Sylvia's Journal

We never made it to Chinatown, partially because we didn’t get out of the house until it was well into the afternoon and also because we did not need to. This allowed us to hang out a little longer with Sita and Jim before they headed back West to their home and the kitties who will, by now, have been introduced to the vacuum cleaning robot. It also allowed me to receive the cookbook present that came in the afternoon mail. I picked a recipe that did not require a trip to Chinatown.

We dropped off my passport and all the required passport pictures for various visas at work and then turned around to join the shopping mall traffic that looked just the same as regular rush hour. Back home I tried my hand at a hearty Tibetan soup from ‘the other China’ that had the bread and butter part integrated (toasted barley flour and butter) and so makes dinner a one pan and one bowl soup. Of course the butter was supposed to be yak butter and the meat yak meat. The American adaptation was pretty good although it required several bowls and pans, and looked nothing like the illustration.

Tessa and Steve gave us all sort of household and kitchen stuff for Christmas that is usually given to newlyweds – it was a commentary on the content of our kitchen drawers and shelves. We didn’t think we needed anything new and matching but somehow we produced this child who likes things to be just right, which means matching. It is probably a reaction to the general messiness of our house. We now eat our food with shiny (and matching) silverware from China and beautiful sparkly new (and matching) wineglasses from France; even our well worn placemats were pushed aside by new ones from India; all on the condition that the old stuff leaves the house. So Sita and Jim went home with the ousted cutlery with the handles that had started to crack but we held on to the wine glasses and old placemats (for now).

And now we are off to DC to celebrate Chris’ 60th birthday. His wife Carol decided that we are to be one of his presents. It will be a short trip, we return on Monday afternoon, but hopefully just long enough to see some friends in addition to celebrating the important milestone.

It is Christmas morning and all through the house not a creature is stirring, no maggot, no mouse. The maggots, of course, appeared in a few poems for Tessa and once in the form of rice grains. With the right sound effects from Sita a little bit of the maggot experience was re-enacted.

As usual our Christerklaas did not start until midnight and ended, as it always does, at about 3 AM. I checked last year’s blog (my first one on WordPress) and we improved about 20 minutes on Axel’s performance. We started exactly at midnight with a reading about Saint Nicholas. While waiting for everyone else to appear, I learned that he was credited with religious precocity, even in babyhood because he did not demand his mother’s breast on fast days (Wednesdays and Fridays) except after sunset. I immediately thought about the mother with her swollen breast and the little baby refusing, what a pain. Somehow he made it from Turkey to the USA via the North Pole and turned into a jolly elf – there is more to read.

Until we started, and after Sita and Jim returned from a Yankee swap at the Blisses, they played a series of ukulele-guitar duets that were a wonderful background to my studies about St. Nick. I marvel about how Sita has mastered all these instruments (this includes my violin that had been languishing in my office for years and her cello which she did not touch for ahwile either). We had no idea there was this latent musical ability until it got activated, we think, by Jim.

Sint’s poems ranged from non-rhyming one liners, via a few non-rhyming stanzas to masterpieces both in rhyme and rhythm, some quite long; most were written in English but a few had some Dutch words sprinkled in when there was no appropriate English word that rhymed. This is the advantage of a multi-lingual household – rhyming gets easier with each additional language.

We left the presents that did not have a poem attached under the tree for American Christmas that will start later today. This year the bulk of the presents came from Sint, not Santa. Sint turned out to be both a patron of the (local) Arts and of the Kitchen in his (and her) choice of presents, with a few Heiffer animals and MSF delivery kits (or bed nets) thrown in because we, collectively, already have everything we need. It’s a good trend, together with the increase in poems. Even our Canadian (Steve) who is relatively new to this family’s Dutch/American Christmas ritual, is learning fast and revealed himself as a gifted rhymer. It’s the staying up so late that is more of a challenge to him; he was the only one who had gotten up early to go to work on Christmas Eve.

Two passports arrived in the mail. Now, together with my two Dutch passports, I am the owner of four passports. No one expected that homeland security would let me have two American passports but it did; all I had to do was ask. My assistant wrote a letter that it was a real hardship to only have one passport and that it had been very stressful for me, a month ago, because of the multiple visas required. With only one passport shipped out to various consulates in DC my family was left in suspense about whether my December trip to Bangladesh was on or not. This was true. It must have convinced some government official that I was a good risk for two passports. I suppose it is also a nice extra income stream since second passports always have a short shelf life and need to be renewed frequently at 50 dollars a pop.

The old passport got its second batch of pages pasted in and can hardly close – it wants to stretch wide open. I wonder if there is a point at which extra pages are no longer added.

Unfortunately the passports were sent to my home address. I had not intended to drive to Cambridge today because the traffic will be at its worst on this day before Christmas (I have to go by at least three shopping malls); but the passports need to make it to Cambridge were a new assistant is poised to obtain three visas for me in the next couple of weeks: India, for transit, Bangladesh and Cambodia for a brief stay. I spent the last hour of my sleep agonizing about whether to get the required visas in one passport or in two, raising all sorts of questions about the purpose and use of the second passport.

Yesterday was a slow workday, as one could expect so close to Christmas. Anyone going someplace else had already gone; meeting rooms were left idle and the energy was rather low, especially mine. At 2 PM I had concluded that there was no point in pretending to be focused on my work and I left hoping to beat the rush hour traffic (I did not) and drop off a few more gifts along the way home.

We ended the day caroling at Diane and Curt’s house with some longtime Manchester residents (this refers to generations of living in this town). A retired judge and senator are still addressed as ‘Judge’ and ‘Senator’ and several have names that are intimately tied up with Massachusetts’ history dating back to the state’s early days.

I have lived in this town now for 15 years which hardly counts. But Axel is at least one and a half generation ahead of me and had parents who lived and worked here (Axel Magnuson Inc. Flowers). All of the old folks knew them. I am slowly getting to know people (or rather they me) because of this annual caroling event that started when several of the grey haired singers were young parents with babes in arms (for us this was only our second year). I also am getting to know people through Axel’s participation in the town’s organizational and political life. I overheard some conversation about town committees and the incompetence of office holders that was draped over an acceptance and understanding of human nature that was both realistic and utterly discouraging.

New Englanders are tenacious and stubborn. I think it comes from having to shovel wet and heavy snow and the long winters that are, invariably, followed by a glorious spring, summer and fall. The message is, if you bite through eventually something better comes along. I am not sure it actually works that way for town politics but, always the optimist, I give Axel my thoughts on leading and following.

When I close my eyes tightly it snows and I can stay at home, even in bed; but when I open them the snow is gone and the roads are clear and I can get up and go to work. Once in a while Axel questions my getting up so early – as if to talk me out of it. And I explain, once more, that getting up early is way more preferable for me than getting up late and having to rush. Rushing in the morning is inauspicious; I would forget things like my wallet, the magnetic card that lets me into work or my cell phone. At any time, but especially this time of the year, I would pay a price for such neglectfulness that far outweighs the price of getting up a little earlier. So there!

Yesterday was maybe the shortest day in terms of daylight but it was surely the longest day away from home (while not traveling). Halfway through 10-miles-per-hour commute home I called Tessa to commiserate, expecting her to be stuck in traffic somewhere near. She did not answer and I left a message. I then called home where Tessa cheerfully answered that she was already home; no one wanted to commiserate with me and my whining fell on deaf ears. Axel gave me some of my own lines about not being a victim and pull up to get something to eat if I was hungry and all that crap that I give others about ‘being an agent of change!’ Ha! This is to remind me that timing is everything and that there can be a great disconnect between the message giver and the message receiver. I know this intellectually but it is good to experience it in the gut from time to time. In Holland we call this ‘giving someone a cookie of one’s own dough.’

At work it was a day of nonstop meetings. This is the Monday I am supposed to work at home but as soon as people got wind that I was in the office the meetings started piling up. I had printed out my Outlook calendar which directed me from one meeting place to the next, all day long.

At noontime Margaret came over to talk with us about her latest book and how to preserve ‘soul’ in the middle of a lot of soullessness at work. I was surprised to see how many people showed up. There appears to be a real hunger to talk about matters of spirituality at work. We are after all working in a nonprofit and people could earn a lot more by working for a profit-driven company. But most of us choose to come here which gets us something money can’t buy.

The final part of the day was a video presentation to our funders in DC. I was asked to talk about our Ghana leadership program that is unfolding slowly and not always visible to our eyes. Nevertheless, a last minute email from Ghana was encouraging – a few people are stepping up to the leadership plate and making the changes that were needed. Today I will be exploring with the man in charge how we can support this further and show, compellingly, how better (a) better management and leadership makes a difference, and (b) how this can be ‘engineered.’

We have found the source of our wormy infestation and I am happy to say it had nothing to do with African games or pieces of the devil. And yes, Sita can come home now and will not be attacked in her sleep by the white wiggly things whose names, Axel told me, I should not use on this public site; too shameful.

At the end of the afternoon I was hanging curtains in our living room to help keep the heat in. We had, insanely, gone out in the snow storm to get the curtain rods for which we had to pass several shopping centers that seemed not to suffer from the weather. Back home I set right to work.

After I had hung the last curtain I was admiring my handwork when I observed several little white things crawling up to the top of one of the curtains. The source was right below it: a 40 pound bag with birdseed that was one of the few things not removed from the living room. It was crawling with the beasties, like a factory producing ever more, inexhaustible. After a few more shrieks from Axel as he dragged the bag out of the house, leaving a trail of the wriggly things (and puppy Chicha so very excited) – we declared the house free from the infestation and can invite other people to come and visit again. The protein-enriched bird food sits outside in a snow bank and will be shared with nature for the final cleanup.

We called Tessa with the good news and then went caroling at the Caulkins with a cast of thousands, including an entire class. It is a longstanding Christmas tradition and the singing accompanied by some serious musicians of all kind. We saw several people who we don’t see much and who still think of us as airplane crash survivors which somewhat limits the conversation (you look great – yes, thank you – we are fine now, mostly, or: wow – I can’t believe how you look – we talked about it at home – and the kids can’t believe it (neither can we). We made it to the intermission after which the standing became a little too much – that’s one of the after effects that does not seem to go away.

And now I am looking out over the winter wonderland that was produced during nearly more than 30 hours of snowfall. We could try the cross-country skis today and see if we can still do this; it is one sport we have not tried yet since we got back on our feet. Getting on a bicycle to Meeting today is probably not a good idea. 

While I was away (this to establish I had nothing to do with what follows) Axel and Tessa emptied the living room in preparation for our new fireplace project. When she opened the kauri shell holders of the African mankala game she found a wriggling mess of maggots (imagine the screaming!). They appeared to be coming from a thing that Axel described as a piece of a cow’s hoof. (I think it was a piece of the devil, as we have forgotten our good intentions about alcohol and computer use). How the thing got there and why it was crawling with maggots remains a mystery. Then, as they removed stuff in the neighborhood of this mess that was sitting on the old blanket chest it turned out the maggots were everywhere: in the plants (thrown out), in the piece of Turkish rug (banned outside in subzero temperatures) and the chest itself (banned to the unheated porch).

Last night, several weeks after this unpleasant experience, while I was eating my Nepali chicken with rice I noticed a wriggling rice kernel on my placemat. It was another maggot that had fallen from the ceiling. It made me wonder how many others had fallen in the rice and blended in with the food.

“Gross,” was all Tessa could say while we all looked at the ceiling and examined our food more carefully. Armed with the vacuum cleaner Axel started to inspect the ceiling of all the downstairs rooms. We found a few more of the creatures, tucked in the crease where walls meet ceiling and even some brazen ones slowly moving across the ceiling. Tessa and Steve happily returned to their nest in the studio across the driveway – even without plumbing on a winter’s night, it was more appealing than the main house with its unknown and invisible production center of these little white worms, so many weeks after Axel and Tessa’s discovery. We will not have a Christmas gala in our house this year I think. I also hope that the source is in or near the fireplace so that the workmen will get to find it.

Although we left the ceiling clean last night, this morning we found another wandering maggot which went the way all its brothers and sister have gone. We now walk around the house looking up – which balances out my walking outside which is down.

This experience has answered two questions: (1) should we get a cleaning lady to come in once in awhile? (Yes, this would be a nice Christmas present together with the new fireplace roof work) and (2) what kind of ‘surprises’ and rhymes to create for our Christerklaas celebration on Christmas Eve. I also think we should not eat rice for awhile.

While we were preoccupied with the crawly creatures the first big snowstorm of the season came in and left us with a perfect Christmas landscape and the first entry on a snow shoveling bill that will be presented later this year and shared with the neighbors.

No flying today and none tomorrow as another storm is heading our way.
 

The other day, during my commute home, I listened to a chemist who is also a baker. She explained the chemistry of cookie making. Last night I tried her recipe while home alone with the puppy who licked up everything that I dropped on the kitchen floor. The chocolate crinkle cookies came out perfect because I treated the project like a chemistry experiment. I call them my ‘npr-cookies’ which gives the illusion that the cookies are wholesome and healthy (they are neither), but they are the best I have ever made – everyone in the house agreed!

We are bracing for a winter storm – from the description it sounds like the one that produced the ‘commute from hell’ which I described in my blog exactly one year ago: a 10 hour ride from Cambridge to Manchester. I had been asked last week to go to Washington today but I had misunderstood the date and thought the request was for Tuesday – a day already fully booked. Now I thank my lucky stars that I misunderstood the date. This is how, I believe, the universe comes repeatedly to my aid. Meghann, our new program officer is going alone and although I would have been happy to accompany her, I am glad I am not on this day. Working from home on a snowstorm day is so much better.

Today is a day for calls east: first Bangladesh where the day is already over and then Ghana where the morning is in full swing. I have to present on results of work we did in the later and prepare for a retreat I will facilitate in the former.

Yesterday I went to see the orthotics specialist at Brigham’s – as suggested by the last orthopedic surgeon I saw. I think I have come to the end of the line and the visit was rather disappointing because no new ending to the foot drama was produced. First I had worn the wrong shoes to my appointment (Dansko clogs do not allow for orthotics). In addition the technician did not think orthotics would do anything more for me than a good pair of shoes. He had a keen eye and made a quick prediction about my troubles with walking that was right on (maybe he was informed prior to my visit). He made it clear there was no magic here and that the best sort of shoes for me were probably hiking boots or high end sneakers. In a way I already knew this – the shoes that give the most support give the most support – it is not rocket science! But I don’t think I’ll wear hiking boots or sneakers to work.

What I need is a ‘straighter lasted’ shoe than the Dansko clogs and, presumably all my other shoes. For some reason Europeans make these better and more of them. I was referred to some very expensive shoe stores around Boston (the locations gave that away: Newbury Street in Boston and Wellesley) and when I went on the web to see their wares I was stunned by the prices which were double the highest prices I have ever paid for shoes in my entire life. Still, I suppose it is cheaper than the orthotics which I also would have had to pay out of my own pocket since insurance does not cover such things.

The visit was in a way also the final dashing of hopes that my foot problems are transitory or can be corrected and that this is just a phase. Hiking in the mountains, and, in general walking over uneven surfaces, or even long walks on flat surfaces will remain difficult for the rest of my life. The neuropathy in my foot is also there to stay. The hike from summit to summit in the White Mountains we had investigated as a summer activity years ago is probably not in the stars and will remain a fantasy. And I will probably also continue to walk looking down, like an old person, afraid to trip. But then again, given the range of other possible outcomes, I can’t be too picky and am still grateful that we are as OK as we are.

Yesterday was a little stressful at work so the yoga class at the end of the day was exactly what the doctor prescribed. The stress came from getting back into a working relationship that hasn’t worked for some time, like a leg coming out of a cast, a little stiff; the Dutch word is ‘stroef,’ something that doesn’t move like it is supposed to; friction and resistance limiting forward movement – a crying out for some grease.

The word ‘Now’ pops up as it did at Quaker Meeting last Sunday, when there were some messages about ‘now’ – being able to say ‘today is a good day’ – and I remembered that I had forgotten all about this, letting stress slip in and take over; my mind never focused on ‘here and now,’ but rather on what’s around the corner (like: Christmas) or far away in the past (like: how it used to be).

The yoga mellowed me although the left brain chatter was hard to stop at first, during our opening stretch which has a complicated Indian name and required a long belt and a bolster. After one hour the chatter had subsided and I was in the flow, not noticing how fast the time went and feeling taller, longer and thinner by the minute.

It was just Peggy and me again, a threesome with teacher Michelle, practically a private class. Peggy and I are in roughly the same league when it comes to size and flexibility, so we can relax in our limitations; besides, the teacher constantly remarks how great we do and how great we look. Even if these 90 minutes did nothing for our bodies, they are great for the soul.

I don’t push myself the way I used to before the accident. Some poses are just not possible without considerable adaptation. I used to be able to balance on one foot for a long time. That’s a thing of the past, at least on the right side and I have come to terms with the fact that this is the way my body is now. There was always a certain pride in doing well in some of the yoga exercises – but pride (of that kind) turns out easy to shed. It was the kind of pride that created separation, rather than connection.

Trips are stacking up like planes on the runway; their contours increasingly clear through the fog of next year. Which ones will really happen/take off remains to be seen. There are too many ways that things can change. I am now waiting for clearance for the first two: Cambodia and Bangladesh.

My requests for extra passport pages, a second batch, as well as a second passport are in the mail which should increase the flexibility on my part to take off when the signal is given.