Christmas Day, 2000

Dear Moira and Tomas,

Thank you for making such a very nice Christmas for all of us! The table qualified for a Gourmet Magazine photo . . . the food was delectable and interesting . . . and I loved your reading of the jingle bell story. That, by itself, was a treasured gift.

Michael, too, was cooperative and let us stretch his patience considerably. His looks and sideway glances are always worth catching. He is a dear, dear boy.

Gil and I will go to bed, tonight, with full stomachs, grateful hearts and happy about the love in our family. Here's to you, and you, and you!

Yours, Mom and Dad

May 14, 2000

Dear Moira,

This pocket watch belonged to my Grandfather Mihran . . . your great-grandfather, Opa's father. Whenever I would ask him, "Grandfather, is it time yet to go on our evening walk?" or, "Is it time yet for my radio story?", he would take out this watch from the little trouser pocket (men's trousers used to have such a pocket just below the belt line on the right side), snap it open, consult it seriously and then give me his answer. He was a friendly man who had a shaped beard and mustache, similar to Sigmund Freud's.

When I lived at the Taschdjian home for six months (I was then three years old), he invented small rituals for me. For instance, he filled the little envelope from his razor blades with a tiny chocolate chip and "sent" it to me across the breakfast table. This drove my Grandmother crazy, because she thought the flying object would upset the cream pitcher and make a mess. Also, when I would beg Grandfather for some pistachios (they were kept on the sideboard in the silver box which I have given you), he'd say to me "Eyes closed, mouth open"--I'd do so . . . and he would put his bent index finger between my teeth. The game consisted of pretending to bite the finger--thinking it was the nut--but very gently. Whereupon we'd both moan in disappointment and then he would give me the real pistachio. Very amusing for a three-year-old.

On our way to the park--built on the fortifications against the Turks in the 1500's--Grandfather would often buy me a salt pretzel. These were a yard long and wrapped in a paper tube. I loved these pretzels and I even did not mind Grandfather saying, every time: "Pretzel, where are you taking our little Sonja?"

This is the same Grandfather who would ritually slurp his Turkish coffee after every midday meal and thus vastly annoy his wife who was very intent on social etiquette. This is also the same Grandfather who was interested in the origins of words--and who described German (not Austrian) as hard and harsh as horses' hooves hitting the pavements.

Grandfather was a real patriarch. At table, he would never ask platters or bowls to be passed to him. He expected us to look out for him and to serve him the food without being asked. He is also the one who invented the phrase my Dad later used, "Darling, since you're up, get me the such-and-such."

Grandfather thought I could hear the grass grow. That I could hear and understand what the adults were saying, even though it was not meant for my ears. The more he said that, trying to discourage me, the more I paid attention to the adults' talk, but unobtrusively, so that I became quite apt, indeed.

Grandfather had one of the earliest record stores in Vienna and he was also a certified translator. He loved Italian opera and always sang arias when he shaved.

Some day when you go to Vienna, you can see the house where Mihran and Rosa lived and which now belongs to Peter Hopfinger, Tante Fela's grandson.

With love, Sonja-Mom

Next: July 2000

Wolcott, VT, August 2000

Dear Chris, Moira, and Victoria,

This is a letter I have sent off to friends and relatives with this year's Vermont news and impressions. You have heard many of these remarks already, but I did not want to exclude you from the "whole." So, be my guest . . .

Because it has rained more or less daily in June and through most of July, I have had the chance to listen to a lot of music. My favorite periods are the baroque and the classical. Our humble country kitchen gets crowded with all these giants of music, who sometimes let me conduct. What a gift to have the leisure and technology to listen to, actively listen and to be permeated with melody through the skin, to one's very bones.

Reading is my alternate occupation. It is a luxury to allow oneself to be caught up and transported to another world. I have not done this since I was a teenager living in Peking. Sometimes, it is two or three a.m. before I turn off the light. It matters not--I just sleep late the next morning, or take a nap the following afternoon.

A part of my reading has to do with aging, approaching it hopefully and gracefully. I suppose I could compare it to going on a trip and wanting to prepare one's self for the contours of what lies ahead. Generally, I do not read reviews of books, movies, or plays ahead of time. I prefer to form my own first impressions. But without role models to observe, I feel some need for a perspective and a vocabulary for naming feelings and impressions. Four small books have been recent companions in this new journey:

Sister Age, M.F.K. Fisher
The Last Gift of Time: Life Beyond Sixty, Carolyn G. Heilbrun
Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival, Velma Wallis
Let Evening Come: Reflections on Aging, Mary C. Morrison

Even TV can be of interest here. We have installed a Dish satellite system that has a very different set of channels than Cable TV in Arlington, VA. There is a channel called "House and Garden TV," which presents some programs around interesting themes, such as

Modern Masters--craftspeople that practice old techniques with a modern aesthetic, or combine old and new techniques and materials. Some work only by hand, others use modern tools. They have had textile weavers, glass blowers, metal smiths, wood/furniture carvers, clay brick carvers--what beautiful work they produce!

Gardening Shows--One program that I like is presented by a man with a silver front tooth filling. He always ends his program with some kind of spiritual comment to help his viewers reflect on the process, not just the product. And he encourages his gardening friends to savor time.

The Good Life--This is about people who make a drastic life-style change, usually from big city to country and to a totally new profession. They all end up working harder than ever, but are happy. Only a very few have children when they make the switch.

Extreme Homes--Portrays people and architects who think outside the box. Homes in caves, in lighthouses, in freight trains, or a red caboose, in tree tops, in a warehouse, in an industrial loft . . . hanging on the side of a cliff. Generally, the home builders are not lacking for money, but the emphasis is on imagination, new materials, and high tech skills.

Treasure Makers--Deals with recycling--from trash to treasure. Some of it is ingenious, but most of it, for my taste, is a waste of time. But I admire the experiment.

Designing for the Sexes--About couples whose taste and skills clash sharply and who hire an architect-designer to help them furnish or redo their habitat. With the amount of money they end up spending, one could afford to make a lot of mistakes. But, in the end, everyone is happy and another relationship is saved. Meanwhile, the viewer has been helped to see junkyards, furniture stores, salvage yards, and stone quarries.

We do have an assortment of the regular channels--CNN, C-SPAN, History, Discover, Travel, cooking channels, etc.--so we are not completely isolated from the world.

Some small and big changes are taking place in Vermont this year. With the state-wide fire and emergency location system in effect, houses now have numbers (even the U.S. Postal System has adopted the new system), streets and even small country lanes are posted, although trees and bushes will probably soon obscure the signs. General stores in various parts of the state are carrying chi-chi coffees--cappuccino this or that. And everybody is arguing over the same sex civil union law and benefits. The Bible is quoted in support of each opinion and there is serious talk about repealing the new law or, at least, unseating the "guilty" lawmakers, including the governor. Signs saying "Take Back Vermont" are sprouting up in more and more places.

Among other changes, the telephone company came down our road recently and put up new poles for fiber optic cables. A private assessor, hired by the Wolcott assessment office to objectively determine local real estate values, also came by our house. He was the same person that fourteen years ago assessed our property when Dad and Claire were here. No doubt our taxes will go up. Interestingly, the assessor was related to the Virginia Carters and to Robert E. Lee. Eighty years old, he gets up at 4 AM to check the web sites of the London Times and the Manchester Guardian , then at 5 AM he checks the Washington Post so that he can talk intelligently with his son who only gets the Post by 7:30 AM at his Vienna, VA home. I could only say, "Mr. Carter, you are amazing and put us all to shame."

We have also discovered that we have a resident woodchuck, though I don't know where exactly he/she lives. But once a day, if it's sunny, it manages to get up on the steps of our front porch and stays there, sunning itself. We look at each other, I may even say something. But it only leaves when it is good and ready. Pretty ugly critter.

Other signs of life abound here. Our hummingbirds have returned as well . . . and I've seen so many deer tracks. But there is no sight yet of our resident moose--where he hides we do not know. Nature provides us with many different kinds of grasses. Here, they look less like weeds; maybe, because they grow tall and sway beautifully in the breeze, as if entitled to hold their ground, in their own right. I must get an identification book and try to learn their names. I am also intrigued by the many varieties of ferns, as well as the mosses and lichens which seem to have a mutually parasitic relationship and form a vast, unknown-to-me world. And there is the world of moths--not butterflies--that flutter about at night, both outside and in the house. All this life . . . and me, a stranger in its midst.

But perhaps the most spectacular manifestations of Nature here in Vermont are the clouds and sunsets over the mountains in an endless variety of shapes and colors that no poet or artist can adequately describe or portray. Every day the views of the mountains are different and even our lonely country roads become awesome as one watches the evening fog roll in and engulf us in its white veils.

About time, here. For those who are not working for a living, it seems strange that most local restaurants open by 6-7 AM and close at 3 PM. Stores and most offices open by 8 AM and close by 5 PM. The local banks open by 8:30 AM and close at 4 PM--with no evening sessions. The food supermarkets are open 24 hours a day. Ames, our only department store, opens at 8 AM and closes at 9:30 PM. As a social practice, one simply does not call people after 8 PM. All this is designed to suit the farmers' and workers' schedules.

By the same token, road traffic is heaviest between 4-6 PM--going home time. After the sun sets, it gets dark quickly--very dark. There are no streetlights on country roads, except on Main Street in the village. Because of the lack of streetlights and electric advertisements, natural light is undiluted and the hours of the day and night are vested in their distinguishable garb. My favorite times of day are the early morning hours--often still misty and drawn in pastel shades, and then the time between 6-8 PM, which the Germans aptly call Feierabend (celebration time). At which point the light softens to a luminous purity, the birds and breezes hush, even the sky seems to reverence the earth. The air feels more porous and earth begins to breathe out cooling vapors.

For the first time, I've come to better appreciate the difference between chronos (clock/calendar time) and kairos time. Kairos time lives through us and fills our souls with a taste of eternity. It rests, refreshes and rejuvenates. Terrific!

Wishing you all manner of good, ~Sonja

p.s. Moira--thank you for your long E-mail. We enjoyed hearing all your news. Love, ~S.

Next: September 2000

Vermont, July, 2000

Dear Moira,

Delighted to hear about Tomas and Michael's successful outing on the sailboat. God bless all those good folks that made it possible--among them Michael, who in his innocence, is the cause of it all.

Not much is new here. We hung some green-white, ivy-patterned sheets across half of the porch, for purposes of privacy and to keep out some of the dust from the road. It looks ok, a bit like an Arabian tent. Gil also worked on the upstairs "throne", repaired the screen door, fixed the door sill to the hallway, and reinforced the floor around the "throne". He still intends to refurbish the last two pieces of furniture which are decorated with contact paper.

Did you know that Trade Joe has salted, roasted soynuts, as well as fresh but frozen soy beans? Very healthy!

Today it is in the 70's and not raining--yet. So we're going to postpone our work plans and go for a ride. It is one of those "glorious" days. Everybody at the Post Office and General Store were exclaiming about it. The paper says "you all" are in the 80s. Not too bad.

I miss all of you. I love you. Be well. Yours, ~Sonja

Next: August 2000

Arlington, Virginia, September 2000

Dearest Moira,

Happy, happy birthday!

You are on your way . . . far, far along to making good.* We are deeply proud of you.

Our joy and love are with you.

May peace and hope be your travel companions.

Always, Mom and Dad

*different from success. More like the creating of kindness, caring, self-giving.

Next: Christmas 2000

Arlington, January 9, 1996

Dear, darling Moira--

It is so nice to have a daughter who gives me clothes that I would not get for myself, yet like and can use. You have a generous and empathetic heart, not to mention good taste. Thank you for the very spiffy sweater set. I'm very pleased with it, but think I would do better in a larger size. (Hang on to the receipt and tell me where I should exchange things).

Your card in which you refer to me as a friend, moved me greatly. I really, really hope you mean it. You are certainly most dear to me! I feel now the way I felt when you were first born--overwhelmed with gratitude at having such a loving and lovable daughter.

God bless you, my darling Moira. Yours, ~Sonja-Mom

Next: May 14, 2000

July 20, 1989

Dearest Moira,

As I follow the progress of your pregnancy, I recall the time when Gil and I were expecting you.

First of all, we were thrilled! We wanted to have a second child . . . we were actively longing for one.

Secondly, it was a generally hopeful time for us. Gil's period of study at the University of Champaign were coming to an end. We looked forward to the new job in Urbana and a new life "after school". We anticipated good things ahead for our little family of Gil, Sonja, and Ann. I remember how I thought a lot about this new baby and how it would come to mean a new era in our family's life.

But not everything was smooth in the early part of the pregnancy. Gil was very busy finishing papers and he was working two part-time jobs. We were at our most poor period then because Gil's G.I. payments had run out and we were getting by on borrowed money. Each month we were getting deeper in debt. That made me quite anxious. But Gil bucked me up, repeatedly, by saying he would soon be earning this terrific salary: $6,000 per year!

Since we would soon be moving from campus to Urbana, I did not want to begin my prenatal check-ups with a private physician whom I would have to leave and, besides, we could not afford it. So, I went to the local community public health clinic, in a store front, on Chicago's South Side near the university. The area was already a changing neighborhood, though not as rough as it became a few years later.

I still remember well that first visit! The store was dingy and furnished with cast-off furnishings that looked far from clean or comfortable. The place was full of pregnant women, many with infants or toddlers. There were puddles of melted snow on the floor and everybody was bundled up in a collection of scarfs, sweaters and ill-fitting coats.

When I approached the nurse at the entrance desk, she whipped out a clipboard with a form and started to interrogate me in an aggressive tone of voice. "Name?" . . . "Single or married?" . . . "Married, of course," said I, shocked (What would I be doing there, if I wasn't married?) As if to prove my status, I held out my hand, with my wedding band. The nurse looked at me with disdain and said, "Lady, anybody can sport a ring." Such a ruse had never even occurred to me. And sure enough, when I looked about, I saw few wedding bands on women's hands. Most who wore them were older . . . or student wives, like myself.

I had a long wait. During this time I observed the different ways in which the women treated their children. Many of them were harsh and resentful, pushing and punching their kids and threatening them verbally. But a few, just as poor or uneducated, were patient and ingenious in the way they entertained and distracted their little ones. One of the women turned to me, with an apologetic smile, and said, "It's hard for a two-year-old to sit still so long, with nothing to do." I determined, right then, that I would learn about what's right and helpful for children, both for the sake of the child and for the parents' sanity.

When it finally came my turn to see the doctor, I was asked to undress in this cubicle, behind a dingy, torn curtain. That's when I almost left. But then the doctor came in, a resident from the university's Lying-In Hospital and we were off on what has become a familiar conversation. "Sonja Donahue . . . that's an unusual combination of names. Where are you from, Mrs. Donahue?"

I visited this clinic three or four times. After we moved to Urbana, I went to Carle Hospital and began to see an obstetrician there. Carle Hospital was a friendly, bright place. But there too, the doctor's first question was about my name and background . . .

Our first home in Urbana was not much bigger than our student pre-fab, but it had a second bedroom and a separate kitchen with an adjacent utility room. And in this utility room there was an electric washing machine. I loved that machine! No longer would I have to drag myself, Ann, dirty laundry and detergent in our rickety stroller for three blocks to the nearest student laundromat, dirty and cramped, wait there for hours until the few, old machines did the work. I would now do the work as soon as I got up, hang it out to dry, and by 10 AM fold the diapers in time for "I Love Lucy."

Urbana was hot in the summer. We did not have a car, so all shopping had to be done by bus or "per pedes apostolorum" (by the feet of the apostles, that is, on foot). I remember Gil and I putting Ann in the stroller after supper and walking to "downtown" Urbana to buy you a plastic bathing tub at Woolworth's, two dozen cotton diapers, nursery bottles, etc. Then walking home for 45 minutes with Ann, cranky and tired, and people in passing cars looking at us strangely because we walked. No one walked in the Midwest, in those years.

In preparation for your coming, Gil repainted Ann's old crib, a dresser and toy shelf. We bought a new changing table and our first "easy chair", a round wicker model, so we'd have something comfortable to sit in while you nursed.

Ann and I undertook several shopping excursions on the bus, during the day, to buy new baby shirts, receiving blankets and a couple of little baby outfits. Each time we went I gave Ann a little money so she, too, could buy something for the baby; a rattle, a soft toy, a pin wheel, a mobile. She planned and schemed long ahead about these important purchases. We went to several stores to find something that was affordable, yet well-designed and attractive. It was on one of these bus trips that Ann pulled up my maternity top, kissed my big tummy and exclaimed for all the passengers to hear, "Oh, I'm so happy about the new baby!"

Yes, darling, you were a welcomed and loved child, from the start. Soon now, you and Tomas will also be parents. Many of the developments are the same, even after all these years, because the life cycle is the same. Much of it is for the better. But you will also have your own set of hurdles. Have faith, these can be resolved with love and imagination. You'll both be better for them and with them you will have your own stories to tell to your children. Love, ~Sonja/Mom

Next: July 9, 1996