Sylvia's Journal

I woke up with an image that looked like a computer screen with sentences running, telex style, along the lower side that I could actually read, word by word. It was remarkable because all my dreams are in images. If I had not fallen asleep again I would have been able to remember but now I can’t. What I do remember is that some of the words seemed, even in my half awakened state, nonsense and some were, to my great surprise, totally intelligible. Now I wished I had not fallen asleep again, as I am very curious about the message that was telexed in from my unconscious.

Today is the day after Labor Day. It is back-to-work day. We are also gearing up for the presidential election a few months from now. I am gearing up as well. The suitcase is half packed. My MSH Outlook box has several hundreds of emails to sort through; the documents I have to read are in my hand luggage, waiting for attention during my 8 hour layover in Paris. The vacation is over and I am on my way out, on the 5:30, to Paris today. I have no regrets and am very grateful for this first vacation I had since last July which is among the best I remember.

We celebrated the end of our vacation with a beach fire. It was a 10+ night – a clear sky filled with stars, planes taking people home, the occasional satellite and one falling star, accompanied by my wish on its way down. Joe had gone off to bed, having burned himself out with last week’s intense work. Tessa and Steve joined us later, hoping to find s’mores but there were none, only two squares of chocolate and a small glass of cognac. They stayed for awhile and we talked about nothing and everything, as one does around a fire. Puppy Chicha came along too and showed that she can retrieve sticks even at night and we kept sending her off in the dark. As only a dog would do, she kept bringing the stick back over and over again.

Yesterday, I started preparing for my trip while Axel and Joe sat in front of their computers taking care of stuff. After lunch we could no longer stay inside and kayaked/rowed to Tuck’s Point in Manchester’s harbor. We set out against the wind and through choppy waters which made the return trip fast and splashy. At the outer harbor we watched a stream of sailboats leave for the open waters or return home. When you are on the water you also have a front seat to see million dollar houses being built or remodeled along the water’s edge. We felt very small amidst the large luxury boats and MacMansions, but also quite content with our share of the bounty.

In the afternoon we drove to Brookline, alongside much homebound traffic, to say goodbye to colleague Miho who is off to Washington (State) to pursue her MPH and to congratulate Chris and Kairos once more on their June marriage. It was nice to see colleagues and ex colleagues again and find out who had been doing what and where. Many had not seen us for some time and commented on our physical fitness. It’s true that you cannot tell how crippled we were only a year ago. Today Axel is shipping back a torture like apparatus that he had rented many months ago to flex his wrist. He’s done with it now and his guitar-strumming of yesterday proved it.

Still, we are not quite there yet, if we ever are. I am seeing the doctor later this morning with a list of several body parts that need attention, sacrum, ankle, toes, and wrists. The carpal tunnel surgery that was scheduled a week after the crash, is needed again as the rowing had made abundantly clear. I enter this fall with two surgeries on the horizon that will put a temporary halt to my progress and interfere with writing (right wrist) and walking (right ankle). It’s hard to select a date for these interventions which cannot be done at the same time, each require a certain length of time for recovery adding up to several months in total.

Axel’s tiny lobster boat finally went into the water yesterday; without the traps. It was the first time in two years that it was launched – last year it never even left Andrew’s barn. Taking his dory out is one of Axel’s summer joys and it nearly looked like it wasn’t going to happen for the second summer in a row. Once on the beach, where it stays anchored to the big tree when not in use, Axel used to be able to take it out into the water on a set of wheels, all by himself. Yesterday he found out that this is not possible anymore, the strain on lower and upper back too much. This will cramp his style a little bit but since we have Steve living with us, he can call on him to help him out for the remainder of the warm weather days.

In the afternoon we had nearly our whole fleet out: Axel in his boat, Steve in the red kayak and I in my Alden (while Tessa was selling leather goods in Rockport). Rowing on machines is much of what Axel does at the PT office and so doing the real thing seemed to make sense; but it is a little harder with waves and wind. Axel tried the Alden and did well for a first time but from his face I could see he was not enjoying it, wanting instant perfection, not practice.

Back in his own dory we made the first outing onto the ocean a short one, not quite to Singing Beach. It was my second in the Alden shell that day. It is wonderful to surf the waves and feel the spray. When this summer comes to a close I will have rowed more in the Alden on the ocean than in the much narrower single on the Charles.

The second first happened after dinner when Axel played the guitar. I think he was truly shocked that he could do that, the left hand and fingers moving as if nothing ever happened to them. It may have looked like a familiar and ordinary scene – man strumming guitar – but it was extraordinary as we all remembered the lifeless left arm, hand and fingers, only a year ago. We were all moved by this new milestone. Our diner guests, Anne and Chuck, didn’t even know Axel played the guitar. I was happy he picked it up again as it brought back memories of Beirut when he wooed me with his improvisations while muttering that he had no idea how to play. I thought a guitar-playing man was very romantic. I still do.

I am looking out over an empty cove under blue sky. It is a shame to sleep in on such a day. The air is chilly; it is, after all, the last day of August, right on cue the summer is ending and the fall starts with the frenzy that accompanies back to school and back to work. I went to Staples to buy supplies for my upcoming trip and realized too late that my timing was really bad. The usually quiet store was filled with weary parents and whiny kids. “Dad, I don’t want that plastic ruler, it will break!” “Sorry, you will have to be more careful!” (plastic ruler lands in basket, dad grins, son pouts).

I have finished my last two vacation sewing projects, something for myself and something for a doll (for whom? asked Axel, in a typical utilitarian male way – not for anyone, just for the fun of it, I answered). The sewing table has been cleared so that there is room to put out everything that has to go with me to Abidjan. The table is filling up with electronics/facilitation supplies and stuff to give away; there is a little to make myself comfortable in my hotel room (teakettle, coffee and tea, watercolor set, books)’ the remaining space in my suitcase is for clothes (very little).

I used to prepare weeks ahead of time for my trips but lately I stopped doing that. Partially because I did much of that in my own time (which happened to be vacation in this case) and partially because I will be working with a team and it is not good form to arrive with everything thought through already, even though they may prefer that. And maybe the third reason is this card I bought at the bookmill in Montague with Sita on Thursday. It is from Brian Andreas who makes whimsical illustrations of well known but ignored truths. The card shows a woman holding on to a pole with her body and feet in the air and underneath the words ‘If you hold on to the handle, she said, it’s easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it’s more fun if you just let the wind carry you.’

One of my team mates is Oumar who I worked with years ago in Guinea. When we write to each other we always start with the words ‘cher frère, chère soeur.’ He was also in a terrible accident (road) and we haven’t seen each other in our recovering states. I am looking forward to see him.

Joe and Axel went to the ballgame last night, which left me with a delicious late afternoon and entire evening alone. I worked in the garden planting our fall crop, sat on the porch reading, and puttered around in my room, going through my library and making a four-feet high pile of books to give away. It was a trip down memory lane as I read scribbles or flagged pages that indicated what I was learning when; some books were signed and took me back to lectures attended in a period when I was like sponge absorbing everything I could about organizations. The books that landed on the pile seem boring, irrelevant, or stating the obvious; I got rid of all the Tom Peters books and wondered what happened to him, a meteor who disappeared into a comfortable retirement maybe?

Joe is finally done with his work for MSH. I watched him from my vacation vantage point as he got up in the dark and came home exhausted, in the early evening, day after day. It is as if I was watching myself. I have enjoyed not getting up at 4:30 and have decided, by way of experiment, to start going into work late, after the morning rush when I get back from my trip – I am liking this waking up and going to bed at the same time as Axel does – our clocks more in sync.

We went for a visit to Sita and Jim in their new home in Haydenville, just a little further into rural America after Northampton where droves of students were busy finding their way around town and the Smith College campus.

The village of Haydenville is so small that you could easily miss it when driving through. There is no cell phone coverage, no signal to get any interesting TV or radio, no fast internet connection and in the beginning no phone either. For a couple whose livelihood depends on good and fast internet connections, this made for a slow start. Now they are somewhat connected and living (very) rural at the same time.

They live next to the police station and across from the fire station. An empty lot next door has been turned into a badminton court and no one has complained. There are no fences and gates and little of the ‘me and mine’ attitude that is so present in Manchester. There is a brook down the street with a lovely little beach that includes a bunch of small waterfalls with stone seats beneath them; those are good for upper back and shoulder massages.  Someone told Sita there are water snakes and so she is not using this free offering of Mother Nature.

Their house is lovely, half of an old farmhouse with porches front and back and brightly colored rooms, one yellow, one orange, one pink and a large turquoise and black kitchen. The cats adjusted quickly and seem less neurotic. The yard has a joint vegetable garden, an apparatus that produces sun dried tomatoes and other vegetables, and a little boy on a swing set while his mom, their neighbor, plays the guitar. It is the kind of scene I remember from record album covers of American bands that stood in contrast with the large, fast and big image that I first had of the USA. I fell (then) and still fall now for such a romantic scene.

Sita took us to the Montague Book Mill, a half-hour drive to a most picturesque old mill, next to another brook, and, as the name says, full of books. Their motto: ‘books you don’t need in a place you can’t find.’ It is way off the beaten path, on the Connecticut River and not easy to find if you don’t know about the place. Axel and I happened to know about Montague, or Turner Falls as it is known on the aeronautical map because of its tiny airport, where we landed and picnicked on July 14, 2007, hours before the unhappy ending of that day at Gardner airport.

Axel was the only one who exercised self restraint by not buying any books; Sita and I had no such restraint and we each came home with a few more books ‘we don’t need’ while our mates rolled their eyes.

By the time we got back to the house Jim had returned from his Manchester-by-the-Sea office which is in his dad’s house. He still needs to be there several days a week until he has sorted out how to do his job, which I still don’t understand, from their rural home.  Jim was too pooped to cook or think about dinner at home and so we took everyone out to a sushi fest in Northampton, followed by ice cream and coffee before we parted to our respective homes.

We drove down (East) on the Mass Turnpike while listening to Obama’s acceptance speech. All through it I marveled at this wonder that put the grandson of a Kenyan farmer on a direct road to the White House. It’s a very American story.

The end of my vacation is beginning to appear on the horizon. With that also comes the vague outline of a trip to Africa. The malaria pills have been purchased and a trip shopping list is taped to my computer.

But before that happens I have a few more days to enjoy living in this most beautiful place. It was another glorious day today, for flying, gardening, reading and doing nothing.  The last two evenings, before the sun went down, we took the boats out, Axel in his kayak and I in the Alden shell, to enjoy the end of the day. On Tuesday we went to Singing Beach, today to Manchester harbor.  It’s a short outing, not too strenuous but good exercise for Axel’s arm and getting our strength back, without it feeling like ‘have-to’ exercise.

Last night we had a cookout on the beach, the first of this summer, a bit late. By the time Joe joined us it was dark and the mosquitoes gone, the fresh tuna grilled and the (home grown) potato salad ready with cold ratatouille, one of our favorite summer dishes, hot or cold.

Both of us had therapies today. Axel made another visit to the vestibular therapist at MGH, a short therapy that uses up the entire morning because of the time it takes to get there (by train).  He is learning much about how the brain coordinates what comes in from the senses and when it can learn and when it cannot. The experience lends itself to countless organizational metaphors. He is making progress and I expect the therapies will all be ended in the next few months, after which he and his brain are on their own.

My (physical) therapy may have been the last for some time, as I am waiting for the doctor’s opinion about what is going on in the sacroiliac region. The therapist told me I am mechanically OK, everything is aligned as it should be. The problem remains with tendons and muscles, all the ones in my neck and upper back are still full of knots and tight as elastic bands.  May be it is time for a weekly massage again. The problem is that no one reimburses that and it gets a bit costly at $80 an hour.

So far I have managed to stay away from my computer to check emails. I know there will be a price to pay for this later but this is the first vacation in a long time that I have completely unhooked from work. It is working! I am as stress free as one can get.

Tomorrow we are going to visit Sita in her new home in Haydenville near Northampton where she used to live. I would have liked to fly there but no one in our family is ready for me to fly with Axel in the co-pilot seat. So, instead of a 40 minute flight, it will be a 3-hour drive each way, which will take up a sizeable part of the day. It is good that we like each other’s company so much.

On the way home in the plane I read Axel some more from Tolle’s latest book. I could see from his furrowed brow that he was trying to figure out how to get enlightened as per Tolle’s prescription. Since it does not include any action verb (as in ‘doing’), Axel was racking his brain how the heck to do that, when the word ‘do’ was itself out of bounds. Finally he threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “What does he want me to do, just be a rainbow?” Clearly, Axel is not even close to being enlightened. He agreed on that. I am not either but because some of the things he talks about do resonate with me, according to the book, I am on my way. I do get the thing about being present in the present.

In Atlanta Axel had his pinky nail painted in hot pink by Ingrid’s cousin Amanda from Seattle, along with other guys who fell for her charms. She lifted everyone’s spirits, as one would expect from a stand up comedienne. Axel kept his pink pinky until we got on the plane, back to the ordinary world where no one is enlightened and would understand this guy with a beard and a pink pinky who wants to be a rainbow.

We drove into Cambridge after we landed in Boston to pick up a pair of Red Sox tickets for a game this Saturday from Phil and Joellen who could not use them. The last time I saw Joellen was when she treated me to a birthday lunch, hours before my nightmare commute home that lasted 10 hours on that fateful blizzard day in the middle of December. Phil just finished his latest book, Yankee Go Home, which is being edited before being released to the world of potential publishers. It is about anti American sentiments which he explored during his many travels around the world. It should be good. We stayed for a bit to catch up and then headed home, driving only a few miles ahead of Joe who had just flown in from San Diego to continue his consulting assignment with MSH. It is the same work we started in June, helping one of MSH’s Centers get centered, with as desired outcome a clear identity and a three year work plan.

Dinner was, once more, a mostly homegrown affair after which Joe went off to bed and we settled in front of the TV to see the start of the National Democratic Convention. I lasted for about 15 minutes. I could not stand the inane talk that was delivered as commentary before and after each speech. There is something about campaign rhetoric that I am allergic to. After my live experience of the stamping and clapping and sign waving at Deval Patrick’s primary victory celebration I got enough for a lifetime. As a psychologist I watch the mass hysteria with professional interest, but as a US citizen I find it scary. The whole event is slightly more bearable when I listen without watching; I did listen to Ted Kennedy and to what I hope will be the next first lady and the spontaneous comments from her two girls.  I was not touched by any of it, the use of words and references, quotes, and probably color of ties and dresses are too scripted for me, even though I appreciate excellent speakers. I imagine that everything is finely tuned and calibrated to win over the millions of fence sitters in this country. I hope they were watching more intently than I was and that this will influence their vote in November.

It was a ten plus summer day, no wind with clear blue skies that made me regret I had not planned to fly to the Vineyard as conditions were ideal for my first long cross country solo since last July. May be tomorrow.

Axel went to Boston for his speech therapy and was picked up by cousin Nancy on his return to go food shopping for the Magnuson reunion on Saturday that we will mostly miss because of the funeral in Atlanta. Our daughters will represent us for the full afternoon.

Coated with sweat and dirt from project number three I washed everything off with a swim in the cove, followed by a bike ride to the physical therapist who concluded that all is not well with my sacroiliac joints, a compression and an inflammation which may explain the pains I have each time I get up from a seated position. “It feels boggy down there,” she said and recommended ice packs and another set of exercises. The long walks in Maine are also coming to haunt me and by the end of the day I walked like an invalid.

Tessa returned back from an interview for an internship with an organization that sometimes competes and sometimes collaborates with MSH and was offered a paying internship on the spot with a title that will look nice on her still very barebones resume. She was very excited and will start to work right away on her first assignment: putting a photo database in order for graphic designers to use. I am very proud of her and know they made a good decision to hire her. Unfortunately I cannot follow what she will be doing because of the sometimes competitive nature of our two organizations.

Steve and Tessa’s friend Roy (who, together with Steve, made the mini ramp into my sick room last July) arrived with girl friend Rose for dinner. They are in the area because of a wedding. This was the occasion for Tessa to cash in her share of the spa gift certificates that Ellie gave the three of us last summer. I would have accompanied her to get my nails done too if I hadn’t sliced my finger on a clam a few days ago. My trip to the nail spa will have to wait until the fingertip has healed and when I too have an occasion for painted nails. Maybe I will do that with Sita who also still has her gift certificate. After dinner we talked a reluctant Tessa into modeling her top two choices for the wedding event and helped her make up her mind: brown dress and matching shoes. Axel and I (as parents do) thought she looked stunning.