Sylvia's Journal

We’ve all converged onto the birthing center of the Cooley-Dickinson hospital where w found Sita attached to diverse monitors that made the place look more like a hospital than a birth center.It wasn’t quite what they had had in mind.

After some intense chemically induced contractions they unhooked her from the chemical drip so that she could have a good night sleep before proceeding.

We said goodbye to the exhausted couple and installed ourselves, including the doula, in their house. Tomorrow we promised to show up again at the birth center, early in the morning when the more potent labor inducing drug will be dripped into Sita’s arm.

We’ve all converged onto the birthing center of the Cooley-Dickinson hospital where w found Sita attached to diverse monitors that made the place look more like a hospital than a birth center.It wasn’t quite what they had had in mind.

After some intense chemically induced contractions they unhooked her from the chemical drip so that she could have a good night sleep before proceeding.

We said goodbye to the exhausted couple and installed ourselves, including the doula, in their house. Tomorrow we promised to show up again at the birth center, early in the morning when the more potent labor inducing drug will be dripped into Sita’s arm.

A timer on my computer has been blinking for the last 5 days with the words ‘Time’s Up!’ I installed it some months ago and put ‘Baby Bliss’ as the name of the event. Everyone except baby Bliss agrees that time’s up, Sita in particular.

And so we continue to live our pre-grandparent status lives, a penciled in social life – all events listed as tentative, just in case we’d be heading west.

On Friday night A and KB joined us for a quick summer meal in the late summer afternoon sun so we could go out to the movies. After 6 months of teasing trailers of the Marigold Hotel we finally watched the movie with all of our favorite actors and enjoyed ourselves fabulously in a nearly empty theatre.

On Saturday we celebrated  the retirement of Allegra and Peter from the Waring School after 34 years of beyond-the-call of duty service. I fondly remember working with Allegra on bringing the French immersion program back to the school. It was nice to see friends we hadn’t seen for a long time. Despite the pouring rain, 100s of parents and alumns showedup and seated themselves comfortably under a giant tent arund a spectacular meal to pay homage to an extraordinary couple.

In the evening we attended Verdi’s Requiem, a wonderful performance by the Chorus North Shore and the Festival Orchestra. Once again we had to brave pouring rains. I parked the car while Axel bought the tickets. This was a bad division of labor as I had to park practically in the next town over and then struggled with a defective umbrella as I walked the long way to the church where the performance was held.

The umbrella struggle may well have restarted my rotator cuff tendinitis. I arrived in the church in a bad mood, with puddles of water in my boots and an aching shoulder – the music improved my mood but the shoulder is still in bad shape the morning after. Will it ever get better I wonder?

I am feeling re-integrated into parts of MSH that I was so very disconnected from since I returned from Kabul now nearly 9 months ago. The two days we spent talking about the integration of governance and gender into the management and leadership curriculum that we developed and fine-tuned over the last 10 years. I met new colleagues who I had only seen on TV screens during teleconferences and some I had never met at all; and then there were my old buddies and our new partners (from Yale). It was a good experience for that reason alone. It was odd to be a participant with no facilitation duties – it felt like a free ride. And baby Bliss gracefully let me complete the two days.

For 50 dollars I bought myself an earlier flight home – an expense I would usually not allow myself but baby Bliss changes everything.

A Bangla taxi-driver brought me to the airport, a most entertaining ride during which I learned much about the American spirit that he fully embraced. It is a spirit from some time ago (sacrifice all for the education of the children), which he claimed is evaporating now in a society he has made his own and which he loves and hates.

After we talked a bit about the politics in Bangladesh (such conversations are always about corrupt politicians) and the strikes I encountered in April, we returned to the safer topic of him and this future. He told me is going to retire from taxi driving and return to his ancestral village in Bangladesh. He will probably leave behind his grown up son and daughter. This (the US) is their homeland. But they do speak, read and write Bangla, he saw to that, so they can return to their ancestral lands if they ever feel moved to do so. They got education, they got good degrees and now jobs in HR and accounting – portable skill sets. I think he hopes secretly that they will eventually return to Bangladesh; like him.

When I paid him for the ride and verified that I had giving him enough he said that sometimes the money doesn’t matter and the conversation and company was worth more than any tip I could have given him. My benefit was that I never noticed the rush hour traffic we encountered.

Back in Boston, as I drove out of the airport parking I noticed a small note tucked under my windshield wiper. I pulled over and worried that it was from someone who had scratched my car but it turned out to be a note from someone (a man suspect) who responded with great vehemence to the sticker on my car for Elizabeth Warren and John Tierney.  In poor handwriting the note read:  GRANNY WARREN + tHAt crook TIERNEY? ARE YOU SERIOUS. GRANNY stolE somEBODY’s JOB + SHE’s pART OF tHE ONE PERCENT!! WHAT A PHONY BITCH!

The juxtaposition of granny and bitch struck me as odd though it is a combination that is common in fairytales (bitch becomes witch).  I am of course very partial to the granny part now. Let’s vote for granny!

Although I know the answer to my annual question – why do we have to frame war as a honorable endeavor, call killings ‘the ultimate sacrifice,’ – it popped up again as we watched the annual Memorial day ritual – the speeches, the invocation of God (always on our side), even the rainbow speech of the (first) female commandant of the American Legion post in Manchester.

For Axel it is mostly a social event. He can’t walk a straight line from one end of the cemetery to the other because he either knows someone or he has to stop at a grave. It takes a long time to cover any distance. It is also the annual handshaking with people Axel knows but I don’t; old classmates, football mates, relatives. This is his hometown after all.

After the ceremony we walked over to inspect the graves we had prettied up only two days ago. It hasn’t been always like this- there have been years we have been remiss in our duties and the graves were decorated with weeds. Not this year.

We walked home past the house of Sita’s in laws where we made our daily check in call to the expectant mom. No activity there yet. They don’t go to the ceremonies – he knows the nasty side of war and is not interested. If there wasn’t a social aspect I would stay home too.

The rest of the day was devoted to gardening and cleaning up rampant ivy, left untouched for the last 3 years. I was merciless in my cutting back as it had nearly strangled a hydrangea bush and was working on another. I put it back in its place.

Tessa and Steve stopped by from their rare day off together, dropping off a pint of ice-cream from the ice-cream stand run by a former class mate’s mom. Axel demonstrated the utility of my mother’s day present, the outdoor fireplace, and cooked our dinner on it. He had gone out with his fishing rod to bring home dinner but the fish thought otherwise – and so we had frozen shrimp, a standby just in case – with roasted asparagus (our own), a micro greens salad (our own) and homemade potato crisps. The latter are not our own as the potatoes still have a way to go. We sat by the fire until the mosquitoes chased us inside.

We have completed our ancestral duties for Memorial Day and planted the geraniums at the graves of Penny and Herm, Phil and Paul. Diane had joined us; a quick walk from her backyard to the graveyard. Instead of vodka we sprinkled Dutch gin on the graves, a slight evolution – the taste suits us better.

After the work was done we plopped down on the grass and talked for a long time before returning to sunny lobster cove. Axel took out his kayak to check whether he could still use it with his torn rotator cuff (he could). As soon as he left I decided I too should check out whether I could still row in my Alden shell.

Getting it out into the water was a bit of a challenge, but once on the water I was fine. It was a beautiful late afternoon and the water was mostly flat with long slow lazy swells carrying me forward.  Outside the cove I saw Axel kayaking further out. We met up and continued together which is a bit of a challenge because (a) Axel doesn’t have his hearing aid in so we can’t really communicate and (b) he looks forward and I look backwards and (c) I go much faster with my long oars.

We returned back to the cove just when the wedding party next door was picking up steam. We had not been invited to the wedding of our longtime neighbor’s youngest son. I didn’t mind but Axel was a little peeved.  I treasured not having to be anywhere, not having to dress up and being able to do this outing on the water.

We cooked our dinner on the outdoor fire pit that Axel has bought me for mother’s day (alongside with my meditation bench). We tend to give each other presents that we need or that we like ourselves.  The meditation bench I use every morning. The fire pit we will be using every evening throughout the summer I predict.

Sunday was another leisurely day that include Quaker Meeting and my bike ride to and fro, hilling the potatoes, attending the official re-dedication of the newly restored rotunda at Tucks Point – a whole town event with much appreciation for all the people who had made this historical restoration possible. Axel was one of them.

We skipped a cookout on Plum Island because Axel felt punky. He is still feeling punky but watching Sherlock Holmes distracts him while it chased me upstairs. I am not very receptive to modern Sherlock’s antics and franticness late in the day.

We have seen the future….it sounds like the start of a commencement speech but it was actually the ultrasound to check on baby Bliss. He looked straight into the camera with one eye, rubbing the other with his tiny hand. Was that a wink? Is he teasing us?

Sita certainly is ready to hold her baby on the outside. The continued high blood pressure was enough concern to get the ultrasound done. But the little fellow is fine, floating in enough fluids, weighing 8 pounds and something. He looked ready to my untrained eye. We are all ready to meet him and, I was told, his new home is no thoroughly cleaned by a team of professionals so he can move in.

Now, when we are invited, we always have to accept using the ‘tentative’ option, as one would in Outlook. But then I have to remind myself that there is usually plenty of time between the start of the first contractions and the actual birth.

Axel has bought the pink geraniums for the Magnuson graves. It is part of our Memorial Day tradition to plant them at the grave and then pour some vodka to the memory of his ancestors.

I did another superstitious thing today, like leaving all my work stuff at work. I have been packing everything up and schlepping it home every day just in case we had to rush off to Easthampton, so I am taunting fate, again; to no avail so far.

Every evening we are checking in with Sita and every night she answers the phone from home. Her blood pressure is still high and that is some reason for concern – more so to us than it appears to the midwives, although various tests are ordered, alongside with bed rest and extra protein.

We returned from a dinner with Tessa and Steve on the deck of Gloucester’s brew pub. The place is right on the harbor. We enjoyed great beer, mediocre food for me (the others were happy: fish tacos, pulled pork and fish & chips), some great desserts and the last sun rays of a day that started wet and ended warm.

After weeks of eating mostly vegetables and fruits the pub food didn’t sit so well with me, despite the fact that it was billed as a seafood salad (it was more of a seafood antipasta). The food stood in some contrast to a very elegant meal (with its half portions) we had yesterday to celebrate KB’s 61^st birthday at the Duckworth Bistro (also in Gloucester) together with some friends.

This week is full of restaurant fare, two lunches and two dinners so far, all in great company. The freshly picked micro greens and asparagus are waiting for a dinner at home; that should be tomorrow.

We brought the Afghan baby crib into the living room, plus the embroidered baby caps, hoping that this would speed things up. Sometimes superstition is fun.

It has been raining all day which we humans may not like but our newly seeded grass and baby vegetables love. We are ready to serve a full plate of micro greens to anyone who comes by – we have plenty. We will complement them with macro asparagus, also aplenty.

This morning Sabera came to our office to tell my colleagues about the work of Afghan midwives and the challenges they are up against. Most of those are pretty obvious: security concerns in many parts of the country, turnover, restrictive norms for girls and women to travel and work outside the home and attitudes of mostly male, mostly older doctors about their expertise. The male doctor versus young(er) female midwife/nurse dynamic appears to be universal.

Still, in spite of all of that, Sabera and a few hundred very committed women have tapped into something strong and powerful. Where at first they had to beg the fathers and husbands to let their daughters and wives train to become a midwife, now there are long lines of girls that the few midwifery schools cannot handle.  Other countries in the region are looking and asking Afghan midwives to come and teach theirs how they did it. I am learning a thing or two about change and transformation against all odds –  a case study on social change, led by very courageous young women.

Two other Afghan women, one Afghan American, joined the conversation.  I was happy to link them to Sabera. Critical mass is important and any new connection helps as you never know where it may lead.

Afterwards the official part of the program was over I took the three ladies to a Japanese restaurant where we sat around the cooking plate and were treated to knife/spatula juggling and new ways to break and fry an egg. It was very entertaining. Sabera indulged in sushi – I only know two Afghans who are adventurous eater, Sabera and my colleague Saeed.

The afternoon program included a visit to Harvard’s School of Public Health where I handed her over to Gary from western Mass. who is taking her under his wing for the rest of the afternoon. Tomorrow she will go to do some more networking further west. I told her we may be following her if we get that phone call from Sita, now more likely with the crib in place.

Tessa used her artistic talents to put together our window boxes. They look great and with time and TLC will look even better she assured us. It was one of those 10+ days with bright blue skies and full sun. We gardened until we were exhausted and sore. But the reward was instantly visible in happy plants (new soil) and lots of new seedlings in our vegetable garden. We haven’t put up screen around the mesclun and spinach bed and pray that the bunnies don’t read this blog.

We got a taste of both the good and the bad of Afghanistan brought to us by Sabera who arrived late on Saturday for a whirlwind tour of the Boston area. We were very happy that we got to have her all to ourselves for part of that time. After a walk around Smith Point with its exuberant and colorful display of flowering rhododendrons we gave her a taste of Cape Ann and her very first boiled lobster.

Sabera is the president of the Afghan midwives and was in Baltimore to work with researchers from Johns Hopkins on a study that will show that not all money pumped into Afghanistan was wasted. Some children now still have their moms around as a result.

That was the good part. But Sabera and her family are suffering a lot – her dad nearly lost his life in a kidnapping and did lose the use of his right hand in the process of defending himself against a fatal stabbing; a robbery cleared the house of beautiful carpets and a lot of cash, more than I can imagine losing. And if anyone was wondering why it wasn’t in the bank, remember the Kabul Bank mess; they lost all their money their first. Home banking seemed safer. It wasn’t, and nothing is really safer anywhere in Afghanistan.

Waking up in the morning she remarked how she has heard recordings of birds and waves and couldn’t believe that here at Lobster Cove what she heard was the real thing. We talked a lot about the peacefulness that she and countless Afghans are so desperately praying for.  I kept thinking how very unfair the world is. Sabera’s visit was a good reminder of the blessings that we so easily take for granted.

After dropping her off at the house of former colleagues on the way to Newburyport we travelled on to celebrate the 20^th anniversary of our friends Anne and Chuck’s first date. Axel gave a speech about that experience of being at the birth of a love affair that is still blossoming after all these years.

At each call from Western Massachusetts we jump up and think ‘is he coming?’ but then Sita has questions about raising asparagus and knitting and other ordinary things. I had put my money on May 20 but that day has come and gone. My countdown counter says 6 more days till baby Bliss.