Sylvia's Journal

After a last milking and feeding of the goats we erased all physical signs of our wonderful time at the farm, including the hair of four active dogs and drove off to Sita’s house about two hours south in 3 cars.

We stopped at the house to admire her handiwork in the garden and see the convalescing kitty Cortez. Sita and Jim’s cats are indoor cats and Cortez had escaped and had a bad encounter with a car. We all thought he was going to die – but cats are resilient and the vets helped for a sizeable chunk of cash. Cortez’ shaven tail still looks like rat’s tail and he walks a bit funny but he is clearly on the mend.

As a parting activity we had organic and locally produced roadside food near a farmer’s market and then Steve headed north again for his last days of work at the farm and we, Tessa, Axel, myself and the two dogs, headed east for two hour ride to Lobster Cove.

The rest of the day consisted of goodbyes to dear friends, cocktails here, dinner there during which we invariably have to touch the subject of what next. The immediate ‘next’ is a return to Kabul without Axel, a difficult prospect.

The weather yesterday was very much like my mood – wild swings – from sunny and warm to squalls, rain storms, thunder and lightning, and even, 90 miles west of us, a killer tornado. I revel in the warm summer weather and then get all depressed when I see the warning on my delta reservation that my trip is only 6 days off. I want to hold on to the days so they move slowly but they slip by too fast while we try to do everything we can with friends and family, enjoying ourselves and vacationing.

I try not to think about the possibility that I will return alone – it is sitting like some undigested nut in the pit of my stomach. Today we will know whether Axel comes back with me or not.

After a thunder and lightning storm squall had passed over our town in the early morning, we were ready to execute a plan that we cooked up the night before of a kayak trip through the Audubon park in Ipswich and Topsfield. But first we had to sort out the challenging logistics of getting four people, two cars without roof racks and four kayaks to two different places (one upstream, one downstream). We started our slow paddle down the Ipswich River at 12:30.

For more than three hours we paddled lightly and leisurely down the river, carried sometimes by the current and a cool breeze. Except for two other humans in a canoe, with a blue-eyed Siberian Husky, we were alone with nature and ourselves.

We admired the yellow and blue irises, yellow water lilies, grey and white herons, red-winged blackbirds, frogs, and even a beaver sticking its head out of the water to see who was coming. I missed the dead fish eating water snake that grossed Tessa out so much that she didn’t dare to stick her feet in the water anymore after that. Suffice to say we did not swim.

Sore from paddling for that long we dashed off to Boston to see the Dale Chihuly exhibit at the FMA – a dazzling display of glass blowing mastery and colors.

We celebrated Tessa’s graduation and the couple’s engagement at the Melting Pot with various fondues – Mexican cheese, Bourguignon and finally chocolate – violating all the strict rules I had learned in my childhood about cheese fondue:
1. There is only one kind made with Emmenthaler and Gruyere
2. There can be nothing else on the menu (Bourguignon was another meal for another day and I had never even heard of chocolate fondue)
3. It has to be stirred in one direction only (8 shape) on medium heat until the cheese dissolves smoothly into the white wine.
4. You can only drink white wine with cheese fondue
5. Dessert can only be slices of canned pineapple served in their own liquid and with a splash of Kirschwasser.

I never had dared to find out what would happen if you violated these rules but the punishment (having to throw out the fondue because the melted cheese would not dissolve into a smooth mass or large balls of congealed cheese in your stomach causing unbearable pain) was enough to discourage me. But now I know. Another myth shattered.

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Today was doctor/dentist day for Axel. We consulted with the infectious diseases specialist, on the suggestion of the allergy doctor he saw last week. Just to rule out something that could be fixed with a good dose of antibiotics.

This hope that there might be a pharmaceutical solution to Axel’s troubles was dashed. We might have known. The infectious diseases doctor practiced in a suite called ‘Lifestyle Management.’ What he prescribed was a lifestyle change: remove yourself from Kabul and all its airborne pollutants.

He added that if Axel would return and stay in Kabul long enough he might do some permanent damage to his lungs. I thought of all the people who will stay there long enough for that and who don’t have the luxury of going someplace else.

There is one more doctor to consult, the pulmonary specialist. If he too believes that one more dose of Kabul may be too much for Axel’s lungs he will stay here in Manchester. I am already preparing myself psychologically for the next few months on my own in Kabul. Yuchh!

And so we were a little down because of this prospect and the fact that I am halfway through my vacation. The reservation for my return trip has been made and countdown has started. We are packing in as much vacation as we can for the next 7 days.

Today was Memorial Day which, in Manchester, is a standard ritual that Axel wouldn’t want to miss for the world. He rushed down to catch the memorial throwing of flowers in the ocean to honor the fallen navy heroes; then some coffee and on to the big event at the main cemetery for the remaining military branches.

I caught up with him, on foot, and marveled at the simple pleasure of walking freely and in peace. Such a treat.

Somewhere in between the usual halting recitation by a high school student of the Gettysburg Address (poppies in Flanders Field), wreath laying, 3 gun salutes, and the school band’s rendering of the national anthem we listened to a most wonderful keynote address about the refining of silver as a metaphor for burning off imperfections and seeing one’s face mirrored clearly in the molten silver – about God’s refining fire and taking care of our veterans. I am not doing it any justice right now.

We decided that the speech could have veered off in the wrong direction but it didn’t and we were spell-bound by the stories that brought the metaphor to life.

On our way back we visited family- Manchester is a small town and one cannot simply walk past the open windows of relatives. It took us the entire morning to walk back home.
In the afternoon we visited friends in neighboring towns, delivered gifts and made plans for my birthday party in Holland, later this year. It was a day of visiting, of being family and friends.

I woke up early to see the remains of the party. Not all that bad – I have seen worse. Someone was sleeping by the fire on the beach and someone else on our couch. Steve’s mom and sister had left for Toronto, a very long drive, before anyone was up and left a note. We didn’t get to say goodbye.

I finished most of what was left of the French cheese platter for breakfast, something I came to regret. French cheese is one of these things that I dream about in Afghanistan but my stomach isn’t quite used to that kind of rich food anymore.

Sita and Jim took off next to attend the funeral of their sister-in-law’s dad who died in a car accident, too young, too painful. They left dressed in mourning clothes on a beautiful spring morning.

The few people who had spent the night woke up and left, one by one, and we started the clean up. At 9:30 AM, as used to be my routine, I biked to Quaker meeting but not after having washed the squirrel debris off my bicycle and pumping new air into the flat tires.

The bike ride to Quaker meeting is always meditative and used to be an integral part of my religious practice before we moved to Kabul. I needed that half hour badly after the disappointing news that my request for a few days of leave to attend Rutger and Payal’s monsoon wedding in July in Kerala (India), had been denied. I forced myself to count my blessings and be cool about it.

In meeting we found just a handful of people. It is Memorial Day weekend and Americans tend to go places. One hour of silence is what I needed although I could never quite keep my thoughts from racing then this way, then that. I have too much on my mind – the forced stillness was good but also ineffective. There was no communing with God as I had hoped.

Axel and I, accompanied by the happy young couple and their two dogs, went for a long walk through Ravenswood where nature offered all its springtime treasures for our viewing pleasure: Lady Slippers, wild Irises, pre-bloom Trillium, frogs, mosses, tiny Sassafras saplings, Reishi mushrooms and more. Tessa and I clicked away to catch each on camera – for her to work into art one day and for me to treasure back in hot and dry Kabul.

Afterwards we went to Downriver Ice Cream, run by our friends the Ahearns, and gorged ourselves on double scoops of Big Mug, O’ Snap, Orange Creamsicle, Deer Tracks, Snail Trails and River Runs Through It – all variations on cream, chocolate, cookies and sugar syrups.

Having satisfied our craving for ice cream we fulfilled our filial duties by planting geraniums, an annual ritual that we missed last year, at the Magnuson graves. The ancestors are now presentable again, their grave sites neat and colorful for the Memorial Day festivities across the street from the Cemetery.

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The day slowly transformed from promising cold to the sunny summer day that makes Lobster Cove the best place for a party. Tessa got to have her friends over to celebrate her graduation and we got to have our friends over to do that too and welcome us back. It feels as if we never left. It is good to be home.

Around sunset Steve gathered everyone on the beach and positioned himself on a rock to give a speech. This is not your typical behavior for someone who likes to blend into the backdrop. Some of us knew what was coming but Tessa did not. He popped the question in the same breath with which he congratulated her on her graduation.

Tessa’s incredulous face, the tears, the hugs, then the ring, all was put on tape and many of us pinked away some tears. It was all so very romantic and beautiful, against the backdrop of the setting sun, the cove and her dearest friends and family standing in a circle around her. More hugs, more tears. Not everyone heard her say yes, but she did.

Within minutes Sita had alerted facebook from her iPhone about her sister’s engagement, accompanied by a picture of her very surprised sister. Tessa then changed her status to make it official. Facebook rules!

We’ve done well as parents – it takes a long time before you can say this – one married, a home owner and financially independent from us; the other a bachelor in the fine art of graphic design.

We watched beaming with pride as Tessa strode among the 62 other Montserrat graduates to the podium on her 5 inch heels and in her disposable black gown and cap to receive her diploma. She was one of 6 with high honors, her name marked with two asterisks in the program. Yeah for Tessa!

Sitting on the deck of one of our favorite restaurants in Gloucester, we celebrated her accomplishment by ordering a sushi boat – one of those things I often fantasized about in Kabul but totally out of our reach over there.

Afterwards we strolled along Bearskin Neck and touched all the jewelry pieces in several stores before landing in Corey’s workshop where Tessa hangs out a lot to shoot the breeze and admire his wonderful paintings – several of which she has already acquired over the last few years.

Back home Axel pulled out the kayaks, it was that kind of summer evening, and paddled across the full cove, breathing in the salty sea air that we so miss in Kabul.

Still somewhat jet-lagged I retired early just as the first part of the two day long party was starting.

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