Sylvia's Journal

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.

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.