Today was Josie’s birthday and one year anniversary of her passing on December 2, so her family and a few of us friends gathered after church to say hi to her. Family read scripture, and we sang Joy to the World and happy birthday (Sophia’s idea).
Clara’s coat didn’t match her outfit—I don’t know what to say to that—so Georgie loaned her her coat and then someone draped a blanket over her. She still shivered, but nothing a good hot chocolate wouldn’t cure.
Several people showed up at the reception at Debbie’s and Donny’s house with a Starbucks mocha in honor of Josie, but I had the egg nog option, followed by maple fudge. Not ideal to have both, but Josie would have joined me.
In other news, we got our Christmas tree up yesterday—not in time for Patrick Hughes’s delightful visit, but in time for two weeks of holiday vibes before we leave for said holidays. In that time, all three of us in this house plus Tatum have projects and exams to face and ace. And I have unruly adolescents to guide and grow in wisdom. Exams might be easier.
Kevin just has a war, missile attacks and daily blackouts to deal with. Ho hum. Another day, another challenge.
I love our home. And by that I mean, I love my tree-house porch, our revolving-door kitchen table with its sunflowers, rose sprays or peonies, and the miles of leafy trails along the creek in my backyard. I love my friendly neighbors and fluffy neighbors—can’t get around the block without a conversation and a nose-to-tail hello—the annual trivia competition at Clara Barton Community Center and the Strawberry Festival at Redeemer.
I love that Finn has biked to Great Falls and walked to Georgetown, Tatum and Clara can take the bus to Bethesda or metro down to the American History museum from Friendship Heights, and Kevin can drive along the river, park and be in his office in less than half an hour.
And he works right next to the White House in a light-filled, modern, artful building in the nation’s capital. I love Washington, DC, my home-base city. It is beautiful, designed on the concepts of Paris, and has for 100 years been called the City of Trees. The sturdy, sparkling Potomac anchors us and invites everything from graceful cranes to JFK’s beacon to the arts, the Kennedy Center, to make a home here.
No one would call it a perfect city, but it’s a lovely one, filled with mom-and-pop restaurants as well as Michelin-starred ones. It still needs to be less segregated and safer, for sure. But since my childhood in the 80s, it has become increasingly safer, cleaner and more peaceful. The data back up what we can see with our very own eyes; crime rates are at a 30-year low.
To call in the National Guard to clean up crime in our mostly peaceful city makes as much sense as to let a Bannockburn elementary student use chalk to fix scratches in Monet painting.
Why not use our precious federal funding to provide more mental health services, help people overcome addiction, improve the pay for high school teachers, provide paid parental leave and free and high-quality preschool so young dads and moms can get steady jobs, and buy back automatic assault weapons? Those approaches are known to reduce crime rates.
Bringing in young, patriotic and altruistic American soldiers to point guns at or intimidate other Americans, even petty thieves, is a horrible feeling for everyone. Those trained troops must be at least partially uncomfortable being asked to see us as the enemy…that’s not what they signed up for. They bravely signed up to defend our country from true danger, whether that’s a 9/11-style attack by al qaeda or people aiming to kill our elected leaders and incredible policemen in the Capitol building.
Bringing in a violent approach to improve a mostly peaceful situation introduces the very violence it purports to fix. Weird.
So those were my thoughts on my morning walk along the sturdy and sparkling Potomac yesterday, as I snapped images of this city and this country that I love.
Here are some takeaways from our fascinating trip to the far east.
First and foremost, jump rope is an amazing sport. Finn’s single rope team freestyle (“fourstyle”) group earned a 3rd place medal in the international open tournament. Finn it to win it!
A walking tour of Tokyo with local guide Haiyan gave us a great first-day overview of a surreal city. With over 38 million people, Tokyo makes DC feel positively provincial. Our Shinjuku train station, which processes 3.8 million visitors a day, has not one exit, nor two exits, nor four exits, but 42 exits. Meanwhile, our tiny, clean apartment had not one sitting area but zero. We could see why the Japanese are dedicated to making space for space in the form of peaceful parks and forests, even in the middle of the city.
Japan is mega weird when it comes to fashion. It was refreshing. Kevin, who knows the Japanese culture from his time there in the Navy, said people are kind of wound tight from all the work and family pressures and so create, again, space for active fantasy lives through cosplay. Yes, “cosplay,” as in costume play. There were costumes for little Bo Peep, goth girls, business men, and a lot of cutesy babydoll outfits. There are also a lot of pretty boys and “girlie clubs” for the so-called (and clearly not) gentlemen.
What’s up with all the cute in Japan? Cute cats, cute dogs, cute kids, cute anime, cute toilets. There’s a lot of cute. “Kawaii” is cool.
In one memorable moment, Finn took on a sumo wrestler. The other guy was 280 pounds, so he may or may not have lost. But how cool is it of Finn to step into the ring?
The art and architecture are eye catching and intriguing. There’s a paradoxical mix of modern and traditional, edgy and constrained, proper and provocative.
We loved the Team Lab Museum, which integrated science, color, nature, interactive technology and knowledge into playful learning—and they offered some delicious vegan miso soup with crunchy lotus roots.
The food. It was lovely. Like receiving a gift-wrapped package at each meal.
Finn’s Highlights
Watching the finals, the athletes’ gala, going to 7-Eleven, the arcade…basically everything on the last day.
Being in Kawasaki—the tournament.
Definitely reading.
Clara’s Highlights
The Team Lab Museum.
Seeing the puppies in Tokyo (next to Pet a Pig).
Dad being ridiculous at the ice cream place (and coffee ice cream). Last night in the elevator, Dad making me laugh.
Finn wrestling a sumo wrestler. “They have so much confidence to go up there. I mean they’re basically naked.”
Our tour with Haiyan. Seeing the popular places. And, “My steak. It was like the third best steak I’ve ever had. I ate three quarters of it.”
“By the way, I love Copenhagen. Even though I’ve never been. When we go to Norway in two years for the next Worlds, we should definitely go to Copenhagen.”
“When Dad clipped his toenails. That was like a proud daughter moment.”
Going to the brewery last night. We were watching the Devil Wears Prada and learning about when Dad and Mom first met.
Kevin’s Highlights
Definitely sumo.
The museum. I loved the technology and the way it brought in learning. The flowers were super peaceful. The water was cool.
The hustle and bustle of Shinjuku, where we stayed in Tokyo.
The Mt. Fuji stuff. I liked the forest there.
Heather’s Highlights
The bamboo coffee shop in the forest in the middle of Tokyo.
The hat shop.
Watching Clara watch the sumo wrestlers.
Going down the slide at the Team Lab Museum.
Kevin and the “watch out for bears” sign at Mt. Fuji.
Shark researcher? Too much lab time. Early childhood education? Maybe. Political science? “I want to take every class on this list.” That’s the one! Tatum and Aiden both started their college career at the end of June, along with another one-third of the first-year class at the University of South Florida.
She and roommate Carson, a Florida native, found each other through some app early this spring, and before I left the day after orientation, their room was already decorated with a pink rug, comforters, jewelry stands, heart-shaped pillows and fairy lights.
About five days after I left, I was receiving videos showing Tatum’s entire friend group, which is extensive and active, in their room. Clubs and beach days are part of the summer experience. She has gotten a lingering bad cold but still gets out and about. One place that cheers her up is an animal shelter. She used to do the same—go hang out with puppies—when she lived in Utah. It’s a good strategy, but I’m glad to say she doesn’t seem overly homesick, probably helped a lot by the fact Aiden is with her.
In-person classes, less so. Tatum’s health form failed to have a small box ticked off saying whether she declined or updated a vaccine, and we think this is why she was assigned online and asynchronous classes. However, this doesn’t explain why she was assigned the following two courses: (a) issues in music and (b) medical terminology. She has been a good sport about it and is getting As so far, but may even be looking forward to a full load of in-person classes this fall.
She’ll have a two-week break back home in August before heading back on August 19 to help new students move in. There’s nothing like being an old hand to feel at home.
She has the added benefit of having Aiden’s extended family in the Tampa area, and they have a beautiful home, dock, pool and storage room they generously share. It makes me feel more at ease with the whole hurricanes and lightening strikes thing to know there are friendly adults nearby.
We have our USF merch around the house to make us feel closer and nothing sparkles more like Tatum than the beautiful champagne bottle she bedazzled for graduation. But we miss her. Luna the cat still wanders into the room looking for her and wanders out, sadly settling for my bed with practically an audible sigh.
One thing it will be exciting to learn in college: How to pack a suitcase!
So at 3:30 am in Kawasaki, Japan, Italy and California are on my mind. Jet lag will do that to a person, spin the mind like a globe. I was just thinking that since Christmas in the UK, not including Kevin’s constant travels to Ukraine and Poland, and Tatum’s foray into Florida, we’ve also been to Florence, Roma and Pisa and Oakland, Sausalito and Carmel. And Madagascar, but that’s a different thing. Lucky us. Some photos follow from Tatum’s spring break school trip and our West Coast wanderings.
First, Tatum and Aiden go to Italy. They visited Rome, Siena, Pisa, Florence…all magical. Although it must be said that Tatum called on day one begging to come home because the school chaperones marched the underslept students for hours from the get go and they were exhausted and cranky. But in the end, I think it’s fair to say she’s glad she got to go. She marked the moment with a permanent reminder. On her forearm.
Meanwhile, Finn, Clara and I ventured west, with out much-needed Thornhill fix to have some of Mom’s strawberry shortcake, Doug’s salmon, spring daffodils and walks into the hills. We spent hours looking at old family photos that Uncle Ron brought over and had dinner at the former train station where Buppy returned after WWII.
We also got some fun quality time in Sacramento to celebrate Bridgey’s birthday and discover the joys of the go-kart, thanks to Rob.
Robin and David kindly let us soak in the beautiful Carmel coast as well. I was flooded with memories of Mendicino when we explored the tide pools. Finn followed David on a five-mile run along the shore and was highly rewarded when David called him a beast. Every time David turned around, no matter how many steps his long legs had leapt up, Finn was right behind him with a smile. Clara is ready to move to California anytime, in heaven with the views, the sunshine and the lifestyle.
For me, visiting family and friends is the best part. We got to be at my mom’s house, be with my youngest niece on her birthday, and see heart friends Robin and David and the Pauls. Zora is astonishing: she goes to the gym every day after school. And before school. And she has a job in Marin. While organizing prom. Gloriann is tackling hip surgery with her usual laugh it off approach. And John and April are watching the higher ed world flounder in the face of political and technology assaults with their usual shrug it off good humor and taking refuge in nature. It’s good to have role models.
It has been such a festive and cerebral season! So many graduates to celebrate, and celebrate we did.
Marley, as usual, led the way. Unfortunately, we had to watch the UMD events live streamed because it was pouring rain and too cold for Mom and Doug to sit outside—but we still felt part of events and listened to Kermit the Frog tell graduates that instead of leaping over others “in their way,” they could consider giving others a hand up. So that was pointed and apropos to the times. The Biggars came for the architecture program graduation two days later, and Dad and Mary Ellen hosted a fantastic party to toast Marley, who’s working this summer at a frame shop and at David Hathway’s firm, Kramer Architects.
It was a great feat for Tatum to graduate on time after so many schools, and to do with grace, a smile and an academic honor roll award. Amazing. The same was one percent true times two for Sophia, given the hardships she faced during high school. These girls—all of this class—navigated the onset/onslaught of social media for teens (a disaster) and COVID closures (a wrecking ball) before they even got to high school. So these graduations were a joy indeed.
We continued the festivities with a garden party for one hundred people at our house to give love and joy to our bedazzling Tatum and Sophia. Lots of Hathways were there, including the Hathway Brothers band. We navigated the tornado warnings with tents and rain boots.
There was some fun open mic singing from Aiden, Tommy’s sister Julie and Tommy. Beautiful rustic floral arrangements, photos of the girls, and balloons added splashes of color everywhere, thanks to Tommy’s mom Amy. Best of all, Kathy, Mom and Doug, Kevin and Wizzie and family came from out of town to cheer the girls on. Sophia has earned a full ride to Denison, and Tatum is a University of South Florida bull. She’ll probably bedazzle the bull statue on campus before the end of summer.
Cody wanted a pool party at Auntie Blitz’s place, a throwback to the early years. It was awesome seeing the kids play Marco Polo and hearing them laugh at each other in the pool…could be 8, could be 18. Dad and Mary Ellen grilled, Drea brought lots of food, and Cody said he wants to do as little as possible this summer, before starting at McGill. But then again, he just placed in the intensive-level French class by teaching himself French using YouTube videos, so he’s not doing nothing—he can’t help himself. And after weighing journalism and urban planning programs, he too chose architecture. The world will be more aesthetically cool and greener and smarter.
I’m sorry these young adults are inheriting a mad world, but I feel pretty great about their capacity to make things better. Tatum changed majors even before summer classes started, moving from marine biology to early childhood education to political science. This last one is the best fit I could imagine for her. Aiden is poised to be a successful business man, Caroline is getting her Danish citizenship, Marley is considering time with Habitat for Humanity, Cody’s pieces have been played on NPR…these young people are so impressive. Here’s to the Class of 2025!
It’s my last evening in Antananarivo and I’m feeling like a tortoise that found a skateboard; how lucky to have been here for a second time this year. I listen to live and lively piano music in the pavilion of La Varangue, sip my Cristal (sparkling water) and realize I can’t feel the temperature, which means it’s the perfect temperature—but the dragon fruit and papaya at breakfast and the pink-orange bougainvillea cascading down walls say tropical.
The work was good: my World Bank, UNICEF and Ministry of Education colleagues pulled together through two full-day workshops, field visits and working meetings. We have a good draft of strategic plan in place. The goal is to increase children’s access to preschool. I would add “high-quality” before preschool but—one step at a time. We also need to coax a budget; right now we (preschool stakeholders) get 0.01 percent of the education budget. I’m suggesting a goal of 5 percent.
Aside from work, I got to do two fun things. I booked a Sunday morning tour at national park to see lemurs—I couldn’t come to this beautiful country twice and miss the national symbol both times—and I went to an art gallery.
Being outside at the lemur park, feeling soft dirt under my feet and watching astonished-looking lemurs leap and lounge around was delightful. One breed has hairy cheek tufts that make even the tiniest baby look like a drunk old man. Another breed feels like a cross between a cat, a zebra and a monkey. That would be the breed of King Julien fame from the movie Madagascar.
Today I found funk and fabrics, hipsters and arresting photography at Foundation H. An art gallery filled with contemporary African art, this indoor-outdoor space showcased the same traditions as the masks that used to dot the walls of our house growing up but with a very modern vibe.
Most of the visitors were trendy young people. The artists, according to wall plaques in French, were from Madagascar, Ghana, Egypt, Uganda, South Africa, Togo, all over the continent. Themes covered independence from colonialism and how our materialism is an environmental bummer, but there was more playfulness than preaching. One traditional looking piece was comprised of only mobile phone parts; another that looked like a bird was of plastic toothbrush parts and computer keys.
Despite the good work and cultural fun, the faces of the kids will stay with me the most.
And I may or may not have “barfed in the bushes,” as my mother put it, right in the middle of a key informant interview with a mother and her family. It wasn’t in the bushes so much as behind a line of laundry, next to a trash heap and a bug-eyed chicken. I felt terrible because the mom thought it was the environment of the dirt courtyard that made me sick, and she had been too ashamed to take us into her house (room). In fact, I was in awe of how she fed five children as a widow. I wished I could give her a bottle of Cristal, some dragon fruit and maybe a pot of zebu stew and a ticket to preschool.
Just one last anecdote and I’ll end this missive. Thunderstorms and technical issues delayed the flight leaving DC—four hours on the tarmac—and caused a missed connection in Paris. The exceedingly disinterested Air France rep—he exuded perfect Parisian ennui—booked me into a Days Inn by the airport for two nights until the next flight to Antananarivo, which sounded dreadful. I finally found a route via Johannesburg, but with no space left in business class, I had to sleep sitting up. That seemed better than having my colleagues cancel the next-day conference, at which I was an opening speaker.
I was stressed about not sleeping on the 11-hour flight but had no time to dwell on it because I had race through the massive JBG airport, including getting through (skipping) immigration and security lines in 6 minutes, followed by Air France staff and the ire of fellow fliers. The last person to reach the tram to Tana at 9:49 am for a 10:00 am departure, I turned to thank the flight attendant, who had her hand out for a tip—but I had zero cash. So now I was followed by her ire as well. But I made the last flight to Tana of the day.
Not surprisingly, my luggage didn’t make it with me. I was scheduled to speak the next morning, right after a Director of the Ministry of Education, at a big conference at a five-star hotel which was to be live-streamed across the country, and I had with me only the very crumpled clothes I had worn for over two days. They smelled like airport and may have had a curry stain down the front.
Landing at 3:00, was I thinking about my slides? No. I asked to go straight to a clothes shop. Needless to say, I didn’t find an Hermès suit. I made do with a sleeveless linen blue sundress found in a local shop and a white sweater from the bottom of my backpack, which was not the look I was going for. I also may not have had the smell I was going for. Who packs deodorant in their carry-on, besides Finn? Lesson learned.
After five days, I was reunited with my luggage and thrilled to have work clothes again, including my black suit. Then I arrived at the second workshop and realized I had missed the mark again: My UNICEF colleague was wearing an amazing traditional outfit with bright colors and a headband. Why hadn’t I packed something like that? We laughed and took a photo together. There’s nothing like being a foreigner to feel right at home.
There’s nothing like feeling a wave of nausea to focus the mind on meeting the moment. Specifically, where can I vomit most discreetly at this moment, I wondered, because there’s no time to spare. And, secondly, she’s a mom, this person in front of me— she’ll understand. She has had at least five children, so vomiting is part of the picture.
I excused myself from the interview, walked behind a line of laundry, right next to a trash heap and a bug-eyed chicken, and threw up. My colleagues kindly checked on me, I drank a minuscule sip of water and returned to the dirt courtyard to ask my semi-structured survey questions. Why hadn’t I asked her when she last drank water? She was breastfeeding through most of the interview—I know she needed some clean water.
It wasn’t the baby I was focused on, however, but the four-year-old older sister sitting beside Mama like bark hugs a tree. Left behind from preschool, barefoot and sporting a decidedly dirty dress, she seemed an unlikely candidate to ever attend school. It breaks my heart to say that, but there’s only so much a mom can do. Her older brothers, 7 and 11, were the priority if Mama, a widow finding little more work than occasional laundry, could save the $4 required to pay their school fees next year.
Her 18-year-old daughter was also breastfeeding throughout the interview. Her “marriage” didn’t work out.
Meanwhile, back home, my own 18-year-old daughter is feeling the awful pressure of AP exams, finals and late assignments, prom and its unspoken standards, service hour expectations, graduation and a party, packing up childhood, moving to an entirely new state and lifestyle, and anxiety about succeeding in life as a grown-up.
Threaded through the aching for my daughter’s heavy feelings are distracting thoughts about whether my other daughter was able to catch up on delayed obligations for school, and whether I had registered and paid for my son to attend upcoming events in North Carolina, South Dakota and Japan, and the ropes course in Sandy Springs. Probably not. “World’s okayest mom,” as my favorite t-shirt says.
And…Josie, where are you? We have a pressing date tomorrow. It’s Mother’s Day. Our children are making us brunch, the way they have for the last six years. We will get dressed up in our finest. We will have origami napkin designs, bacon and fluffy pancakes, or perhaps very flat ones. But you’re not there. I’m not there either, but Madagascar is a lot closer.
It can’t be real. What are sweet Georgie and Sophia feeling? Are they numb, horrified, utterly alone, angry, hiding cauldrons of grief, just fine, all of the above? Josie, what can I say to them for you? What anguish you must have carried knowing the end was sooner than it should be.
Mothers must work in teams…otherwise, how can we bear it? The weight of caring so much, carrying so much—it must be shared. Whether we have a lot of riches or very little, we can’t care for our little ones (no matter how tall) alone. The burdens we face and feel criss-cross every boundary: national, racial, educational, financial. Whether wealthy or poor, healthy or sick, American or African, we all hold the pain and joy of every one of our children, and all at once.
The mothers who went before us are a lifeline. How I would get through a week without my mom’s advice and kindness, I do not know. I can’t list all that she has taught me, including how to be generous and gracious and how to make a good bœuf bourguignonne.
And I have other mothers too: my stepmother Mary Ellen who taught me not to explain, not to let them intimidate me, and how to live the lake life. My godmother Auntie Carol, who taught me to get rid of all the extra so I could focus on one problem at a time, and also how to go to bed early. My second mom Gloriann, who taught me how to use food to bring people together and how to laugh at life, and also how to find the best silver at a thrift shop. And my aunties, who taught me that sometimes the thing to regret is not being rash but waiting too long, and also how to wear a designer dress.
And all of these women have cleaned up more vomit, literal and otherwise, than they deserved to. We do whatever we have to, to love and provide for our piglets and clean up after them as needed. As Tatum asked me recently, distraught, “Who will hold back my hair when I throw up at college?” We wipe away vomit and tears, and we smile from afar when they dance—in stilettos or barefoot.
That barefooted 4-year-old in the courtyard won’t have the opportunities that my children have or even what her neighbors have, but she has a good mom who will take care of her till the day she can’t. And in that, she’s rich.
@theterrace 