The Writing on the Wall

When the twins were eleven months old, we flew from hot and sticky Buenos Aires to icy, wintry Albany, New York (via Rio de Janeiro and NYC) for the holidays. We stayed with my mother in her tiny house in Kinderhook. The twins had their cribs in an upstairs bedroom, pushed against one wall. Almost from the first day, a mysterious thing happened – scrawling scribbles in what looked to be pencil appeared on the wall by Sebi’s crib. Now, the twins were, at that time, eleven months old. They didn’t walk or talk yet, so we couldn’t ask what was going on. I looked everywhere for a pencil. We took Sebi’s bed apart. We took his mattress off, we shook out his covers. We looked in nooks and crannies in the crib and found nothing – but every morning there were more scribbles.

We washed the wall. Searched again. A pencil in the hand of an eleven month old could be dangerous. We took the bed apart, again. The next morning – more scribbles. This happened for over a week. We could Not understand where Sebi got the pencil. Where was it? How? And then one day, as we were washing the wall and again, searching for the pencil, my mother moved Sebi’s stuffed bunny out of the way, and felt something hard in it. Carefully looking, we found a tiny hole, and poked into the hole, was the stub of a pencil. Sebi had been taking it out, scribbling on the wall at night, and pushing it back into the stuffed animal when he was done.

The mystery cleared up, we could stop worrying about ghosts handing out pencils to wakeful babies at night. And then we went to Florida for the polo season. There, we rented an apartment with pristine white walls. And there, one day, Sebi (or Alex – I’ll never know) found a pen and scribbled all over the wall behind the couch. My husband had been gone all morning and I’d been watching the twins. When he came home, I was busy scrubbing the wall. Obviously, I’d failed in my duty – the blue markings on the wall proved it. “How could you let him do that?” My husband said. “How hard can it be to watch two toddlers for an hour?” 

Well, the next day I went shopping and an hour later I came back to find my husband, red-faced, scrubbing the wall. While I’d been gone, and while he’d been watching one twin, the other had found a pen and had scribbled all over the wall again. I was far too virtuous to say “I told you so.” But one day, I promised, I’d write the story down. And so I have.

 

Voyage, voyage

So, this is typical. My son Sebi has gone off on his vacation. He planned it last year. He’s been wanting to go for ages, and so off he went, accompanied by his gorgeous fiancée, to visit South Korea. I admit – he was never good at timing, and he actively seemed to look for trouble. This time, it’s off to a peninsula that, in better times, hardly shows up on the back pages of the news. This time it’s front page news. I actually had to turn the news off today – it’s making me too jittery. With the lunatic in the White House making war noises at the lunatic in North Korea, it’s all I can do to sit down and write – I’m more of a nervous pacer, you see. I get nervous, I clean. I do laundry. I rearrange the furniture. I paint the whole apartment. I want to call Sebi and tell him to come back.  I know I’m  being ridiculous. Life goes on, no matter the bluster of anencephalous Trump or Crazy paranoid Kim. The clouds sail across the sky. And speaking of clouds – there is a doozy heading for my old home – the Caribbean – so I’m worried about my friends there too. It seems today is a day of worry. My house will be spotless. My husband is off to Singapore this evening – but that is just making me jealous. I’d love to visit Malaysia. Hopefully, he’ll have such a wonderful time he’ll want to go back and take me!

Here I am with our friend Wen,who lives in Singapore.

I’ve been having fun imagining a trip to Malaysia (Why didn’t Sebi go to Singapore?!) and planning what I’d like to see. Does everyone do that, or do you just go somewhere and decide what to do once you get there?

I’m not sad to stay alone – my daughter will be here most of the time, as she’s starting her year at the University. Auguste will keep me company (and sit on my lap and sleep on my pillow if I let him, lol). And I have a ton of work that I’m supposed to be doing right now – instead of writing a post about how worried I am about my son going to South Korea, and about how jealous I am of my husband flying off to Singapore! Voyage, voyage – I hope both trips go smoothly and wonderfully and that everyone has a fantastic time. What can Sebi bring me back from South Korea? Any ideas?

Mantes la Jolie, July 11, 1792

It’s easy for me to go back in time. I live in a village steeped in history, and there are vestiges everywhere I look. But my next trip will be  a political one – the elections are in the news, and the only reasons we have elections is because we are a Democracy. It was a messy job wresting the country away from the monarchy. There was a war, thousands of people died, there was mass confusion, hatred, fear…but also hope, elation, and in the end,  freedom. Or at least, as best a freedom as we know. And Mantes, my little village, played a small, but important part.

Mantes la Jolie in 1650 – about 70 years before I visit! It didn’t change much.

Igor, we hardly knew you…

Ever since she was little, my daughter has named things. Her first doll, a Raggedy-Ann doll hand-made by my friend Jill, was called Karen-Tina. She had a stuffed flamingo she called Eagle-Eggs. She named flowers, trees, our dogs, her dance – “Look, Mom and Dad – watch me do the chicken dance!” And our suitcases. Since we travelled a lot, we had suitcases, and my daughter named them. There was Mr Wilson, who, on his first voyage, caught on something and tore. I repaired it with duct tape, and then every time he appeared on the baggage carousel, she’d shout, “Look, there’s Mr Wilson with the tape on his butt!” 

I bought too many new clothes (at the thrift shop) and when I tried to pack, I saw we needed a new suitcase. So, we went to back the thrift shop and there was a suitcase on wheels. It stood as high as my chest and was covered with a richly patterned brown and green tapestry. It looked like something the Adam’s Family would use. My daughter thought it was terrific, so we bought it (5$) and  started to wheel it outside. “We’ll call it Igor,” said my daughter, patting it on the side.  “I hope it isn’t too big,” I said, doubts starting to assail me. It hadn’t seemed so big in the thrift shop, standing next to the refrigerator. Outside, on the sidewalk, it suddenly became a lumbering giant. I steered it to the parking lot, where my mother was waiting with the car. “What is that?” she exclaimed. “It’s Igor”, said my daughter.

My mother looked doubtful. “It’s awfully big,” she said. “When it’s full, you’re not going to be able to lift it.”

“It has wheels,” I said. I wasn’t so sure, actually, if the wheels would hold it. I started to remember the saleswoman’s expression as I’d wheeled it to the counter. What I’d thought had been awe was, in hindsight, more like incredulousness – as in ‘I can’t believe she’s taking that thing off our hands’. 

We tried to get it into the back seat, but it didn’t fit through the door. My mother popped the trunk, and we tried to cram it in, but it was too big. It hung out. My daughter gave a sigh. “Poor Igor”, she said. “We’ll have to take him back.”

We did. Luckily the saleswoman was understanding and gave me a full refund (5$). I went to a sporting goods store and found a more manageable sized suitcase (a lot more than 5$). Back in the car, my daughter and mother pretended to mourn Igor.

“It’s so sad,” said my daughter. “We hardly knew Igor.” 

“It’s for the best,” I said. “We underestimated him.”

My mother nodded.  “He just didn’t fit in the family.” 

 

 

Around and about all over the world

A lot of my travels were done before I can properly remember them. I was born in Kingston, NY, but can’t recall a thing about that. Possibly my first memories are of California, when my sister was born, but the memories are like small details cut from faded photographs and tell me nothing about California. Then we moved an impossibly long distance across the Pacific to the Samoan islands – and I have rain drenched memories of this place.

Shellfish festival

Because it was so amazing, because the food was so delicious – I couldn’t resist posting a slew of photos of the Olhão Seafood Festival!

Portugal and back again

So it’s our last night here in Portugal. As the sun starts to set, and the cicadas start to buzz, I hang up my bathing suit to dry and think what a great vacation it’s been.  I can count the number of vacations my husband and I have had together on one hand. Usually, I’m tagging along while he works. Usually in some fantastic polo-spot. As he so rightly put it, our whole life has been a vacation. But it’s the first time we’ve visited Portugal. And it’s one of the rare times he hasn’t been working, so things were a bit different. We walked through the National park that is along the ria formosa.

Dubai

Dubai!

I had such a great time in this city. I loved the architecture, the sea, the people, the shopping, and the singing fountain. The food was wonderful, in short, I had a fantastic trip.

Here I am, in front of the man-made lake where the singing fountains are played at night.