Sylvia's Journal

The planned flight to Bar Harbor was cancelled. We were sitting in a trough between two weather systems, one coming up from the south-west and hurricane Bill breathing down our necks from the south-east. When in doubt, you learn in pilot training, don’t go, especially if you have your right arm in a sling. In hindsight we could have gone. Saturday turned out to be a beautiful day. It is only now that the weather has turned: it’s windy and raining.

I used the gained hours of the morning to pack for my trip and clean my office, removing piles of papers from my desk and from the floor. I opened a large suitcase in the guestroom and a smaller one in our bedroom. The guestroom suitcase is slowly being filled with stuff that I want to take to Afghanistan: knitting supplies, sewing supplies, water color supplies, indispensable CVS articles and some of the goodies Reinout brought from Holland.  The small suitcase in the bedroom is for the one week trip to Ghana that starts in a few hours.

Early in the morning, too early for some, the Greek painters showed up with their countless trucks. It was a noisy and boisterous arrival punctuated by the sound of ladders being extended against walls, paint cans being opened, a few fights (in Greek) about things we could not understand and all the other noises that come along with 10 Greek painters.

To make things more interesting, the plasterer also showed up, accompanied by a helper from our contractor (another set of trucks added to the mayhem). As the letters on his truck indicated (‘Ye ole’ English’), he was from England, something that was quite obvious once he opened his mouth. He brought his own tea bags because he doesn’t trust Americans making tea. When he found out I was originally from across the Channel, and after I showed him our tea cosy, he was convinced that I could be trusted with the task.

Tessa called me on the house line to find out whether it was safe to go outside before opening the door of the barn. She had to duck under a ladder and imagine the steps hidden under paint cloth, but she and Chicha could come out. Chicha was in seventh heaven, knowing the painters from their primer days here: 10 hands to throw balls and feed her the leftovers of lunch.

At lunch time Pauline arrived with her three kids and Mayssa, both from work, bringing a delicious Lebanese lunch. Pauline is married to Alberto from Lebanon and Mayssa is Lebanese herself. Two years ago, when Axel was still in the rehab hospital and I in a wheelchair, Pauline and Alberto had brought a complete Lebanese mezze to cheer me up; it did, and I had asked for a repeat, this time with Axel and without Alberto who was, unfortunately, in Lebanon.

Having guests over and seeing small kids discover the beach drew us out of the house from the interminable chores to hang out with them in and around the water. I cheated a bit taking my sling off but it was too hot and sticky to keep it on. We stood in the water until our skin was wrinkled.

At the end of the day we introduced the city kids to how vegetable grow (not in supermarket bins). They loved discovering our garden, eating peas, beans, tomatoes straight from the vine. They delighted in seeing potatoes emerge from the dark soil, like presents in grab bag. We picked a huge patty-pan squash and a zucchini the size of a small baseball bat; Pauline had her arms full with stuff these kids usually don’t care about; now they were fighting for more. They piled into the car holding flowers and with the long Asian green beans dangling from their mouths.

A thick layer of saturated air hangs above the ground, obscuring the cove. Every 15 second the foghorn sounds its mournful warning to ships approaching our coast. It brings back memories to my first stay in this town and house, some 30 years ago. Then the foghorn startled me; now it is one of the most familiar and dearest sounds I can imagine, as it signals home.

I followed the elections in Afghanistan as best as I could on the internet. It was hard to gauge the overall success or failure. The stories put on blogs in and in the media, the photos and the videos were inspiring and heart breaking. Nothing took away from my determination to go there and contribute whatever I can. Axel was not fazed either.

The day started badly and unfolded badly for awhile: first a rear ending, some 15 minutes into my commute, when I stood on the breaks for a truck that swerved for a tractor trailer that pulled on to the highway without much of a stop or concern for the traffic in its lane. This led to a pile up behind me. I was the least impacted and only our car’s brand new bumper was scratched. It was my luck that a Toyota was in back of me, about the same size as our car; the lady in back of me was rear-ended by a large pickup truck that smashed up her entire backside. The two culprits in front of me drove off into the distance without a worry in the world, maybe even oblivious to the mess they had created behind them.

So we sat by the side of the road, exchanging information while the flashing blue lights of the police cruiser made everyone slow down and caused a rubberneck traffic jam on both sides of 128. Not a good start but then again, I was OK and so was my recuperating shoulder, on this first commute in after my surgery.

After a delightful lunch outside with my French speaking colleagues (our monthly dejeuner francais) I was stung by a wasp which produced a pain so piercing I was not able to walk any longer. Debbie, our receptionist, put my foot in a basin with water, then produced ice and about 20 minutes later I could walk again. Now, the next day, it is still hurting and itching a lot.

My departure date to Kabul was changed once again, just when I thought everything was settled. I am now leaving on the 21^stof September, mostly to avoid the slow weeks of Ramadan and the festivities at the end. My new boss insists on me having as much time to recover here and the professional attention of well trained and experienced physical therapists before I transfer to such care in Afghanistan. He has a point and everyone was relieved. Still, as per September 1 I will be considered permanent staff of the Afghanistan project, even though I am still formally based in Cambridge. The latter arrangement will last (even though after September 23 I will be physically in Kabul) until the project extension contracts is signed (October? November?) I am trying to sort out the implications of this organizational arrangement and its effect on my allowances and taxes; this is a bit of a research project.

I attended a few meetings and many more celebrations of birthdays and people departing, all accompanied by cakes and snacks, bringing everyone together; a slow work day one could say, but socially quite nice. I also cleaned out the last pieces of my office so that Joan can now sit at my desk and most of the physical traces of my 22 years of work at MSH headquarters are now gone: thrown out, given away or packed up.

Back at home Axel had blown a fuse, a combination of project management overload (still a result of the brain injury), the consequences of sending out mixed messages to the girls and the oppressing heat. It made me want to delay my return home, a selfish strategy of avoidance rather than rescue.  It was easy to let the celebrations take their course; as a result I left too late to avoid traffic and inched my way home. By the time I got home Axel had cooled off a little. We decided against cooking our own meal and instead drove to Gloucester to have dinner at one of our favorite restaurants there, The Rudder.

That’s when our luck turned. We were seated at the edge of the water, overlooking Gloucester’s inner harbor amidst countless holiday makers who were all vying for a seat on the terrace. Steve and Tessa, also in traffic, also hungry, pulled off for dinner on their way home from Boston. By the time we came home everyone and everything had cooled off and we were able to have a family meeting about supporting one another, chores and cleaning up our communication signals. Just as in Afghanistan, good and bad stuff intermingled to create an intense day for all of us.

I continue the half day of work and half day of rest – that is just about right. Today I am going to drive myself into work, very very early before there are too many other drivers on the road. I have done some test drives around town and as long as I don’t have to buckle and unbuckle myself a lot, or move the gear shift from drive to reverse I am doing OK. I am getting quite handy with my left hand and arm.

Since I could not take Reinout and Maurits up in the skies over Essex County myself, I outsourced this to the Beverly Flight Center and went along in the back seat to make sure they got the royal treatment (they got more than that!).  I had arranged for a scenic/introductory flight and Maurits was put behind the controls in the left seat. He was going to take us up in the air and down again, coached by veteran flight instructor John.  

We flew over the waters where Andrew took them by boat the day before and we circled Cape Ann, over the route we had taken a week earlier by car. It was hazy but at 2000 feet everything below was quite clear; this included our house which we circled a few times. At the end of the trip Maurits received a student pilot logbook with his first flight lesson recorded. He also got a Beverly Flight Center baseball cap and a T-shirt. The outing was, no surprise, a big hit with both father and son, but especially with our pilot. What more could a 14 year old want?

Maybe going home, sleep in his own bed, tell his friends and show off his new iPod that looks like an iPhone but without the phone part. In between flying and boating he poured all his energy in getting the gadget geared up for the long trip home, with movies and music that would keep him occupied during the flight.

I made some significant progress on preparations for the Ghana trip. I finally got my ticket and produced a set of facilitator notes and wrote everyone I know there that I am coming their way. My energy level is increasing slowly and I am dosing my work hours so that by the time I land on Monday morning, I will be ready for the intense week of work. I am glad Diane is coming along to share the load.

We had one final American cookout before Reinout and Maurits drove off to Logan. The fresh corn and super hamburgers should see them through till they land in Amsterdam, allowing them to skip the airplane meal in the middle of the night.

While we waited for the hamburgers to cook Sita gave Maurits one last ukulele lessons and he was able to play along with her quite nicely. He is a fast learner in all aspects: bread making, iPod, motor boat, plane and ukulele – such a wonder boy.

Axel and I spent the entire morning at the orthopedic-industrial complex, most of it in the waiting room with all of 5 minutes, a record, with the surgeon himself. He showed us the pictures he took during the procedure, through the scope. The supra and infra spinatus were torn badly. The pictures show something that looks like nylon roping and enormous screws that the surgeon used to pull and coax the ligaments back to where they should have been attached to the bone. The surgeon is hopeful that I will get my full range of motion back. Given the damage this is either a miracle or unlikely. Time will tell.

The rest of the afternoon I tried to focus on work and my departure to Kabul, with the date now set for 9/9/(0)9 , With all these nines it must be an auspicious day. According to some random numerology website, the number nine is about  “a shift from the material to the spiritual. Selfless service and universal ideas become paramount. […] the Nine closes the cycle by returning its love and compassion to higher ideals.” I think that fits nicely with my desire to work in Afghanistan.

But before my departure to Kabul there will be another departure next Sunday for a quick assignment in Ghana, to hand over senior leadership development work to my colleague Diane. I finally got the ticket and it looks like everything is all set to go. For our administrative staff it has been a month-long obstacle course to pull this off and I am grateful for their perseverance and good humor.

In the evening we celebarted Sita and Jim’s engagement  with three sets of parents and two sets of siblings. We were able to seat everyone around the large dining room table. Axel toasted the young couple and some of us got a little teary. As the mother of the bride this is all new territory for me and I spent considerable energy getting the dinner just right, including, as Sita noticed, preparing appetizers with all the things she hates: anchovies, olives, mushrooms and shrimp. I  had to ask myself what that was all about; some sort of unconscious boycot?

Tessa had made the cutest place setting cards and Reinout folded the napkins (where did he learn that?) that I thought should have been ironed but Sita told me not to bother. The wineglasses, table cloth and silverware did not match (who now has 12 of everything?) and everyone brought a few dishes. The arrangement and informality of it all is simply a taste of the what’s to come with the wedding, of the do-it-yourself variety. We will have little to do with the preparations, a little hard from our base in Kabul – but we will be there when it is all organized, and probably write a few checks.

Just when our party was breaking up Reinout and Maurits returned from their boat trip in the Essex waters, windblown faces, bronzed and happy as two little clams. Maurits had captained the boat at dazzling speed in between the red and green lights that showed the way back to the harbor after the sunlight had gone; obviously much more fun than an engagement party with adults he didn’t know. He’s also happy because he has a new iPod that keeps him busy when he is not boating, swimming or throwing sticks to the dog.

I started the day guiding a frustrated Steve to his new job by phone. He got lost in the Fenway around 7:30, not a good place or time. Having two Google maps in front of me I led him all over the BackBay until that big sigh of relief: destination in sight. Then he discovered he did not have to be there until 1 and suffered that most common illness of organizations: a lousy induction of new employees. I hope this does not omen badly. Steve is not doing work because he likes to but because he needs to – all of it a necessary evil until he has saved enough money to buy himself a goat farm. That is the long term vision and he is willing to suffer through much to get there.

I feel fortunate that I do like my work. My attention is beginning to converge on two countries, out of the 10 or so I had something going on in. Now it is just Ghana and Afghanistan. I thought I was all set with my upcoming Ghana trip and discovered only yesterday that the business ticket I had requested because of my arm had not been bought and is now getting too expensive. This is a trip that has been on the books for about 2 months. I am tired of having this kind of stress just before a trip. Five days before departure tickets become hard to get, especially when vacations are ending and I have lost my flexibility of dates and time. The only ticket I can get brings me home 3 days later than I had planned and only one week before my departure to Afghanistan. Not a nice prospect.

Yesterday I learned that my hearing in my right side is bad; a suspicion of this was picked up by my recent physical. The audiologist tested my hearing and showed me the resulting graph: right was a red line, below normal. I wonder if this is yet another delayed effect of the crash. There was no infection and no obvious reason for the hearing loss and so I have to squeeze in yet another visit to a specialist before I go.

Once again it was hotter than Hades. I tried to focus on my work in our non-air conditioned house, sitting right in front of a fan while on the other side of the wall our fireplace is being installed. It required major reconstructive and noisy surgery on the house. Axel rushed to and fro trying to line up workmen and dealing with the fallout of our incompetent electrician who had made yet another mistake. I think we will drop him from our list. In the meantime I can hear the architect and contractor’s cash registers go ‘Gaching!’ with each passing hour.  That is the hole in which I will pour all the danger pay that is rightfully mine for serving in Afghanistan.

We had our neighbors on both sides over for drinks to meet my relatives, something Axel always insists on even though it adds yet another task to an already frantic day.  These neighbors are related to each other and so we had a lot of relatives chatting and drinking in the shade under the maple tree. Andrew and Woody were the only non relatives but they might as well have been:  close and dear friends are family.

Andrew stayed for dinner which consisted once again of lobster and corn. Our Dutch visitors are running out of opportunities to eat this coveted crustacean. Reinout dug the potatoes for our dinner straight out of our garden. Over dinner Andrew hatched a plan for a boat trip exploring the mouth of the Essex River. I could see Maurits’ eyes light up – it sounded so much more fun than an engagement dinner with the new in-laws tonight. I told him we would happily excuse him and his dad because sunset on the Essex waters is pretty neat and a chance not to be missed.