Sylvia's Journal

For nearly a year we have been invited to attend a monthly meditation session led by the husband of my future flight instructor (if ever I am around long enough to benefit from instruction and have enough money saved to buy a quart of a plane).

And so this morning we finally went. We joined a group that has been meeting for many years, some since 2004.  Yet the meditation sessions John led us through were fresh and new to everyone it seemed.  In one morning we learned to control our breathing and heartbeat and made everything go into slow motion – it was a very liberating experience – to know one can do this, to know one can slow things down when the world is spinning too fast.

In the afternoon we started cleaning the garden – this turned out to be a bit difficult for two people with right rotator cuff problems – no raking or anything that required a functional right shoulder.  Still I managed to clean out the asparagus bed and cover the tops of the new shoots with a layer of rich soil that should make for some fabulous Flemish dinners in a month or so.

All day I read and wrote about the Paris Declaration, country ownership, donor harmonization and such. It is a fascinating topic. Seven years ago a process got set in motion to reform foreign aid, the way it is given, the way it is processed, the way it is received and the way money is turned into progress. Now, all these years and several big conferences later there is some progress, some regress and some standstill. I am trying to understand the reasons for all three in the hope that we can distill some messages that are practical and hopeful.

I am learning a lot from these readings. One thing I learned is that it is important to know the author(s) of the report cards – as the saying goes, our findings tend to follow our lookings. I also learned that foreign aid is a 220 (or so) billion industry. Sixty percent of that comes from the wealthy economies, the longtime and traditional donors. Of the rest a little more than half comes from philanthropists, corporate foundations, individuals and NGOs and the remainder from emergent economies. This is, by the way, exactly the same amount mentioned on a Prudential billboard I drive by every day as the total value of its holdings of retirement monies – a coincidence or what?

I started the day with an early morning walk amongst Lobster Cove and Smith Point’s many birds, flowering trees and magnificent views. This treat was followed by another treat, my weekly massage by Abi who tried in vain to uplift my painful shoulder, leading to a decision to resume physical therapy. The rest of the day I worked hard, learning and writing, so I could go to another treat in the evening: a concert by Zoe Lewis at Club Passim.

Zoe, a virtuoso in storytelling, improv, songwriting, poetry, keyboard, ukulele, harmonica, guitar, penny whistle, singing (all sorts of traditions) and foot stomping (some of these at the same time) was accompanied by other virtuoso like Alison’s Mark on the clarinet, a young harmonica player and another singer/songwriter/guitarist who opened for her. It was a delightful evening in a historic place – photos of young Dylan and Baez decorated the walls – this is where much music history of my generation was made. I finally made it there, only 30 miles away from our house.

I have a new office mate. We are getting to know each other. The first thing I discovered about her is that she admitted she doesn’t like clutter. Having been alone in that office for some time I had cluttered up even her side of the room with all sorts of African tchotchkies that I wasn’t quite ready to part with. Now they are all in a bag underneath my desk, awaiting their destiny. I think it will be another round of give-aways.

At first I was afraid that we weren’t well matched on other things as well but that turned out to be wrong. She lived in Holland for 13 years and understands and speaks some Dutch, and loves my country, its food and its people. She also has many years of experience in Africa and worked with organizations and people I know.

Today we went on an hour long walk along the Charles River, enjoying the warm spring weather, the daffodils that someone (the city?) planted along the river and the flowering trees that line the river. Walking like that for several miles is easy and wonderful, and good for my stiff ankle and bad shoulder. For once it was a near painless experience, maybe because of the distraction of conversation and the fun of starting a new friendship.

Yesterday was all about money, some big for us, some big for the town. First there was the signing of our new mortgage which got us the lowest rate ever just the day after interest rates are going up. For once we are lucky on that front. It will shave a few 100 dollars of our payments to the bank each month and thousands off the interest we are paying. We hope this is the last time we have to do this. Fifteen years from now we should be the proud owners of our house. We will be in or close to our eighties.

The annual town meeting took place in the elementary school gym. Years ago I had to sit on the bleachers where the non-voting members of the public have to sit. That was before I became an American citizen. Now I could vote.  The annual town meeting is a highly choreographed form of democracy with lots of rules that are either law, Roberts’ rules or the veteran town moderator’s established ways of keeping things moving, people in line and the input limited.

One item on the warrant that did not pass was a classic example of the proposers not having done their homework (or at least most of them – some had), polarizing viewpoints rather than finding the common ground that, I am sure, is there. It pits one group (historical preservation) against another (wealthy home owners) in a needlessly confrontational way that obscures the common good behind self interest. Too bad.

We quietly left the meeting when item 18 (of 29) was up for vote, because it was, after all, a school night, with the next day my first day in the office in nearly 2 months.

The ride to work is easier now, leaving in the semi-dark and arriving in full daylight – it makes the commute slightly easier. I discovered I am sharing my office now with a new arrival. It feels a little cramped.

Tessa had bought 144 tiny plastic babies, among other things, to liven up Sita’s baby shower. There were origami papers to make cranes, playdough for a juried contest for the best playdough baby, tiny white buckets with airplants as party favors, and more. She has a future as a party organizer.

The cats were sequestered in one room, Tessa’s dogs in another, smelling each other but not allowed any contact as that would have meant fireworks.

Sita and Jim unpacked a mountain of gifts, with baby clothes that could satisfy the needs of an entire orphanage.

Axel’s trip to Nigeria is now all arranged. We had hoped he could travel via Amsterdam and stock up on cheese and licorice on the way back but instead he will fly via Frankfurt. Sausage is not allowed into the US, unfortunately.

Between re-financing our mortgage, rotator cuff physical therapy and trip preparations we have hardly seen each other all day. This time two suitcases are open on our bedroom floor, a strange sight.

It is more complicated when both of us our out at the same time. This calls for much more planning, especially on Axel’s part who is the usual caretaker.

We had dinner last night at Woody’s, a delicious wild salmon and Californian spinach that was a cross between spinach and arugula. During the cocktail hour I sat hunched over by the woodstove and eating too much cheese.

It had been another one of these very long days and I was suddenly looking forward to be in a plane for 15 hours – imagine that!

The days just before a trip out, especially a month long trip that includes assignments in three different countries, is like white water rafting, the exciting part of it. I do remember the still eddies on the side but they now are nowhere to be found. I make long days, leaving the house at 5:30 and returning more than 12 hours later. This will continue for a while.

We can now both be found at MSH – Axel talking with the Nigeria folks and I with the South Africa folks – we are both excited about our assignments that are complex and challenging – we like it that way.

Last night Sita took us out to an Afghan restaurant in Cambridge. It was one of her many Christmas presents. She was in Cambridge to work with Harvard on a design for some event that needs her expertise – not just her scribing expertise but also her increasingly deep knowledge of how groups can best come to good and joint decisions that are intended to make the world a better place. After all these years it looks like her and my mission in life are closing in on each other.

This was the first time we ate in an Afghan restaurant that was not in Afghanistan. We now know all the dishes and could compare them to those we had often, either in the MSH office kitchen or in our own guesthouse kitchen. We also noticed how the dishes were Americanized and concluded that this was not an improvement. For one the servings were much too large and so we returned with a doggie bag that was sufficient to provide several meals in the coming days.

The other part of Americanization was of course the wall covered with wine racks and the hard liquoir cabinet. One does what one has to do. We ordered a beer, mom and dad only, as Sita is a very disciplined expectant mom who doesn’t drink any alcohol and stays away from runny cheeses. We are very proud of her.

I am sitting in the orange room with its Chinese brocade curtains, next to the lime green room with its thousands of instruments, which is next to the pink-walled dining room which is next to the mustard green hallway and the turquoise kitchen. Oh and we slept in green-blue room next to the pink bathroom. And we admired the pistachio baby room that is starting to get ready to receive the little tyke a few months hence.

We are at Sita and Jim’s house in Easthampton – a riot of colors, instruments and things that once were part of our households (in Senegal, in New York, in New York, in West Newbury, in Manchester and in Kabul) – a museum of eclectic living one could call it.

After taking a walk with one daughter and our two granddogs in Ravenswood park, we headed west to be with the other daughter, now 6 months pregnant. We are beginning to ease into our new role as grandparents – I already love it.

The end of the week was marked by a series of intense conversations, some that left me deflated and discouraged and other that lifted me up and gave me hope. It is amazing how radically one’s outlook can change through words strung together in conversation – head down after one and head up after the other.

These talks are all related, in one way or another, to our pre-retirement future; a still very long way forward that is entirely uncharted. This stands in sharp contrast to our lives pre-Afghanistan, when the path was rather straight.

After a yummy Japanese dinner with more sushi than was good for us, in busy downtown Northampton, we delivered the paper goods Axel acquired in Japan, cluttering our daughtes’ houses up and uncluttering ours. I also delivered the first of many knitted baby clothes.

The first grade luck ticket Axel got in Japan has done its work already. Axel and I will both be leaving for Africa next Saturday, he via Amsterdam to Abuja and I via Atlanta () to Jo’burg. Axel has been hired by my organization to help one project write its final report. At one point I had considered applying for a job there. Now Axel can check the place out for himself. We did take note of all the security notices about Nigeria – nothing new after Afghanistan, but disturbing nevertheless. Al Quaeda, in one form or another, is everywhere. Killing the boss of a network doesn’t kill the network, nor does it gets at any of the conditions that feed it.