Sylvia's Journal

Being without voice is bad enough but now a dry cough, sinus congestion and ear aches have joined in, plus a slight fever. My body is protesting loudly about something; and here I was doing so well with the sugar abstention.

We went to a meeting at our donor’s offices this morning and in the middle of the meeting I had a coughing fit that became a coughing spasm and therefore hard to stop. I had another one later during the day. I was hoping to get better because tomorrow I am standing in front of 30 people eager to learn how we ‘do’ management and leadership development. It is not going the way I had wanted.

Our meeting with our funder this morning was all done in whispers, not just mine – people clearly adjust to the levels of voice with which they are spoken to. This is good to know, if one didn’t already – when someone is shouting loud at you, speak softly back. I am also getting tons of advice about home remedies, some known, some unknown, like putting a peeled onion on the table, tapping my chin, massaging and wrapping my throat, and then of course the known one of ginger, lemon, honey, hot water and a bit of rhum, a grog. I will do that before bedtime as they make a wicked ginger tea here.

Talking in a whisper without engaging the vocal cords is more exhausting than I thought; having done this now for two days, it finally caught up with me. I left the office at 3 PM and headed for bed, too tired to do anything else. I left my colleague behind to prepare on her own. It is pretty clear now that she will have to do the facilitation – I am going to be the whisperer in the background which won’t let me engage with people – so very frustrating.

The only good thing to report is a fabulous massage last night. The spa across the parking lot has a deal with the hotel, 20% off. I think I will be back.

The last few days before departure have bene relentless and exhausting as tasks piled upon tasks. Some came back after I thought they were done, like the Ethiopia visa that expires two weeks before I even get there. The Ethiopians must assume that one makes short trips. The visa was stamped on October 23 and expires on November 22. I arrive December 5. That was not good value for money and requires now another 175 dollars for a rush visa, ughhh. But after an whole day trip across the continent on December 5 I don’t want to wing it and try to talk my way into the country on an expired visa. What if they were to send me back to Abidjan?

The good people at Delta managed to get me from the waiting list into a B-class seat for the long haul from Atlanta to Johannesburg, so the first part (and the longest) of the mega trip looks good.

Last night Tessa came over in the storm to pick up some of our plants and collect her wedding paraphernalia that are being recycled from one of my colleagues who just had her wedding in the north country.  This means the decoration part is done.

Over dinner at a local restaurant she went over her list: save-the-date to invitees – not done (the hardest part), dress, about to be ordered,  Steve’s outfit (no idea yet), music (some ideas), food (figured out), putting up the guests (ideas only), officiator (done), place (done – their home), photographer (everyone), flowers (will grow), wedding cake (we got the stand, homemade probably), wedding party (small, no bridesmaids, done). We have 11 months to go so we should be in good shape, ha!

And now I have to pay attention to the open suitcase with things strewn around it. Three hours before push off.

I am continuing my preparations for the trip, which are also happening at night, in my dreams. This morning I woke up from a frustration dream in which I was delaying a trip because of my knitting. I kept losing it (the knitting, not my marbles) and constantly had to retrace my steps to find it. I was never going to leave it seemed.

Reality is the opposite; the departure is getting closer and closer. Much of my ‘get ready’ work is about finishing (big) reviews I promised to have done and the designs of the various interventions I am tasked with. Obviously, based on my dreams, I am not convinced of making much progress, even though I am checking things off my ‘to do’ list.

Yesterday, when internet access disappeared about half past 5, I took it as a sign that the workweek was over and it was time to play. I was reminded of words uttered by my brother in law, years ago: ‘pas trop de zèle. These words have stayed with me ever since, whenever this ‘’ trop de zèle’ exhausts me.

We had an impromptu evening with our friends from Essex who came with their inexhaustible supply of roasted vegetables, to which we added grilled salmon and potatoes from (the exhaustible supply of our garden).  We picked a movie, very old fashioned at a  movie theatre, and watched Bridge of Spies with a flawless Tom Hanks performance. It brought back memories of visits behind the Iron Curtain in 1973. The scenes of people trying to get across the Wall before it seals off the East from the West were haunting. Back home, over a warm (Irish Coffee) and/or cold late night snack (ice cream with chocolate sauce) we sat by the fire mulling over the film, the cold war, the suffering, the divided cities, streets and families, bullies in uniform, and the terror of living in constant fear. We searched inside ourselves for whether we could ever display the moral character and courage of Hank’s character and his spy, whether we could be this ‘standing man,’ a key phrase in the denouement . We expressed gratitude for being born and living where we did and do. We are living such a live of abundance and freedom that it puts my mild suffering on long airplane ride entirely in perspective.

I have been busy getting ready for my five-week-criss-cross-Africa-mega trip – getting the tickets approved and bought (requiring several different projects to sign off), hotels booked, airport pick-ups arranged just on the logistics side; then there are the medicines that need to be stocked up, requiring overrides from the insurance company for supplies lasting more than 30 days, and then the malaria pills. And then of course, most important, the preparations, the designs, the calls with key stakeholders to get ready for the various assignments. On Sita’s recommendation I now have an app on my phone (Wunderlist) that tells me what’s left to do each day, in addition to getting milk and eggs and other supplies for daily living.

This evening I found a large box on my doorstep at home. I was surprised, racking my brain for something big I had ordered but had forgotten about. But no, it was Delta Airlines reward for me having flown more than 2 million miles with them. I started acquiring miles on Northwest in the late 80s so this has taken me about 30 years. It gets me a gold card on SkyMiles for life, this is nice. The package contained a carry on case that is made from material tested by the army, by the National Football League and by NASCAR (racing cars), so it should last another 2 million miles. The second 2 million will go faster, given the tempo of my trips, though I doubt I will be traveling like this in 20 years.

I looked up what this gift cost Delta and priced the Tumi case at about 600 dollars, so it is a real gift, not a crappy Chinese case with a zipper that breaks on the first trip. But then again, I don’t really need a fancy carry-on; I would prefer upgrades, especially on long rides like the upcoming one from Atlanta to Johannesburg. I hope that the 2 million miler status pushes me to the front rows whenever it gets too crowded in the back; fingers crossed.

Sita is working again and struggling with having an infant, nursing and pumping in between complex assignments that include travel. Even if travel isn’t all that far (Cambridge), it is complicated with an infant and a 3 year old who is in school. She arranged a deal with her sister who came to Cambridge. She brought her work with her (=her computer) but ended up having to use the computer to look up what to do with a gassy crying baby. She did well on one day but on day two mom came to the rescue and together we worked on getting the burbs out of Saffi. When she finally stopped crying (more like the braying of a donkey at times) we rewarded ourselves with a nice lunch and a bag of brownie crisps.

On Friday night I picked Sita up for a night at our house before going back to work on Saturday. By then the hotel staff had thrown her breast pump and various other items left in the room, out in the trash. It was a sorry performance by a worldclass hotel. For the pain and suffering this cost her, not to mention the distraction from the work she was paid to do, Marriott gave her a platinum membership in addition to reimbursing the cost of the lost items. But what use is a platinum membership when you only stay at such hotels once in a blue moon?

Both Tessa and Axel are recruited to repeat the babysitting stint a few more times before the next month is over. Axel was practicing this weekend whenever Saffi was crying. He takes his job serious. We are all happy about that. I won’t be able to come to the rescue because I will be in Madagascar.

On Saturday Sita borrowed our car without the gizmo that clicks the car open and shut (and with it the alarm). When she arrived at her hotel in Cambridge and gave the keys to the valet parking attendant the alarm went off – and we got another one of Sita’s stress calls. We ended up driving, all of us, into Cambridge, dropped the keys with clicker off and let Sita focus on her work. Once in the city, we decided to go to the Aquarium which is a treat with a 3 year old. Saffi slept through the whole outing, including the rides to and fro.

Once Sita’s work was done, on Sunday, we all decompressed at home, surrounded by toys, books, diapers and bottles. I finished my small knitting project, a sweater for Saffi which was just as well as it fitted like a glove. This means it won’t fit anymore in a couple of weeks. It’s called just-in-time knitting. The knitting hasn’t been good for my shoulder and so I am holding off on a new project until the shoulder is in good working order again.

On Sunday afternoon we went for a lovely walk in the Audubon Ipswich River Sanctuary, getting chickadees to perch on our hands picking seeds that a nice person had left scattered throughout the park. They wouldn’t perch on Faro’s tiny hand as he was too obsessed with catching them. They figured that out very quickly.

The last week has brought Atul Gawande’s latest book (Being Mortal) to life for Axel and me. Our neighbor Charlie turned 93. He is doing amazingly well but he is of a different opinion, lamenting his shuffling walk and the things he can’t do anymore, like driving a car. He gave up driving after a brush with a stone wall and we are all better for it, except Charlie himself who has now become more dependent on others. He is lucky that there are others, but still, this dependency stinks.

And then we went to M’s 84^th birthday party and kissed her husband goodbye, not knowing if we will ever see him again. He sat there, listening, dozing. People had not expected he would be there to celebrate but he did. M read a Gibran poem to us, but it was really to him and I could tell she was preparing herself for his departure. All the emotions are so raw now, she said through tears.

And finally we visited A. and her husband who survived a brain tumor but the aggressive treatment has left him a shadow of his former self. Axel and I are digesting all this aging business, or trying to, wondering what our time horizon is, five years? Ten years? Twenty years?

We are also wondering what it is like when one recognizes that the horizon is closing in. We are still considered the ‘young old,’ with Axel hitting 70 next year (I am a spring chicken in comparison); our friends we visited the last two days are medium old and Charlie is getting up there with the very old. We are watching all of these people age (mostly men at this point), trying to learn from what we see. But we don’t know what the experiences actually are and what there is to learn; we are onlookers for now, though increasingly aware that slowly (or fast) we will be sliding into the experience ourselves. Preparing for the inevitable is steadily moving up on our list of priorities.