving and wondering how all this could have happened again. This young woman too was an only child of a single mother and Sita and Jim, with their other friends have circled around her to lighten the load of dealing with the aftermath.

This was, with all the sadness, a bonus for me as I had not expected to see Sita, Jim and Faro this soon. They drove down to be with their friends who live near us, sharing their sadness and memories.

Faro, oblivious to all this, was in seventh heaven; having an opa and oma who have a beach and a whole ocean to play in, is his bonus. Axel and Faro walked the beach – a dream come true for Axel and a nice memory in the making for Faro. He is less interested in the crabs than in the stones – a whole beach full of stones that can be picked up and thrown to make a splash in the water. But then he got sick on Saturday and has kept us all busy since then; worried parents who never had a sick child, interrupted nights and a very unhappy child.

The weather has allowed us to find distraction in gardening. While I was away weeds had invaded the newly planted garden, overshadowing the seedlings of carrots, beets and chard. I spent about four hours on my knees pulling weeds, thinning the seedlings and removing the many volunteers that had picked some choice sunny spots. Axel worked on his boat so he can start putting out the lobster pots again.

To make the family fest complete, Tessa and Steve showed up with their two dogs and Axel put their bed together in the studio so they can now stay overnight. The cheap IKEA fold out we had bought for this purpose had chased them away – too hard and too short for long-legged Steve. I am anxiously awaiting whether the new arrangement, made from our old bed, was satisfactory.

We had a joyful dinner with everyone around the table, the center piece (for me at least) a huge salad of micro greens, results of the thinning process. The four carnivores in our family probably thought the sirloin and angus steaks were the center piece. It is so good to be home, even with all the worries and sadness.