Sylvia's Journal

Simmons’ College’s Center for Gender in Organizations puts on wonderful programs and whenever I am in the country I try to attend these sessions. And so yesterday, with a couple of colleagues, we traipsed off to the school of management over lunch time.

We were treated to a wonderful experiential session about the multiplicity of identities and power we hold by taking a closer look at ourselves and the dominant identities we have taken on or were born into.

Usually the narrative about women is about subordination. What I had not realized is that we, women and men, have so many identities, some we were born into (race, skin color, size and body type, sometimes religion), some we become automatically (older) and some we acquire (education, sometimes religion). The first task was to write down, without thinking too much, the identities we have and then see which jump out, and make them bold. Just realizing that this one is a dominant or subordinate one can be startling.

I wrote: grey-haired white female of Dutch descent, married, mother, nearly grandmother and then some smaller identities. The grey-haired jumped out and I got to explore a bit more about why it did.

In an paired sharing with someone we didn’t know we were asked to talk about an identity (or bundle of identities) that is/are dominant, how we felt when we didn’t get the entitlement we deserved, when we were called on being dominant. It brought back some painful but life changing experiences from an NTL course many years ago. And from my partner, a tall black man I learned something about profiling.

The exercise was both refreshing and a little sobering. As women (or any other minority) we are used to emphasize our subordinate identity. The presenters made a surprising statement: no matter how subordinate you feel in your life, everyone has at least one dominant identity – an abused wife still has dominance in her relationship with her kids when the husband is not around for example.

After work and picking up Axel we drove to Newburyport to see our friends Anne and Chuck who returned from a 5 week tour of friends, many of them Peace Corps buddies. It was their homage to 50 years of Peace Corps.

We attended a small fundraising event for a scholarship fund for Mexican kids and I ‘won’ a gift certificate for the restaurant in which the auction was held, which we used right away.

Our friends run a B&B in Newburyport and we got to stay in the Sorrento room, looking out over the Merrimack River.

The cortisone effect on the shoulder is not obvious, ‘pas evident’ as the French would say, but I am told to wait patiently – it takes a few days said today’s doctor, another one.

Last night we attended a lecture about the Manchester public library. Everyone there was over 50, maybe even 60 – I belonged to the younger crowd. We learned a lot about the library from a friend who picks stock during the day and is an architectural historian for fun in his spare time. He called our library ‘maybe the building with the most historical value in time.’ Such statements do open your eyes to things you took for granted.

Commissioned in the late 1800s by Jefferson Coolidge as a memorial to Manchester men who died during the civil war (a lot), a place for the survivors to rest their crutches and tell stories and a library. He told the stories about love lost that were hidden in carved and other details of the library that we had never paid attention to.

During the after-talk-social we learned of another library story about a marble bust of Lady Liberty that an electrician has put in the crawlspace underneath the library, so commanded by the then chief librarian. It’s a valuable statue, as it turned out when it was discovered when new wiring was put in place. The chief librarian wanted to get rid of the statue because youngsters kept putting gum on the exposed nipple and she was tired of cleaning it off.

Today I went for a very long walk along the Charles, having missed yesterday’s due to the rain. I was carefully observing how the pain in my ankle moved around the ankle, experimenting with walking on asphalt, grass and more uneven terrain, inclines up and inclines down.  When I re-counted the pain pattern under these various circumstances later to the foot doctor he said he wished he had an intern by his side – I had produced a teaching moment.

He showed me the osteoarthritis at my ankle joint on his computer screen (this is a doctor who spends as much time with his patients as is needed), the resulting inflammation and treatment options (not many). In the end I got another cortisone shot, this time in the ankle joint. We keep our fingers crossed that this will give some relief and reduce the inflammation.

The rains have driven many new asparagus out of their dark holes, enough to produce another dinner again this evening.

My last window for travel before grandbaby’s arrival remains open despite a few nibbles for trips to places as far apart as the Ukraine and St. Vincent. But preparation time is running out now and with this week being a short one in many countries of the world I am afraid the window will stay open until it closes on May 18.

Sita seems to be carrying a bit lower but that may be wishful thinking – although she did admit that breathing has become a little easier. She and Jim played with the rest of the Bunwinkies in Portland and Belfast – baby coming or not, the band plays on.

I spent a good part of the morning watching lots of videos of health leaders from all continents and both sexes, young and old, speak about their leadership journeys. I had been searching for clips that would be a good alternative to middle aged white American males speaking about leadership to people who looked very much like them. I found this wonderful collection at a website a friend pointed me to.

In the afternoon Axel accompanied me to see the shoulder doctor.  We are making a habit of going together to see doctors as we discovered that together we understand more and ask more.  The doctor nixed the calcific tendonitis hypothesis (already disproved by an X-ray) because the tendon in which the calcification would have happened is no longer attached to the muscle (or rotator cuff?) – a miracle the doctor could not accomplish then and not now. My rotator cuff will remain traumatized until he does something a lot more drastic. He agreed that I was too young for that and sent in his assistant to give me a cortisone shot. I am still very sore but was told to expect that as such shots tend to make things worse before they get better. I am expecting another bad night that will require the help of some chemicals before being able to move my arm freely and painlessly again.

We ended the day with another Flemish asparagus meal – a Dutch variation with American asparagus that has the wrong color. The new shoots keep coming up fast and furiously. Today we harvested 20  and another 10 or so are already waiting in the wings. The asparagus bed was a gift from friends right after we crashed; a gift that has been giving ever since.

The trip to Bangladesh and back is already a faint memory – such is the blessing of forgetting unpleasantness. I arrived back in springy New England; amazing what changes occurred in just a week.

Axel had a full social agenda planned for me – a dinner with friends at the local country club to spent their end-of-year restaurant balance (use it or lose it). We were in the company of –as my mother used to call them – ‘the happy few;’ many also there with friends to do the same. It was like a sociology field trip and me the participant observer. I watched well-permed grandmas with their adult children and their young boys in blue blazers and pressed chino pants, the girls in pretty dresses.

Because of the many other grandmas eating there regularly, I suspect, the menu contained for most entrees the choice of a whole or half portion. I like that and did order a half so I would have room for a dessert. I started with a martini, my first serious alcoholic drink since our Ayurvedic cleansing. I drank it ever so slowly.

On Friday I was back on my physical therapy schedule (ankle) and resolved to get rid of bad shoes and invest in some sturdy footwear. So far the miraculous effect of this investment has not materialized and a long walk with Tessa, Axel and dogs left me crippled.

Saturday proved too windy for flying with Bill, at least for me, and so he went alone. It was not too windy for yard work. Axel planted the potatoes and I pulled out the perennials that gone wild. The asparagus are poking through the soil in increasing numbers and the garlic is looking good.

Last night we went to Waring for the annual junior class auction that is to generate enough funds to send the whole 11th grade class to France for a month. This is probably the most significant of Waring’s coming-of-age rituals where kids test their ability to speak French in France, sketch monuments and vistas and drink too much wine. The dinner theme was ‘Diner en Blanc’ which made for a festive white and gauzy appearance. Axel wore his Afghan outfit, the same he wore for Sita and Jim’s wedding – I wore what can best be called a ‘mother-of-the-bride’ ensemble which made me realize I have become my mother. Eventually we all do.

Today looks like another gardening day.

I am sitting in front of a sprig of quince blossoms, a gift from someone with an oriental eye for beauty, and a small vase with tulips and bleeding hearts, a gift from another whose life is all about gardens. Outside the birds are wide awake, blending their chirps into an unscripted morning jubilation.

More and more asparagus are poking through the soil. We are watching them like hawks because the asparagus beetle has already announced itself and it can dash our hopes of an abundant harvest. A cup with soapy water stands in the corner, waiting for the ennemy.

I am done with the Ayurvedic cleanse. We are instructed to add more variety to our diets, like one does with a baby trying out new foods, slowly and one at a time. The consumption of animal protein caused a reaction right away and makes me wonder how badly I need that. Alcohol is off limits for another week.  Luckily I am going to the land of rice and dhal and no tradition of alcohol. Such a diet suits me fine.

Sita was sitting in the yard sunning herself and reading about childbirth when I came home from work. She asked about my first delivery. I realized I could remember very little – such is the thing with painful experiences: the mind stuffs these into spiderwebfilled corners, far from our RAM. And so I pulled out my diary, book number one of many which contained a letter written to a friend, a faded copy of a typed epistel – a blow by blow account. I read it aloud, translating from Dutch as I went along. It was not the beautiful experience it was supposed to be, but life changing nevertheless. I think Sita is realistic enough to know that labour is indeed hard work.

I started to pack last night – trying to fit everything in a small suitcase that can be carried on or checked. I will only be in Bangladesh for 5 days, the other 4 days are travel, both long and straight through. My weak right arm argues for checking, the fact that the suitcase has to be transferred in Amsterdam and then Dubai argues for carrying.

I dreamt last night that I couldn’t find my ticket – my mind is still a bit behind the times, thinking that without a paper ticket one cannot get on a plane. I finally went to the airport trying to find out from some eastern European ladies on high heels when the next flight to Dhaka was. They were standing behind a high counter that forced them to bend over to be able to address their customers. The one who was helping me fainted and so I never got the answer. I am pretty sure I was about to miss the direct flight from Manchester by the sea, or wherever the dream took place, to Dhaka.

Axel opted out of the spring cleanse when his old-time friend Chris arrived from Long Island– he couldn’t imagine not having a beer with him and besides, Abi, our cleansing coach, had written to all of us that we should be gentle on ourselves and so he was. Today he abandoned the whole thing in favor of baked ham, more beer, wine and what not. So he will cleanse another time. I decided to stick with it which wasn’t all that difficult. Two years Afghanistan makes it easy to forego a glass of wine or beer.

And while we were celebrating new beginnings and hope and love, Kabul was under attack, another one of those complex attacks with people blowing themselves and others up all over the city. We received emails from friends that they are in lockdown and OK.

We had Ted from SOLA and two of the Afghan students over – both taking some time off from studying – to come celebrate spring with us on this glorious spring day. And then one by one our dearest friends arrived bringing flowers, food and each other. Sita joined us, giving everyone a chance to see her in her very pregnant state.

We sat outside until the sun went down and then moved inside to sit by the fire, watching the second half of an Agatha Christie movie. We seem to be unable to make it through one whole movie in one evening anymore these days.

We are four days into our Ayurvedic spring cleaning and I am feeling great. Except for the lengthy morning preparations it has not been very difficult. I imagine that my cold and sinus congestion, which started on day two and left me feeling poorly and tired, was over in two days because of my clean living.

My trip to Afghanistan has been cancelled, and with that my chances of going back there reduced to close to zero, at least for the foreseeable future. Some people would think that this is cause for relief and joy but for me it is disappointing. I had looked forward to seeing friends and colleagues. I also had wanted to do a final distribution of clothing and packing up what I left behind. I was in the budget for four trips – hence the stuff I left behind. I had imagined travelling with carryon only.

Within hours of this cancellation a replacement trip offered itself, this time to Kenya for some HR work.  I said yes as long as I would be back a good 10 days before our grandson is expected to arrive. That could be arranged. And so, in the end my travel schedule has not changed, just one of the destinations.

And now we are getting ready for our annual spring ritual, our Greek Easter celebration, where we enjoy the company of our best friends against the backdrop of new green and flowering trees. We celebrate many things at this time of year: our 32 years of marriage, the lucky circumstance of our meeting (35 years ago) and new beginnings, especially the imminent arrival of Sita and Jim’s son.

Last night I accompanied Axel to a friend’s house for a cooking and information class about Ayurvedic self care. Our friend is the one who has been massaging our sore and traumatized limbs and bodies since July 2007. While we were away in Afghanistan she took classes in Ayurveda, an ancient approach to life and health.

And so last night we learned about the doshas, their elements and attributes: vata (air and ether), pitta (fire and water) and kapha (earth and water). It’s ancient, complicated and endlessly fascinating. Since Axel is in transition, weaning off all sorts of medicines, he had decided that this cleansing might be a good idea. Cleansing means removing foods from our diet – for awhile – that are not so good for us: alcohol, sugar, red meat, processed foods, dairy, shellfish and more and substituting them with foods and spices that are decidedly Indian: pulses, rice, vegetables, and all sorts of spices.

The staple food for the cleansing is a rice and lentils mixture that is cooked in ghee and enriched with spices and just about any vegetable you want. It is called kitchari. When I first looked up recipes I typed in ‘kedgeree’ and discovered that this is an English breakfast adaptation with fish, often with eggs, butter and whatever else was left over from the previous evening meal (this from before the days of refrigeration).

Curious about the history of that transformation I learned that not everyone believes that India informed the British kitchen: one source claims that the dish went from Scotland to India during the Raj time and then back to the UK.  Whatever way it went, the transformation remains mysterious.

An important aspect of the doshas is taste (sweet, bitter, sour, salty and astringent) and this informs the choice of spices and vegetables to add to the mixture. We were a little loose last night with the spices and produced a very yummy and spicy kitchari. As we sat down to eat the meal I realized that I was eating ‘shola,’ one of my favorite Afghan dishes. I had no idea our cooks, at work and at home, were offering us ayurvedic meals. Except for the oil and salt, used rather lavishly, our diet in Afghanistan is improving in our rear view mirror.

We have now successfully completed our first day of cleansing. Axel went cold turkey off beer and tea and me off chocolate. It’s only for a week so eventually we will be able to return to these eating habits. This is a relief as I just learned from a reputable medical journal that eating chocolate staves off stroke in older women.

We will celebrate Greek Easter because we were too busy on regular Easter. Without kids at home who demand colored eggs, an Easter basket with lots of chocolate, new clothes (a bonnet), we did not set our own course and drifted along on what others had arranged: a community ecumenical sunrise service at the beach (6:29 AM) and breakfast with cousins in Gloucester.

We got up at 5:30 AM, normal, even late for me, but way too early for Axel. We walked to the beach – a breathtaking walk with so much birdsong – and got there just when the service started and all the programs had been distributed. This left us without the plan for the service (no problem) and without the words to the hymns (big problem) – this meant that we had to la-la-la our way through the service, until a nice lady next to us noticed how lost we were without the words and kindly handed us her program.

There were lots of Allelujas and Praise-the-Lords. One of the pastors/ministers had us shout ‘Christ has Risen’ as loud as we could so we would wake up the people still sleeping in town. Of course, if it reached anyone at all, it would only be the very rich people whose houses border the beach. I suspect they may all have been there, or still in their winter homes in faraway cities. We couldn’t shout that loud.

Axel’s cousin N had prepared a wonderful breakfast for family members and we joined in the conversation, a little bit of gossip here and there and much adult talk that visibly bored the younger generation. We have become our parents!

And then we got into the car and drove with thousands of other people slowly into Boston and out again (what was that all about?) on our way to IKEA. This time we had put on our hiking shoes and we had a very focused mission: a fold out bed for the guestroom. The bunk beds that we have forced our overnights guests to sleep in are no longer OK. We have decided to move them out and replace them with a bed where people can sleep side by side.

So that is done now, it just needs to be carried up the stairs and assembled. For this we need a young man who has two functioning rotator cuffs. My physical therapist told me this morning that I may have calcific tendinitis and should ‘baby’ my shoulder and right arm for a few days. This is too bad. I love assembling and disassembling furniture.