Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Pets
We had two dogs when we planned our sabbatical to Ecuador in 2009. Our older dog Pippi (the absolute best dog in the whole world!) was failing and died a few months before we left. Elmer, our puppy, moved in with our best friends, the Benichous, where he was loved and well cared for and gained 50 pounds.
When we returned, Elmer decided to stay with his new family, or the Benichous decided to keep him, or we chose to leave him where he was comfortable, and we visited him regularly in his new home. This has worked out well, except that we missed our dogs so much, we could not replace them, ergo we acquired two delightful cats. I am horribly allergic to the cats, but they are part of our lives now and are not going anywhere. Felix and Quinn are brothers, and seem to be more like dogs than cats, in that they are attentive and loving and miss us when we are gone.
The cats appear to be aware that something is going on in the household. Maya believes that Felix is depressed and needs psychotherapy/meds. Perhaps we are gone far too much lately, or more than usual, and our pets want us around more. Each weekend, we are scrambling to find someone to care for them. Eric bought an automatic kitty litter cleaner, so that the litter does not require cleaning daily. We would like to have an automatic feeder, but Quinn would eat all the food and Felix would get nothing. Our neighbour (and Eric's collaborator) Noah, has been feeding them each weekend, but is off to Australia today (he called to ask for a prescription of Ambien), so I was struggling with figuring out who to ask to care for them. Eric called Juan, who mows our lawn and sometimes cleans the house, who agreed to take care for them for the next few days.
Maya insists that we take our cats with us to Ecuador, and Eric has agreed. I am not sure how we will accomplish this. Do they come into the cabin with us or go in the cargo hold? Will they be quarantined when we arrive in Ecuador or when we come home? I think they are eminently transportable, and will be perfectly content as long as they are with us. They are part of our family now.
When we returned, Elmer decided to stay with his new family, or the Benichous decided to keep him, or we chose to leave him where he was comfortable, and we visited him regularly in his new home. This has worked out well, except that we missed our dogs so much, we could not replace them, ergo we acquired two delightful cats. I am horribly allergic to the cats, but they are part of our lives now and are not going anywhere. Felix and Quinn are brothers, and seem to be more like dogs than cats, in that they are attentive and loving and miss us when we are gone.
The cats appear to be aware that something is going on in the household. Maya believes that Felix is depressed and needs psychotherapy/meds. Perhaps we are gone far too much lately, or more than usual, and our pets want us around more. Each weekend, we are scrambling to find someone to care for them. Eric bought an automatic kitty litter cleaner, so that the litter does not require cleaning daily. We would like to have an automatic feeder, but Quinn would eat all the food and Felix would get nothing. Our neighbour (and Eric's collaborator) Noah, has been feeding them each weekend, but is off to Australia today (he called to ask for a prescription of Ambien), so I was struggling with figuring out who to ask to care for them. Eric called Juan, who mows our lawn and sometimes cleans the house, who agreed to take care for them for the next few days.
Maya insists that we take our cats with us to Ecuador, and Eric has agreed. I am not sure how we will accomplish this. Do they come into the cabin with us or go in the cargo hold? Will they be quarantined when we arrive in Ecuador or when we come home? I think they are eminently transportable, and will be perfectly content as long as they are with us. They are part of our family now.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Medical Visits
There are perfectly good doctors in Ecuador, and I do not doubt that we will be well taken care of if we have medical needs during our stay. We have lost our Johns Hopkins insurance as of Saturday, but Eric is extending our insurance via 'Cobra' at rather incredible cost. If anything should happen in Ecuador, we will need insurance. By October, the new institution should cover us.
I have been panicking nevertheless, trying to have us all see our dentist and doctors, getting my mammogram, collecting 90 day supplies of medications etc. I avoid my neurosurgeon, who is concerned that I have not yet had my neck surgery. I am altogether too scared of the possible complications, and am avoiding the inevitable for another year or so. My family doctor retired this month, and I rarely see him anyway, but now I have to find someone to evaluate me for minor surgery before I leave.
Maya and I both ordered new glasses. Mine are wonderful bifocals (oh dear, I am getting old!) Maya is delighted that she can actually see! Her old glasses had an ancient prescription so this time I used her new (December) prescription, and she is skipping about glorying in her new more precise vision. I had no idea she felt so limited before.
I am checking off each item on my priority list, an endless list, but I am making progress.
I have been panicking nevertheless, trying to have us all see our dentist and doctors, getting my mammogram, collecting 90 day supplies of medications etc. I avoid my neurosurgeon, who is concerned that I have not yet had my neck surgery. I am altogether too scared of the possible complications, and am avoiding the inevitable for another year or so. My family doctor retired this month, and I rarely see him anyway, but now I have to find someone to evaluate me for minor surgery before I leave.
Maya and I both ordered new glasses. Mine are wonderful bifocals (oh dear, I am getting old!) Maya is delighted that she can actually see! Her old glasses had an ancient prescription so this time I used her new (December) prescription, and she is skipping about glorying in her new more precise vision. I had no idea she felt so limited before.
I am checking off each item on my priority list, an endless list, but I am making progress.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Progress Required
I learned earlier today that Eric was flying to Baltimore late tonight to attend his student's PhD defense. I realized that he would arrive home and discover that I had done very little to prepare for our move. I waded through five patients an hour at the West side hospital clinic where I am doing a locum, and then to my office for a few hours. Maya and I were invited out to dinner at the Benichous, which would have been lovely, but I felt obliged to return home and try to make some order out of our belongings.
I organized a pickup from the 'Purple Heart' charity next Thursday, and I committed to ten bags of clothes, bedding and shoes. When I went through my linens, I discovered that most of the pile of sheets and blankets were infested with some sort of insect. I looked online and learned that this is not unusual for unused clothing and that simply washing the materials and storing them in plastic was required. I wasn't sure I was ready to wash so much, so I moved on to my closet and started the process of deciding what to keep and what to give away. I ended up keeping almost everything, and was disappointed that I was not better at reducing the massive load of stuff that I have accumulated.
I moved on to Maya's clothes, which should be an easy task, because by the time we return from Ecuador, nothing will fit her. Unfortunately, when Tara was visiting, she left many of her old clothes for Maya, so the pile to keep is greater than ever, and for all that I am giving away, there is twice as much that Maya wishes to preserve.
And so I have a bag and a half for the charity, and much more than I imagined to store. I am trying to separate clothes for Ecuador from a pile for Baltimore visits, and keep another bag for skiing clothes/cold weather when we travel to Edmonton. The logistics are challenging.
The best part of this endeavor is that it APPEARS that I am accomplishing something, or at least I hope that is what Eric will think.....
I organized a pickup from the 'Purple Heart' charity next Thursday, and I committed to ten bags of clothes, bedding and shoes. When I went through my linens, I discovered that most of the pile of sheets and blankets were infested with some sort of insect. I looked online and learned that this is not unusual for unused clothing and that simply washing the materials and storing them in plastic was required. I wasn't sure I was ready to wash so much, so I moved on to my closet and started the process of deciding what to keep and what to give away. I ended up keeping almost everything, and was disappointed that I was not better at reducing the massive load of stuff that I have accumulated.
I moved on to Maya's clothes, which should be an easy task, because by the time we return from Ecuador, nothing will fit her. Unfortunately, when Tara was visiting, she left many of her old clothes for Maya, so the pile to keep is greater than ever, and for all that I am giving away, there is twice as much that Maya wishes to preserve.
And so I have a bag and a half for the charity, and much more than I imagined to store. I am trying to separate clothes for Ecuador from a pile for Baltimore visits, and keep another bag for skiing clothes/cold weather when we travel to Edmonton. The logistics are challenging.
The best part of this endeavor is that it APPEARS that I am accomplishing something, or at least I hope that is what Eric will think.....
Monday, June 25, 2012
Kitchen Requirements
When we rented our apartment in Quito, I failed to realize that it did not have an oven until after we had already signed the lease and moved in. I arrived home from an errand and Eric challenged me to discern what was missing. I had no idea, even when he presented a whole chicken ready to cook.
I learned to adjust, and cooked that chicken whole in a stewpot. Later we purchased a toaster oven, which worked to bake and cook almost everything, but in small quantities and sizes. When Maya needed cookies in batches of 100, I baked six at a time. For her violin birthday cake, I baked eight rounds and fashioned them into the shape of a full sized violin. It was marvelous. I realized that I could bake almost anything in my tiny toaster oven and did not want to give up the machine when I left Quito. I stored it with my friend Maria, and plan to pull it out of storage when we arrive in Quito.
Most importantly, I learned that I could manage with so little of what I was accustomed to, and that possibilities were limitless. At Yanayacu, where Eric set up a research site, the kitchen was huge, and there was a stove with an oven, but no refrigerator or storage available, and sometimes the pantry was bare, but we brought food in, and improvised when there was nothing to start with. Of course, whenever possible, I stayed at San Isidro, a bird sanctuary down the road, where the food was amazingly good.
In fact, our year in Ecuador was very much about living with less, an making do with little, and not having resources and managing anyway. We lived like the locals, and learned that we could do with so much less than we believe that we need. It was astonishing how quickly we readjusted to Baltimore and our world of plenty, our lives of excess. Now that I am packing up the house, I am astonished at how much we accumulated in just the two years since we moved back. We never unpacked the storage unit, and now we have an incredible amount of STUFF that replaced the STUFF we never unpacked.
I hope that I will relearn how to live with less.
I learned to adjust, and cooked that chicken whole in a stewpot. Later we purchased a toaster oven, which worked to bake and cook almost everything, but in small quantities and sizes. When Maya needed cookies in batches of 100, I baked six at a time. For her violin birthday cake, I baked eight rounds and fashioned them into the shape of a full sized violin. It was marvelous. I realized that I could bake almost anything in my tiny toaster oven and did not want to give up the machine when I left Quito. I stored it with my friend Maria, and plan to pull it out of storage when we arrive in Quito.
Most importantly, I learned that I could manage with so little of what I was accustomed to, and that possibilities were limitless. At Yanayacu, where Eric set up a research site, the kitchen was huge, and there was a stove with an oven, but no refrigerator or storage available, and sometimes the pantry was bare, but we brought food in, and improvised when there was nothing to start with. Of course, whenever possible, I stayed at San Isidro, a bird sanctuary down the road, where the food was amazingly good.
In fact, our year in Ecuador was very much about living with less, an making do with little, and not having resources and managing anyway. We lived like the locals, and learned that we could do with so much less than we believe that we need. It was astonishing how quickly we readjusted to Baltimore and our world of plenty, our lives of excess. Now that I am packing up the house, I am astonished at how much we accumulated in just the two years since we moved back. We never unpacked the storage unit, and now we have an incredible amount of STUFF that replaced the STUFF we never unpacked.
I hope that I will relearn how to live with less.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Whalewatching
I am absolutely entranced by whales, such huge and graceful creatures. Whenever possible, I try to join a whalewatching event, and never get tired of seeking out and watching whales in the water. It was our only family day with Eric for the week, so we drove to Barnstable (after pancakes and bacon for breakfast and a massage for both Maya and myself) and joined the whalewatching boat out of the harbour for the afternoon. After leaving the harbour and the bay, the boat sped across to the Stellwangen bank, full of rich plankton, where the whales feed and play.
We encountered a humpback and her calf and watched them blow holes and drift along the surface and dive deep for ten minutes at a time. I was in awe. We expected more sightings, but none appeared, and that was the end of our adventure. The last time we took the tour, we saw several species and pairs, but the biologist on the boat suggested that the storm the night before may have altered the food supply and the whales had left for other feeding opportunities.
I had brought my camera with my long lens, anticipating more opportunities to photograph and film, but was frustrated. I was trying to make up for the last time Maya and I went whalewatching near Isla de la Plata in Ecuador, and saw whales breeching and dancing in the surf. My camera battery died, and so I gave up on photos and just watched the show. Eric believes that having the camera alters the experience, and that without the camera one sees more, but I am not sure I agree.
We will have to go whalewatching again.
We encountered a humpback and her calf and watched them blow holes and drift along the surface and dive deep for ten minutes at a time. I was in awe. We expected more sightings, but none appeared, and that was the end of our adventure. The last time we took the tour, we saw several species and pairs, but the biologist on the boat suggested that the storm the night before may have altered the food supply and the whales had left for other feeding opportunities.
I had brought my camera with my long lens, anticipating more opportunities to photograph and film, but was frustrated. I was trying to make up for the last time Maya and I went whalewatching near Isla de la Plata in Ecuador, and saw whales breeching and dancing in the surf. My camera battery died, and so I gave up on photos and just watched the show. Eric believes that having the camera alters the experience, and that without the camera one sees more, but I am not sure I agree.
We will have to go whalewatching again.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Coffee and Ice Cream and Quahogs
It was a delight to sleep in, although Eric was up early and showered and off to work with his students; his colleague Maurice drove back to Montreal to be with his ill wife and has left Eric to take care of the course.
Maya could not decide if she wanted to take the ferry to Martha's Vineyard, or bike to Falmouth and look for hermit crabs (but mostly to get coffee at Starbucks), or just go to Stoney Beach for a swim. She was preoccupied with setting up her Facebook account (I had read in the 'Economist' that children should have Facebook pages, as long as parents monitor their activities and set clear limits and boundaries' Maya had been asking about Facebook for months and I had been resistant until recently), so by the time we got moving, Martha's Vineyard was no longer possible, and it was time for coffee.
Maya was reluctant to bike the hour to Starbucks and back, but I promised to get into the water at Stoney Beach, and that was enough to convince her. We stopped off at the beach on the way to Falmouth to see if the hermit crabs were out, but could not find any. After two triple espresso macchiatos, I was set, so we biked through the town and ran into an arts fare. We listened to folk music and peeked at the art booths, but were most interested in the quahogs. A patient of mine who was originally from Boston, had mentioned them and had described how to go 'clamming' for them on the beach, but I had never heard of them, and so when I saw samples for sale, I decided that quahogs would be our lunch. We had a choice of garlic, chili and lime, or coconut butter, and we tried all three, all equally delicious.
Ice cream was next; Maya tried the 'lobster' ice cream, which tastes surprisingly like lobster!
Maya had been waiting to go to the beach all day, and we picked Eric up at the lab on the way to Stoney Beach. The water was much warmer than it had been the week before, so we all plunged in.
I realize that I have been seeing the same people year after year here at Woods Hole. We had dinner with a colleague who has been at Woods Hole every summer for eighteen years. Their children have grown up here, and have chosen fields of study directly related to the experiences they have had at the MBL. One of Eric's new colleagues at NJIT lives two cottages away from us on 'Memorial Circle'. Cape Cod and the MBL will be part of our lives for many many years.
Maya could not decide if she wanted to take the ferry to Martha's Vineyard, or bike to Falmouth and look for hermit crabs (but mostly to get coffee at Starbucks), or just go to Stoney Beach for a swim. She was preoccupied with setting up her Facebook account (I had read in the 'Economist' that children should have Facebook pages, as long as parents monitor their activities and set clear limits and boundaries' Maya had been asking about Facebook for months and I had been resistant until recently), so by the time we got moving, Martha's Vineyard was no longer possible, and it was time for coffee.
Maya was reluctant to bike the hour to Starbucks and back, but I promised to get into the water at Stoney Beach, and that was enough to convince her. We stopped off at the beach on the way to Falmouth to see if the hermit crabs were out, but could not find any. After two triple espresso macchiatos, I was set, so we biked through the town and ran into an arts fare. We listened to folk music and peeked at the art booths, but were most interested in the quahogs. A patient of mine who was originally from Boston, had mentioned them and had described how to go 'clamming' for them on the beach, but I had never heard of them, and so when I saw samples for sale, I decided that quahogs would be our lunch. We had a choice of garlic, chili and lime, or coconut butter, and we tried all three, all equally delicious.
Ice cream was next; Maya tried the 'lobster' ice cream, which tastes surprisingly like lobster!
Maya had been waiting to go to the beach all day, and we picked Eric up at the lab on the way to Stoney Beach. The water was much warmer than it had been the week before, so we all plunged in.
I realize that I have been seeing the same people year after year here at Woods Hole. We had dinner with a colleague who has been at Woods Hole every summer for eighteen years. Their children have grown up here, and have chosen fields of study directly related to the experiences they have had at the MBL. One of Eric's new colleagues at NJIT lives two cottages away from us on 'Memorial Circle'. Cape Cod and the MBL will be part of our lives for many many years.
Cape Cod Weekend
If it is Friday, we must be in Cape Cod. It's a bit crazy to work all week in Baltimore and catch a plane on Friday for a weekend in Wood's Hole. I have to remind myself that I do this every summer, so I am accustomed to it, but it is never easy. Airtran is chronically late, especially with the last flight of the day, in both directions; either from Boston or from Baltimore. Initially, I would get excessively irritated, and fume and fuss about late departures, but for now, I am never surprised if we are one, two or three hours delayed.
After finishing at the office and picking Maya up from her violin lesson, we rushed home to change and pack up quickly ( and gobble down some salad for dinner). We had just enough time to go to the mall and choose glasses and order them (not that there are no optometrists in Ecuador, but we want to be prepared). I did not give us enough time to get to the airport, so I was speeding all the way to the 'Express Lot', which was closed for some inexplicable reason, so we had to find an alternate parking area for the car, and of course the transport getting us to the airport was delayed. I was sure we would miss our flight (and we have missed flights to and from Cape Cod before). Luckily security was light and I did not have to fight the XRay machine (I refuse to go through it and usually insist on a pat down, which is humiliating but I have learned to grit my teeth through it). After all the rushing and anxiety and agitation, we discovered that our flight was delayed 'indefinitely'. I have learned take such news in stride, and it gave Maya and I a chance to explore the new terminal and look for ice cream and then plug in iphone/iPad/laptop and play nintendo and read. Time to relax.
We arrived in Boston at one in the morning, and were lucky to have Eric waiting for us. The drive to Woods Hole is an hour and a half at least, no matter how fast one drives or which route one takes, so we were not in our cottage until three. Again, not an unusual way for our weekend to begin. The cabin was hot, but with fans going, tolerable to sleep in. We have left all our clothes and our beach paraphernalia at Woods Hole, so it is wonderful to travel light and have no luggage, and have everything ready for us when we arrive. Such a treat.
After finishing at the office and picking Maya up from her violin lesson, we rushed home to change and pack up quickly ( and gobble down some salad for dinner). We had just enough time to go to the mall and choose glasses and order them (not that there are no optometrists in Ecuador, but we want to be prepared). I did not give us enough time to get to the airport, so I was speeding all the way to the 'Express Lot', which was closed for some inexplicable reason, so we had to find an alternate parking area for the car, and of course the transport getting us to the airport was delayed. I was sure we would miss our flight (and we have missed flights to and from Cape Cod before). Luckily security was light and I did not have to fight the XRay machine (I refuse to go through it and usually insist on a pat down, which is humiliating but I have learned to grit my teeth through it). After all the rushing and anxiety and agitation, we discovered that our flight was delayed 'indefinitely'. I have learned take such news in stride, and it gave Maya and I a chance to explore the new terminal and look for ice cream and then plug in iphone/iPad/laptop and play nintendo and read. Time to relax.
We arrived in Boston at one in the morning, and were lucky to have Eric waiting for us. The drive to Woods Hole is an hour and a half at least, no matter how fast one drives or which route one takes, so we were not in our cottage until three. Again, not an unusual way for our weekend to begin. The cabin was hot, but with fans going, tolerable to sleep in. We have left all our clothes and our beach paraphernalia at Woods Hole, so it is wonderful to travel light and have no luggage, and have everything ready for us when we arrive. Such a treat.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Ecuador Asylum
The founder of Wikileaks applied for asylum in Ecuador. Not that Ecuador has a great human rights record, but it is a haven of sorts. Assange believes that if he is arrested by the Americans, he will be tried for treason and face the death penalty. Unfortunately, he may be right. I understand however that once he leaves the embassy in London, he will be immediately arrested and go directly to Sweden for questioning and then to the US. I wonder why he thought he had a chance.
Of course whenever there is any news about Ecuador, I find myself intensely interested. It has become my country, in a way. It is familiar enough to feel that I am going 'home' for a few months. And it is a haven for me. I will return to my 'stay at home' mode, and get Maya ready for school everyday, organize her schedule, cook for the family, plan weekend getaways. I guess that is what 'stay at home moms' do, but I have stayed home so little the 22 years of having children, that when I do have a chance to be home, it is a great adventure. I feel free and able to do whatever is possible (within the limits of our means).
And so, although the process of getting from our lives here to our lives there is terrifying to me, the thought of being back in Quito, reconnecting with friends and speaking Spanish, and exploring the parts of Ecuador I have not seen (Loja, Zuleta, Esmeraldas, deep into the jungle) and climbing more mountains, and having more adventures is very compelling.
I am seeking asylum in Ecuador.
Of course whenever there is any news about Ecuador, I find myself intensely interested. It has become my country, in a way. It is familiar enough to feel that I am going 'home' for a few months. And it is a haven for me. I will return to my 'stay at home' mode, and get Maya ready for school everyday, organize her schedule, cook for the family, plan weekend getaways. I guess that is what 'stay at home moms' do, but I have stayed home so little the 22 years of having children, that when I do have a chance to be home, it is a great adventure. I feel free and able to do whatever is possible (within the limits of our means).
And so, although the process of getting from our lives here to our lives there is terrifying to me, the thought of being back in Quito, reconnecting with friends and speaking Spanish, and exploring the parts of Ecuador I have not seen (Loja, Zuleta, Esmeraldas, deep into the jungle) and climbing more mountains, and having more adventures is very compelling.
I am seeking asylum in Ecuador.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Paralysis
This in not altogether an unfamiliar feeling; the list of tasks to be attended to, the piles of belongings I am required to weed through, the state of uncertainty, the anguish about leaving....and of course there is much more. I wonder how other people do it. Somehow, Eric and I do not face reality until we don't have a choice, and we always experience this mad rush to complete what has to be done. Our move from Salt Lake was disorganized and unplanned, we waited til far to late to prepare the house for rental when we went on sabbatical, and this time, we have again waited until almost too late, to prepare for our departure. So many other activities take precedence, and now that we have limited time and resources, we are scrambling to ready ourselves for our move.
I packed up six boxes of clothes last night, and this morning realized that most of what I packed I will never wear again, so today I planned to sieve through the boxes and separate what goes to charity, what goes to friends, and what absolutely has to stay. Instead, by this evening, the task felt too overwhelming, so I began on the piles of papers that cover every surface of my office. I have been remiss about billing and staying on top of the business side of my practice; Tara was visiting for a month, and I did not want to put business before her needs, so I let go of everything, and now I am trying to catch up. This is a daunting task, coloured by my discomfort about leaving my patients and my practice.
I love shredding unnecessary paper, in fact, I am thrilled when I hear the whir of the shredding machine, and especially when the piles diminish. Everything is electronic today, and there is little need for the bills I once collected for a potential IRS visit. And so I shred and I shred.
I find myself flitting from task to task, not quite completing any particular one. I am panicking about making progress, but I also know that the small amount I do each day will add up to something in the end. I found myself unable to fall asleep last night, with the whirling thoughts of what has to be done, and why am I not up all night to complete my tasks, and why am I in such a state. I feel too tired tonight to care, and ready to sleep again,
I packed up six boxes of clothes last night, and this morning realized that most of what I packed I will never wear again, so today I planned to sieve through the boxes and separate what goes to charity, what goes to friends, and what absolutely has to stay. Instead, by this evening, the task felt too overwhelming, so I began on the piles of papers that cover every surface of my office. I have been remiss about billing and staying on top of the business side of my practice; Tara was visiting for a month, and I did not want to put business before her needs, so I let go of everything, and now I am trying to catch up. This is a daunting task, coloured by my discomfort about leaving my patients and my practice.
I love shredding unnecessary paper, in fact, I am thrilled when I hear the whir of the shredding machine, and especially when the piles diminish. Everything is electronic today, and there is little need for the bills I once collected for a potential IRS visit. And so I shred and I shred.
I find myself flitting from task to task, not quite completing any particular one. I am panicking about making progress, but I also know that the small amount I do each day will add up to something in the end. I found myself unable to fall asleep last night, with the whirling thoughts of what has to be done, and why am I not up all night to complete my tasks, and why am I in such a state. I feel too tired tonight to care, and ready to sleep again,
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Leaving Patients
I am holding on to my practice. I am not ready to let go. And so for the next year, at least, I plan to return to Baltimore monthly to check on a hundred or so of my regular patients. At first making this plan calmed me down considerably; it felt impossible to end things permanently, and this was a way to stay connected to people that are very much a part of my daily life. Only recently does it occur to me that my plan is totally and utterly crazy. I will fly back each month to work four ten hour days, and then fly back to Quito. It will not be a profitable enterprise, and it will be exhausting.
It sounded like a very good plan a few months ago, and now I am less and less sure. Eric and I have to plan our schedule very tightly to ensure that one of us is home in Quito at all times to take care of Maya. Eric will have to return a few times to check on his lab in New Jersey and attend meetings. I think the plan is possible, but challenging.
On the other hand, the advantages are that I do not have to say goodbye to too many people; for many patients whom I see monthly anyway, it will not be different from the usual, and for those who see me more frequently, I will refer to other doctors and therapists who are more available. It makes the next several weeks less emotionally draining, for both my patients, and for me. Leaving Salt Lake and my huge practice was incredibly painful, and in the end I returned monthly to see the handful of patients who struggled finding a replacement psychiatrist. Eventually, after a year or so, everyone found exactly whom they needed, and I no longer (after ten years) hear anything from my former patients.
I imagine most psychiatrists stay in the same place for their whole career, developing long term relationships with their patients and seeing them til they die. I left my practice in Edmonton, then again in Southern California, Salt Lake, and now Baltimore. I am not sure this recurrent uprooting is good for my patients; certainly it devastates me every time.
It sounded like a very good plan a few months ago, and now I am less and less sure. Eric and I have to plan our schedule very tightly to ensure that one of us is home in Quito at all times to take care of Maya. Eric will have to return a few times to check on his lab in New Jersey and attend meetings. I think the plan is possible, but challenging.
On the other hand, the advantages are that I do not have to say goodbye to too many people; for many patients whom I see monthly anyway, it will not be different from the usual, and for those who see me more frequently, I will refer to other doctors and therapists who are more available. It makes the next several weeks less emotionally draining, for both my patients, and for me. Leaving Salt Lake and my huge practice was incredibly painful, and in the end I returned monthly to see the handful of patients who struggled finding a replacement psychiatrist. Eventually, after a year or so, everyone found exactly whom they needed, and I no longer (after ten years) hear anything from my former patients.
I imagine most psychiatrists stay in the same place for their whole career, developing long term relationships with their patients and seeing them til they die. I left my practice in Edmonton, then again in Southern California, Salt Lake, and now Baltimore. I am not sure this recurrent uprooting is good for my patients; certainly it devastates me every time.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Losing Parents
It was wonderful to see my parents, but the visit left me with persistent doubts and worry. Leaving them for five months, without the option to visit, is more difficult than it has been in the past. My father is so very fragile and I am not sure he will be around in a month, a year, a week. My mother is less and less herself and each encounter is about loss for me.
During my recent visit, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to fix their internet and organize their computer so that gmail and skype was easily accessible. I stressed that we needed to stay in touch regularly via email and skype. I even had them agree to skype me nightly at 9 PM Eastern time, or at least try to be on at that time. Perhaps I am more anxious tonight, because they were not online at 9 as expected. Of course, they may be out to dinner or watching a movie, but then again, they do not go out much, nor do they socialize alot (my mother especially). I could call and check, but I want them to get used to using skype and internet, because calling will not be an option when living in Ecuador. When we did our sabbatical two years ago, I had just had my old iMac delivered to their house, and my father was devoted to skyping quite regularly, and so I felt that I saw both parents quite often, albeit via a technological marvel, which is not the same as in person, but so much better than by phone or email. It was great for Maya to see her grandparents regularly, and for them to see her growing each day.
They adore Maya, of course they adore all their grandchildren, but they have an uncanny ability to make each child feel beloved and special. My father loves to practice violin with Maya, and will go through each note carefully with her, always generous with encouragement and praise; he is a true teacher. My mother is a bit in awe of Maya; who is kind and gentle and calm and always ready for a hug or a kiss.
I am feeling Maya's impending loss, and my own and my parent's losses too. My father went to a funeral while Maya and I were visiting, and with talking to my parents, I learned of friend after friend who had died. Leaving them the morning of our flight was agonizing, so I kept as busy as possible and rushed around with purpose and energy, to dispel the sense of loss swirling around me. How can I leave them? How can they leave me?
During my recent visit, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to fix their internet and organize their computer so that gmail and skype was easily accessible. I stressed that we needed to stay in touch regularly via email and skype. I even had them agree to skype me nightly at 9 PM Eastern time, or at least try to be on at that time. Perhaps I am more anxious tonight, because they were not online at 9 as expected. Of course, they may be out to dinner or watching a movie, but then again, they do not go out much, nor do they socialize alot (my mother especially). I could call and check, but I want them to get used to using skype and internet, because calling will not be an option when living in Ecuador. When we did our sabbatical two years ago, I had just had my old iMac delivered to their house, and my father was devoted to skyping quite regularly, and so I felt that I saw both parents quite often, albeit via a technological marvel, which is not the same as in person, but so much better than by phone or email. It was great for Maya to see her grandparents regularly, and for them to see her growing each day.
They adore Maya, of course they adore all their grandchildren, but they have an uncanny ability to make each child feel beloved and special. My father loves to practice violin with Maya, and will go through each note carefully with her, always generous with encouragement and praise; he is a true teacher. My mother is a bit in awe of Maya; who is kind and gentle and calm and always ready for a hug or a kiss.
I am feeling Maya's impending loss, and my own and my parent's losses too. My father went to a funeral while Maya and I were visiting, and with talking to my parents, I learned of friend after friend who had died. Leaving them the morning of our flight was agonizing, so I kept as busy as possible and rushed around with purpose and energy, to dispel the sense of loss swirling around me. How can I leave them? How can they leave me?
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Looking for Coffee
My day begins with a double or triple espresso, without which I am not quite 'on my game'. Having spent influential years of my life in Italy, I have been truly indulged with regard to coffee, and have never been able to adjust to American style coffee. In fact, I argue with Eric, insisting that what he drinks is not truly coffee, but he has convinced me that there are many styles of coffee drinking, and mine is very particular.
It Italy, coffee is absolutely wonderful almost everywhere there is an espresso machine. From the stops on the autostrada and in the train stations, to the bars in every town, large and small, there is an incredible ritual repeated thousands of times a day, and out of the magic machine comes a creamy, full bodied, aromatic nectar, that is transformative. I am always looking for that taste and that experience in the morning.
When I was helping Tara move in to her residence in Montreal, we spent the first day there checking out all the 'best' coffee shops in the city. We walked to Little Italy, to Old Montreal, down St. Catherine's, St. Laurent, St Denis, in fact we tried eight or so cappuccinos in one day, still not quite finding the right combination of taste, body, or 'crema'. Only much later, during Tara's second year at McGill, when she was living on St Urbain Street, did we find a little French bakery, with 'cafe au lait', which was quite perfect, especially with delicious buttery croissants. I try to find the place each time I visit, to remind myself not to limit coffee searches to Italian coffee shops.
Parisians have their own way of making coffee. One has to change one's perspective and acknowledge that French coffee is simply a different product, and once I stop looking for my Italian cappuccino or espresso, I usually find an acceptable place for my morning ritual.
Eric and I explored far and wide through Quito for the 'best' coffee. That was difficult too; coffee is grown in Ecuador, but there is no true coffee tradition. Coffee shops have the right machines, and good beans, and baristas learn how to manipulate the machines, but somehow the coffee that emerges is never quite right. I decided that the coffee shop next to our apartment made 'good enough' coffee, so every morning, after Maya caught her bus, Eric and I would have a 'cappuccino' with 'El Comercio' and start our day with enough caffeine to feel energized. One coffee is usually enough; I rarely feel the need for more.
In Baltimore, I have an intimate relationship with every Starbucks in my area, and every barista knows my drink and my fussiness. Starbucks is 'acceptable' coffee; it is not Italian coffee, but it is 'good enough'.
In Woods Hole, there are two coffee shops' Pie in the Sky' where popovers are amazing, and 'Coffee Obsession', which does not quite manage to be 'good enough'. So, when in Woods Hole, I am obliged to ride my bike several miles to Falmouth, to find the local Starbucks for my 'triple espresso macchiato with extra foam'. Maya is not very happy with me when I drag her along the sea for a two hour journey, just for coffee. Today, after we made pancakes with bacon and fruit, and celebrated Father's Day with Eric in the cabin before he returned to the lab to set up experiments, Maya was desperate to go to the beach. Instead, we rode our bikes (and Maya agreed it was not as bad as it had been in the past, she is bigger and stronger now, and the ride is less overwhelming) and I enjoyed my espresso fix. On the way back, we stopped at the beach in Falmouth to look for hermit crabs. Much later, we finally got to Maya's favourite beach. It was too cold to sunbathe or swim (although Maya went in the water anyway).
Eric was in the lab all day, and when he finally finished, it was time to drive to Boston to catch our flight back to Baltimore. We will be doing this trip each weekend while Eric is working in Woods Hole.
It Italy, coffee is absolutely wonderful almost everywhere there is an espresso machine. From the stops on the autostrada and in the train stations, to the bars in every town, large and small, there is an incredible ritual repeated thousands of times a day, and out of the magic machine comes a creamy, full bodied, aromatic nectar, that is transformative. I am always looking for that taste and that experience in the morning.
When I was helping Tara move in to her residence in Montreal, we spent the first day there checking out all the 'best' coffee shops in the city. We walked to Little Italy, to Old Montreal, down St. Catherine's, St. Laurent, St Denis, in fact we tried eight or so cappuccinos in one day, still not quite finding the right combination of taste, body, or 'crema'. Only much later, during Tara's second year at McGill, when she was living on St Urbain Street, did we find a little French bakery, with 'cafe au lait', which was quite perfect, especially with delicious buttery croissants. I try to find the place each time I visit, to remind myself not to limit coffee searches to Italian coffee shops.
Parisians have their own way of making coffee. One has to change one's perspective and acknowledge that French coffee is simply a different product, and once I stop looking for my Italian cappuccino or espresso, I usually find an acceptable place for my morning ritual.
Eric and I explored far and wide through Quito for the 'best' coffee. That was difficult too; coffee is grown in Ecuador, but there is no true coffee tradition. Coffee shops have the right machines, and good beans, and baristas learn how to manipulate the machines, but somehow the coffee that emerges is never quite right. I decided that the coffee shop next to our apartment made 'good enough' coffee, so every morning, after Maya caught her bus, Eric and I would have a 'cappuccino' with 'El Comercio' and start our day with enough caffeine to feel energized. One coffee is usually enough; I rarely feel the need for more.
In Baltimore, I have an intimate relationship with every Starbucks in my area, and every barista knows my drink and my fussiness. Starbucks is 'acceptable' coffee; it is not Italian coffee, but it is 'good enough'.
In Woods Hole, there are two coffee shops' Pie in the Sky' where popovers are amazing, and 'Coffee Obsession', which does not quite manage to be 'good enough'. So, when in Woods Hole, I am obliged to ride my bike several miles to Falmouth, to find the local Starbucks for my 'triple espresso macchiato with extra foam'. Maya is not very happy with me when I drag her along the sea for a two hour journey, just for coffee. Today, after we made pancakes with bacon and fruit, and celebrated Father's Day with Eric in the cabin before he returned to the lab to set up experiments, Maya was desperate to go to the beach. Instead, we rode our bikes (and Maya agreed it was not as bad as it had been in the past, she is bigger and stronger now, and the ride is less overwhelming) and I enjoyed my espresso fix. On the way back, we stopped at the beach in Falmouth to look for hermit crabs. Much later, we finally got to Maya's favourite beach. It was too cold to sunbathe or swim (although Maya went in the water anyway).
Eric was in the lab all day, and when he finally finished, it was time to drive to Boston to catch our flight back to Baltimore. We will be doing this trip each weekend while Eric is working in Woods Hole.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Boston Meeting
To maintain your license to practice medicine, one must accumulate a certain number of CME educational hours per year. I have never kept track of my CME's, although I do more than necessary most years, but now that I am planning to get a New York license, I must attend and document the hours. Several weeks ago, I was offered a day of CME's at no cost in Boston on a day that was convenient because I was in Cape Cod anyway, so I took advantage and signed up.
I wanted simply to put in the time necessary, but instead of suffering through the day, I found myself entirely fascinated.
The alarm buzzed at 5:55. Eric had already woken me up when he finally came in around 4 in the morning. He had to come to the cottage to pick up his keycard for the lab, so I had left the door unlocked (it is relatively safe here) and of course I heard him come in and get it. I tried to ignore the interruption, and dozed a little before I was up and moving. I was very appreciative to see the key out and the car on the front lawn (it was parked in a lot a kilometer away, so I was not looking forward to the hike in the morning). Eric arrived just as I was leaving. I had not seen him in what felt like a very long time (it was just a week, but a meaningful and emotionally challenging week; for Eric as well as Maya and me).
Maya was very excited to be helping in the lab. Maurice and Eric and the two teaching assistants had only two days to set up all the equipment for the course and test the apparatus, which is a daunting and often frustrating task.
The drive to Boston was easy (thanks to GPS!) and the conference included a generous breakfast spread and a detailed lecture on receptors involved in schizophrenia and depression and how to use receptor knowledge to make decisions about appropriate medications. I learned that what I do intuitively has some basis in fact, and that was reassuring, but I also realize that I have much more to learn to stay with the times. I left medical school a very long time ago (my thirty year reunion is in September!), and the way I practice medicine works, but if I leave private practice and have to reenter the 'real' world of modern medicine and managed care etc, I will have to adjust.
We were fed very well (too well) and challenged, and I was not bored for a minute and stayed until the very last word. Originally I had planned to visit with my nephew Edouard, who is living in Boston and working at a new company doing market research (and loving it), but it was late, and Eric needed me home so he could return to the lab for the evening, and I wanted to shop and plan for Father's Day, so I used my trusty GPS to find my way home to the cottage, where Maya and Eric were both anticipating my arrival.
After so many years, this place is truly home for us. Maya is thrilled to be here, Eric loves being with his scientist colleagues (GREAT science happens here), and it is good to see both of them so comfortable. I plan to try to get to know his new colleagues from New Jersey, two of whom teach here with Eric.
I wanted simply to put in the time necessary, but instead of suffering through the day, I found myself entirely fascinated.
The alarm buzzed at 5:55. Eric had already woken me up when he finally came in around 4 in the morning. He had to come to the cottage to pick up his keycard for the lab, so I had left the door unlocked (it is relatively safe here) and of course I heard him come in and get it. I tried to ignore the interruption, and dozed a little before I was up and moving. I was very appreciative to see the key out and the car on the front lawn (it was parked in a lot a kilometer away, so I was not looking forward to the hike in the morning). Eric arrived just as I was leaving. I had not seen him in what felt like a very long time (it was just a week, but a meaningful and emotionally challenging week; for Eric as well as Maya and me).
Maya was very excited to be helping in the lab. Maurice and Eric and the two teaching assistants had only two days to set up all the equipment for the course and test the apparatus, which is a daunting and often frustrating task.
The drive to Boston was easy (thanks to GPS!) and the conference included a generous breakfast spread and a detailed lecture on receptors involved in schizophrenia and depression and how to use receptor knowledge to make decisions about appropriate medications. I learned that what I do intuitively has some basis in fact, and that was reassuring, but I also realize that I have much more to learn to stay with the times. I left medical school a very long time ago (my thirty year reunion is in September!), and the way I practice medicine works, but if I leave private practice and have to reenter the 'real' world of modern medicine and managed care etc, I will have to adjust.
We were fed very well (too well) and challenged, and I was not bored for a minute and stayed until the very last word. Originally I had planned to visit with my nephew Edouard, who is living in Boston and working at a new company doing market research (and loving it), but it was late, and Eric needed me home so he could return to the lab for the evening, and I wanted to shop and plan for Father's Day, so I used my trusty GPS to find my way home to the cottage, where Maya and Eric were both anticipating my arrival.
After so many years, this place is truly home for us. Maya is thrilled to be here, Eric loves being with his scientist colleagues (GREAT science happens here), and it is good to see both of them so comfortable. I plan to try to get to know his new colleagues from New Jersey, two of whom teach here with Eric.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Montreal to Cape Cod
To fly to Edmonton, I bought round trip tickets from Montreal, so I had to figure out how to get from Montreal to Cape Cod, where we were to meet Eric. He teaches at the Marine Biological Laboratory for six weeks, a summer science extravaganza he has delighted in for several years now. Eric had driven the car from Montreal to Wood's Hole, so to ensure that he had a car during his time there, and had flown back to Baltimore to pack up his lab and move some of it to New Jersey, as well as pack up several big pieces and many many fish in a huge truck and drive it up to the MBL.
His colleague Maurice, who participates in the 'fish cycle' at the MBL was driving down to Woods Hole early this morning, so we stayed with Maurice and Renee last night and woke up at 4:30 this morning to get on the road by 5. Renee was very excited to show me the new home she and Maurice has purchased, and had all the fabrics for curtains and sofas draped over her dining room table. I stayed up way too late, still confused by the time change, and finally fell asleep at 2 AM, so that when my alarm buzzed at 4:30, it did not feel that I had slept at all. Montreal was surprisingly bright and busy at 5 in the morning, and our drive was uneventful. Both Maya and I slept through much of Quebec, Vermont and New Hampshire. What I saw was lovely; very green, lots of sunshine, and blue blue skies. We stopped in Worchester to purchase fish at a fish warehouse (and get coffee and breakfast and lunch) and arrived in Woods Hole in good time. The fish survived their journey, and Maurice was pleased to get to a lab meeting in time to choose a good lab space.
Maya and I got the keys to the cabin Eric is to live in for the summer. It is simple, but functional, and Maya and I have stayed in similar cabins in Wood's Hole for years. Maya loves this place, it is her summer home; and she was eager to get to the beach immediately. Eric was not on the road yet (his truck lost its rear view mirror and he had to superglue it on!), so we did not have a the keys to the car, but usually we bike in Woods Hole anyway. This time, we walked to the empty beach, where it was too cold to swim or sunbathe, and while Maya danced around looking for shells and rocks and crabs (and getting very wet in the process), I lounged in the sand, appreciating the sunshine.
Our evening included more lobster (it is what is eaten here) and ice cream and popovers (the bakery specialty!) and more walking back to the cabin. It feels a bit eerie being alone, but I remind myself that we are at home here, and Maya and I cuddle in the middle of two twin beds shoved together. Eric will arrive early in the morning, in time to prepare the course for the students, and Maya plans to help him and his colleagues, while I dash off to Boston for a meeting.
His colleague Maurice, who participates in the 'fish cycle' at the MBL was driving down to Woods Hole early this morning, so we stayed with Maurice and Renee last night and woke up at 4:30 this morning to get on the road by 5. Renee was very excited to show me the new home she and Maurice has purchased, and had all the fabrics for curtains and sofas draped over her dining room table. I stayed up way too late, still confused by the time change, and finally fell asleep at 2 AM, so that when my alarm buzzed at 4:30, it did not feel that I had slept at all. Montreal was surprisingly bright and busy at 5 in the morning, and our drive was uneventful. Both Maya and I slept through much of Quebec, Vermont and New Hampshire. What I saw was lovely; very green, lots of sunshine, and blue blue skies. We stopped in Worchester to purchase fish at a fish warehouse (and get coffee and breakfast and lunch) and arrived in Woods Hole in good time. The fish survived their journey, and Maurice was pleased to get to a lab meeting in time to choose a good lab space.
Maya and I got the keys to the cabin Eric is to live in for the summer. It is simple, but functional, and Maya and I have stayed in similar cabins in Wood's Hole for years. Maya loves this place, it is her summer home; and she was eager to get to the beach immediately. Eric was not on the road yet (his truck lost its rear view mirror and he had to superglue it on!), so we did not have a the keys to the car, but usually we bike in Woods Hole anyway. This time, we walked to the empty beach, where it was too cold to swim or sunbathe, and while Maya danced around looking for shells and rocks and crabs (and getting very wet in the process), I lounged in the sand, appreciating the sunshine.
Our evening included more lobster (it is what is eaten here) and ice cream and popovers (the bakery specialty!) and more walking back to the cabin. It feels a bit eerie being alone, but I remind myself that we are at home here, and Maya and I cuddle in the middle of two twin beds shoved together. Eric will arrive early in the morning, in time to prepare the course for the students, and Maya plans to help him and his colleagues, while I dash off to Boston for a meeting.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Leaving the Past
After three days of feasting and celebrating my oldest daughter's graduation from McGill University, Maya and I flew to Edmonton to visit with my parents. The days were glorious, with the sun shining brightly all day and not quite disappearing until midnight. Maya and I had an opportunity for a daily walk along the river valley, exploring trails that are more familiar to us in the wintertime (we are regular Christmas visitors) and entirely unrecognizable in a different season.
Whenever I see my parents, I am reminded that it may be the last time I see them, and I did not need the recurrent reminders from my father to be acutely aware of that. Moving to Ecuador means being that much farther away, and far less accessible. My father is frail and unsteady on his feet. When I hug him he shrinks even more than is evident when looking at him. His shoulders are hunched and he holds me in an uncharacteristically desperate way.
My mother has lost her short term memory and repeats herself over and over again. Maya is twelve, and until now, has only known how much she is loved and adored by her grandparents. During this visit, she was clearly distressed and pained, aware for the first time of the ravages of age, and frightened too. My mother has no insight into her illness or her deficits, and is easily irritated and angry, and that is frightening too.
My father delights in Maya's violin practicing. He goes through her pieces note by note and marvels at her progress. He tells us stories of his adolescence in Yugoslavia, of attending university, and training in the cavalry, and trying to finish university and being drafted into the army and finding himself in his civilian clothes on the Russian front. My mother tells us about being a child in Naples and moving to northern Italy and having to repeat fifth grade because she did not speak a word of German.
Our visit is too short, and we leave early this morning. I am feeling guilty and at the edge of tears. I am overwhelmed with losses; of my parents, of our lives in Baltimore, of all that is familiar, of Maya's childhood, of Tara, who has moved to England to live with her boyfriend and start her adult life. I want to be excited about the new chapter in our lives, our move to Ecuador and New York City, but for now I am apprehensive and sad.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Return to Ecuador
I truly believed our lives in Ecuador were over two years ago, when we packed up everything we owned in two duffel bags each, and moved back to Baltimore. Ecuador would always be a part of our lives, not just in memory; we returned with our student groups in January 2011 and again in 2012, and spent one glorious long Thanksgiving weekend at the base of Cotopaxi wandering on horseback through the paramo; but I never imagined we would return to live at 9000 feet again.
Nothing was planned. In fact, our lives did not quite work out. It was challenging to adjust to our lives in Baltimore. We learned soon after our arrival that Eric was unlikely to get tenure. I did not believe it possible. He was writing a paper about the work he did in the cloud forest on 'plain tailed wrens' and was ecstatic when it was published in a reputable journal. I was so impressed when reporters interviewed him for radio and newspaper, and the New York Times featured him in an article in the Science section. I was convinced that Johns Hopkins would reconsider and a successful appeal for tenure was imminent. So I continued building up my practice and planning for our lives as if nothing would change.
Later, when the 'termination' letter confirmed that Eric would no longer be employed as of June 30, 2012, reality began to sink in. Eric interviewed at a handful of institutions, I visited Newark and Blacksburg and Morgantown. I was incapable of making a decision, and so when there was no possibility of stalling any longer, I agreed to move to New York City (not Newark!). I am supposed to be excited and happy about the move, but I am mostly worried that we cannot survive there. And thankfully, there is a reprieve for now. Eric's lab will not be ready until January next year.
So we are moving back to Ecuador. And we are all excited and anxious to return to Quito and the jungle and the cloud forest. Maya will return to Alberto Einstein, I will take more Spanish lessons, Eric will continue his work with electric fish and duetting birds, and we will reconnect with our friends and this country that has entranced us.
Nothing was planned. In fact, our lives did not quite work out. It was challenging to adjust to our lives in Baltimore. We learned soon after our arrival that Eric was unlikely to get tenure. I did not believe it possible. He was writing a paper about the work he did in the cloud forest on 'plain tailed wrens' and was ecstatic when it was published in a reputable journal. I was so impressed when reporters interviewed him for radio and newspaper, and the New York Times featured him in an article in the Science section. I was convinced that Johns Hopkins would reconsider and a successful appeal for tenure was imminent. So I continued building up my practice and planning for our lives as if nothing would change.
Later, when the 'termination' letter confirmed that Eric would no longer be employed as of June 30, 2012, reality began to sink in. Eric interviewed at a handful of institutions, I visited Newark and Blacksburg and Morgantown. I was incapable of making a decision, and so when there was no possibility of stalling any longer, I agreed to move to New York City (not Newark!). I am supposed to be excited and happy about the move, but I am mostly worried that we cannot survive there. And thankfully, there is a reprieve for now. Eric's lab will not be ready until January next year.
So we are moving back to Ecuador. And we are all excited and anxious to return to Quito and the jungle and the cloud forest. Maya will return to Alberto Einstein, I will take more Spanish lessons, Eric will continue his work with electric fish and duetting birds, and we will reconnect with our friends and this country that has entranced us.
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