Sylvia's Journal

Last year I looked wistfully at pictures of Tessa’s birthday beach party, an annual event, on facebook, while sitting at my little China-made desk in my bedroom of house 33 in Karte seh in Kabul, Afghanistan.

I saw pictures that needed an explanation: people in weird poses on our kitchen floor, everyone with a headset on. Axel explained: this was silent disco; they were dancing to wicked good music. A friend of Tessa and Steve is a sought-after disc jockey on the Boston club scene. He graciously offered to come and DJ at her party last year, bringing lots of headsets so the neighborhood wouldn’t know that a disco party was going on. He did so again this year and I got to be in it rather than looking in from the outside.

Whoever came up with the silent disco idea is a genius. If you take your headset off there is no music. And so you can dance on loud music if you want, alone or with others, and if you want to have a conversation you simply take the headset off. I thought of our conversations yesterday about insights and innovation: someone made an “either/or” into an “and/and.” You can have your cake (loud music) and eat it too (have a conversation), AND all this without pissing off the neighbors.

Axel had been dreading the party a bit – in litigious America having 30 to 40 young people on your property, mix in much beer and stronger stuff that slips in unnoticed, along with random people you don’t know is a risky thing. Besides, his recliner is in the living room. Tessa responded very wisely to these concerns by telling her friends to bring a tent or sleeping bag and stay the night and not allowing strangers to tag along with friends, unless explicit permission was provided by her (in case of new partners).

By looking out of the window I can see, judging from the number of cars still on our property, that many heeded the suggestion of staying for the night. Those who left will miss out on one of the best experiences Lobster Cove can offer: waking up on a sunny Sunday morning and then have Tessa and Steve cook a hearty breakfast and eat it on the beach.

Tessa also had some strong young men take the recliner up to our bedroom. And so we are for the first time in nearly a month sleeping in the same room again. This vacated the living room and made it, with all the other rooms downstairs available for overnighters without a tent: there are couches and Afghan carpets, and, after a brief inspection this morning, there are people using them.

We did not last very long into the night – we are after all more than double the age of most – but we had a great time hanging out around the fire and then dancing with our head phones on. Our daughters have wonderful friends. They are in a stage of life where engagements, weddings and jobs are the subject of most conversations. There were serious talks about getting, having and leaving jobs, or mates for that matter; and wistful conversations about travelling (they had done, or wished they had done).

But they also wanted to know about us, with lots of questions about Axel’s arm in the sling, why the rotator cuff operation, why Afghanistan, the plane crash. Some were actually following my blog and knew a lot about our lives. At times Axel started to talk about something we did, and was greeted with the words, “oh, we know all about that already!” But some things don’t go in the blog and so there remains much to talk about.

It is Sunday morning now and, after a brief inspection of the after-party debris, I went back upstairs to reminisce about my 27^th summer which took place in Beirut, 33 years ago. I realized that some things don’t change. I too was in the middle of a transition then, of both jobs and mates and about to start on the trip of a life time, with Axel, to Afghanistan.

On Saturday morning, at dead low tide, Axel and I walked across the near empty cove to inspect whether the mussels that Roger and Axel had transplanted from Ipswich some two weeks ago, had settled into their new home. We found them happily sticking to rocks and each other. The experiment seems to have been successful and we are proud of our mussel heroes: they are tasked with repopulating the cove with their species. We are ready for phase II – another transplant.

The clear water allowed us to inspect the aquatic life in the cove. We saw new kinds of seaweeds, one that fills like a bladder when under water, with a bubble of air providing a bright contrast at the top of the green slimy thing. It’s everywhere now where three years ago there were none.

A kind of snail shell, maybe another variety of the hermit crab, is also more abundant than before and then there is the invading red algae that are choking some of the other seaweeds in the cove.

We were happy to see two small lobsters poking out from under a rock, menacingly raising their tiny claws up to us in a defensive attack stance. One medium sized crab walked across the bottom with a small squid under its arm – the large eye of the squid looking like a jewel on a white gown.  Unfortunately the crab met another crab without a squid and a deadly attack (for the squid) ensued. I could hear them screaming ‘It’s mine, I found it,” and “I want it and I am bigger than you so I will take it away.”

Hordes of little hermit crabs converged around the fighters. They knew that in the end they would be the winners, catching the shreds from the poor squib that was torn into pieces as each crab was trying to gobble up as much of the squid. Soon there would be nothing left to fight over.  We left the crabs to themselves and headed back to shore for a breakfast of freshly picked Swiss chard mixed in with freshly laid eggs from a nearby chicken farm. Life is good and about to get even better.

For more than a decade my work took places in the interstices of three states of mind: purpose, passion and playfulness. I had a faded yellow post-It Note with these three words on the cork board in my office. I threw it out when I packed up for Afghanistan, now nearly three years ago. I threw it out because I needed no reminding – in my work I attended to all three, automatically.

Little did I know that I would lose this approach to my work. I lost the passion (mostly because a change in the nature of my work); I lost a sense of purpose because the enormity of the task and the complexity of the environment in which we worked with its countless tradeoffs between getting work done and maintaining relationships; and there was little room for playfulness – I tried in my first year but could not find allies. Playfulness and war zones don’t go together.

I now look back on my return to the US and to headquarters and realize I was deeply depressed because, maybe, I had lost these three anchors. I was depressed (now obvious but not then), highly vulnerable and found myself in an environment that approached depression with the exhortation: ‘get over it and be positive.’  A windowless office did not help. All it did was produce more tears.

For the last 9 months, starting about the time that Sita got pregnant, I have been looking. Now she has a baby but I still come up empty. Luckily that baby makes up for much of the unhappiness I have been experiencing but I am still looking for that corner to round and find my lost anchors.

Yesterday I was asked by a colleague in Washington to take her place at an event in the Boston area with the Society for Organizational Learning (SOL). It was a small intimate affair with Peter Senge of Learning Organization fame, Charlie Kiefer of Innovation Associates and people from the Foodlab and RIOS involved in global change efforts.

I had to dislodge myself on a beautiful afternoon from Lobster Cove, with Axel and Peter deeply immersed in holiday making on the beach, to drive 45 minutes away from the ocean to the Doubletree Hotel off route 3. I am glad I did. It was worth it.

A session on how do we get insights was both affirming and a wake up call; meeting the folks who are doing things that are even more complex than working in Afghanistan (reframing the electrical grid, the way food arrives on our table, lifting thousands of villages in the Philippines out of deep and grinding poverty) gave me hope and inspiration – there are 1000s of people around the world who are deeply committed to making the world a better place; a handful were in the room. I saw a glimmer of my own passion and purpose, still not within reach, but re-appearing like stars at dusk.

We are experiencing the chaos and messiness of a summer with friends, our own, Tessa’s and Sita’s. There is much sand in the house. There are empty and half finished beer bottles everywhere and all the towels are trying to dry in the great humidity of the season. It requires some lowering of standards but it is worth it to me. I often think about last year when Axel lived this life here while I was counting days in Kabul. It’s good to be home.

Axel still sleeps in the recliner, after several failed attempts to return to his own bed at night. Last night I kept him company on the couch, after having ceded our bedroom to Faro and his parents – I do anything to have them stay another day. The guestroom is occupied by Axel’s Beirut housemate, Peter, who is here for a two day visit from England.

I went back to work this week, sort of. Monday was Tessa’s birthday with an impromptu pre-birthday party (the big one is this Saturday) and Axel and me paying attention to car matters. I still drive Axel around although he is itching to climb behind the wheel now. This dependency thing is not so great after a while.

The fourth, a midweek holiday, we spent mostly with Sita and Faro. Sita and Jim dropped one ‘r’ from his name so he is no longer named after a grain.  Faro is Portuguese for beacon I gather, or headlight (phares in French).  People ask about the spelling. He is not a Pharaoh.

I missed the 4^th of July town parade because I was having quality time with Faro – an easy choice. We partook in the annual lunch at a friend’s house and then joined Sita, Faro and Jim are his other grandparents’ house for more baby-holding, cooing and feeding.

Faro now eats, or rather drinks like a wolf and is visibly gaining weight, his ribs no longer ending in a hollow lower belly and not protruding as much as they did a week ago. He is still nursing but it seems that the formula is his predominant source of food now.  This means we can all pitch in with the feeding and give Sita some well-deserved rest. He received a Grateful Dead teeshirt with Peace, Love and Lobstah icons on the belly. If he keeps up the drinking he may wear this before the winter.

Last night Faro went to his first rock concert – a band at Castle Hill played Rolling Stonesque music while we kept the mosquitoes and ear wicks at bay. I imagine that next year he would find the concert more interesting. We watched one and two-year olds frolicking on picnic blankets and having a good time. Faro declined the sandwiches–sur-l’herbe and was happy with milk, from whatever source. After that he looked around him with big eyes, everything is new and full of wonder. Did he hear the music? I wondered.

We have decided to accompany Sita on her first work outing, to Bellagio (Italy) no less. I am busy negotiating with Italians about renting a place to stay in early September. More and more people want to come along – not surprising once you start looking at the pictures of Lake Como and surroundings.

A full week of vacation, with nary a look into my Outlook in box – this is unchartered territory. I loved it. Although the week was full of rain and overcast skies, vacation it remained and included some spectacular meals, good company and a little too much wine.

Wednesday evening our house guest cooked a Bolognese dinner that required some extra mouths. They arrived as if summoned. Our new neighbors showed up with a box full of chocolates right after dinner and shared with us their plans for the house. To our great relief they are not tearing it down although the renovations and additions will probably produce some construction noise during this summer. The only summers without construction noise were the ones we missed.

Thursday we cruised the Essex River and landed on a sand bank for a light lunch followed by a swim until the sand bank disappeared. In the evening we had cocktails at Tessa’s tiny deck, followed by a Rudder dinner in Gloucester where Steve joined us.

Friday was for forgotten vacation projects, a last chance. I removed the runner that Rita (from Rwanda) and I braided many years ago, removed the dog hairs on the back and stitched back together the loose strands. We had one pair of Sita’s in laws over for cocktails and sat outside until the mosquitoes took over the place. We had our first corn of the year, not quite local, and more scallops and shrimps, a summer meal that I can repeat over and over again.

And now it is Saturday and we are going to see our grandchild again, after two weeks. That will be the grand finale of my vacation week.

Tessa had given Axel a surprise Father’s Day and Birthday gift: a ticket to the Beach Boys concert on Boston harbor – a trip down memory lane, even more so for him than for me. We were there with hundreds of other baby boomers, but also children and grandchildren of baby boomers – a truly intergenerational event.

Our memories of BB songs ran along separate lines – by the time we met the BB had faded into the background, so we had no ‘our song,’ as undoubtedly some of the other boomers had.  Axel’s  memories were Californian indeed while mine were of an entirely different Dutch variety. What did I know of surfing, little Deuce Coupes and California girls – half a world away?

This morning we went to MGH for Axel’s first post-op visit. We didn’t get to see the top doctor, he does the surgery – his assistants and fellows do the rest. We received the pictures of what the surgeon found inside Axel’s shoulder: a tear, a loose flap and arthritis; the first two were fixed, the latter was not, could not. The source of his acute pain prior to the operation was clear and has been mostly removed. The doctors considered his progress better than average and told him he can start physical therapy tomorrow and only keep the sling on for another two weeks. They also recommended he keep sleeping in the recliner for another 2 weeks. Things are looking up!

This evening we met our new neighbors. We like them. They are not going to tear down the house and build a McMansion. We are very grateful.

Our kitchen was built, as part of a whole house remodeling/repair, nearly 20 years ago. And so we are learning about the life span of things as once by one pieces of our kitchen are falling apart. It is now the turn of the refrigerator which appears to be in its death throes. A loud rattling sound resonates throughout the house as the poor thing is trying to keep its cool.

And so Axel and I went on a refrigerator hunt, first on the internet and then by car. It was not a great way to spend a precious vacation day but it was urgent enough, what with summer coming and refrigerators not something you have wrapped up at the checkout counter and put on your car roof. We heard about a 10 day delivery wait and keep our fingers crossed.

With the rains we have not had to water our garden and window boxes much but it has been disappointing to our visitors who are anxious to be in and around the cove like we did on Sunday. Yesterday’s dreary morning weather indicated a trip to the nail salon where my sister and I had our toes painted and our feet massaged. For the planned cocktail party (“meet the sister and brother-in-law”) the weather changed after an entire day of rain. We enjoyed a glorious evening outside, drinking GTs until the mosquitoes chased us in.

Axel is still sleeping in the recliner downstairs. I have moved off the couch and have swapped my single-occupied king size bed for the full-sized one in the guestroom with our visitors who needed a bit more space. Axel is hesitant to try flat-sleeping again after two failed attempts last week.

Every day we are hearing stories from people who, either themselves or someone they knew, had a rotator cuff operation. Some reports are decidedly discouraging (two months sleeping in a recliner has been the most terrifying of them all). And so I have settled into the room that first belonged to Axel (in his youth), then Sita and then Tessa (in their youth). It is small and cozy, and best of all, it looks out on the cove.

It has had Barbie dolls hanging by their necks from the ceiling, a witchcraft shrine, and purple walls (1993). Now it is painted in a subdued olive color with cream trim. The paint streaks on the hardwood floor are a reminder of Tessa’s artistic expressions. It’s a room full of creative and happy free spirits.

It is summer, really summer; the kind of timeless summer weather with swimming in a not too cold sea, rowing, kayaking (all possible with a less than perfect rotator cuff – mine, not Axel’s), seafood, picnics sitting with our legs dangling over the large granite blocks that make up one of many picturesque new England harbors; and my sister visiting with her husband. And vacation.

Last year at this time I had returned to Kabul without Axel. Kabul was painfully in our conscience this weekend with the attack on the Spooghmay resort on lake Qargha. We had spent some time there on a quiet Friday during Ramazan 2010, we the only ones wanting a meal. I imagined the families spending a nice day by the water – there aren’t all that many nice places to go to, near to Kabul. The fathers were killed first, the panic, I can just imagine. The perpetrators said they were targeting the Kabul elite, with elite being equated with depraved. Cambodia chased away its elite and is still paying the price for it. I am intensely sad; and worried for our brave Afghan girls coming to study here. Will they be marked upon their return? All this makes the question whether it is good for the Americans to withdraw a very complicated proposition.

The best possible news of the world reached me today via Skype from Jo who told me that Z and F got their passports with the much coveted visa for the USA. They are leaving Kabul on Saturday. What an adventure! I can’t wait to reunite with them. They will attend an English immersion program in Rhode Island and then go off to their respective high schools. Their victory is a reminder that perseverance pays off.

Two other people I know have applied for a Fulbright Scholarships, one has been rejected once but is trying again (and I told her, again and again and again!). Another young colleague of mine applied for a fellowship that my organization makes available competitively each year. He got rejected last year and this year he got it.

I have to think this positively about my painful joints, shoulder and ankle, and expect that one day things will be better. Now with Axel incapacitated my right arm/shoulder is doing double duty – I should ‘baby’ my right arm, but when you are right handed this is a bit of a challenge.

A heat wave has come over us. We are lucky to be living by the sea where there is a breeze and (very) cold water. Our beach and Singing Beach seem to be the only ones on the North Shore not invaded by stinky red algae that have drifted in, allegedly released unintentionally by a ship/ships coming from Japan; an equally unintended side effect of our consumption of Japanese products that come by boat. Once it has dried on the beach is smells like sewerage. We are told it is not a temporary condition.

Axel is improving day by day, off the pain pills now. This meant he could have a glass, two even, of cold beer on his first outing. We met an informal group of French and Francophones who live on the North Shore and who are getting together monthly to chat in French and meet new people. The waitress was rather befuddled by all these requests for drinks in French – it’s hard to switch languages all the time.

I skipped three days of writing – a sign of too much. I was halved. Part of me wanted to be in Easthampton, helping Sita and Jim adjust to their new life, stitches, hematoma, feeding troubles and all; part of me needed to be with my hubby, sleepy, drugged and partially immobilized – one was nursing B (for baby) and the other nursing A (for Axel). Of course I did nursing A. Others were available to help with nursing B.

Friday was a hard day for Axel, especially when the regional block began to wear off and the newness (and discomfort) of having your best arm immobilized began to hit him. He is still sleeping in CP’s recliner and I continue to sleep on the couch next to him. I actually like this sleeping downstairs, it feels rather camp-like – if we wanted we could sing Kumbaya in front of the fireplace and then pull a blanket over our heads.

In a moment of denial I had paid for 4 high priced tickets to Cirque de Soleil for a performance the day after Axel’s surgery– the price of the ticket paying for a food project that is near to my heart. Axel was in no shape to go with Steve, Tessa and me. I invited Pia to come along and join us, which she did. It was a fabulous show, reminding Tessa and me of the Chinese acrobatics show we had seen in Bejing many years ago. The only downside of the whole event were the most uncomfortable seats.

Saturday was better for patient Axel and Sunday even better but Monday proved a bit of a set back with nausea and a bit of depression. He slept most of today while I resumed my regular work, one room removed, at my stand up desk. Later, after reading the patient information that went with the nausea medication, we realized that it was rather potent and explained the sleeping. We are having way too much pharmaceutical potency in our house. I understand the necessity of painkillers but I don’t like these substances one little bit – I remember the horrendous withdrawal from Oxycontin five years ago

Tessa went to Easthampton on Sunday leaving the dogs with grandma. We had a visiting dog and a strong and healthy arm/shoulder to throw the sticks to Chicha who was otherwise rather displeased with her boring grandparents.

We skyped with Easthampton, peeking into the bedroom of Sita and Jim, seeing auntie Tessa at work with an eye dropper putting tiny food supplements into Farro’s tiny mouth and Sita with breast pumps and all. We miss them but Skyping helps and so did Tessa.

I skipped my shoulder doctor’s appointment after learning from the physical therapist yet another twist on the status of my rotator cuff. The irreparable tendon was not the infra spinatus but the supra spinatus, the one that stabilizes the rotator cuff, among other things. Finally the pains and problems with my right arm are explained, and also the bleak future. Not a full recovery after all. I have to teach other muscles to take over from the damaged one, starting with the exercises I had to do after my rotator cuff operation three years ago– I guess Axel and I will be PT-ing in tandem soon.