Holidays in the Land of the Extreme

In just under one hour's time, the state of Israel will come to a standstill for two minutes, and the only sound we will hear will be the melancholy wail of a siren, reminding us that today we mourn. We mourn for our fallen soldiers, and we mourn for those killed in terror attacks. Israeli television programming is dedicated to the fallen, with a continuous run of personal stories of those who have fallen, and those they left behind. Songs on the radio are sad and beautiful, songs of love and loss, of young lives cut short before their time. One can't help but be swept up in this wave of national mourning, especially given that nearly everyone knows someone who has been killed, or someone who knows someone, etc. You get the picture. It is a loss that is tangible and current, and the wounds are very much open, far from healed.

Following Holocaust Remembrance Day, I got into a brief discussion with another blogger, as we wondered whether our native-born counterparts felt as emotional upon hearing the siren as we did, as immigrants who had chosen to make Israel our home. Sadly, we came to the conclusion (following conversations with the native Israelis in our lives) that we, as people who had not grown up with the siren, were more moved emotionally. Now that we've reached Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror, I wonder if today's siren is felt differently, if our young Israelis are more moved by the symbolism of an event that touches them personally, as opposed to the siren of Holocaust Remembrance Day, which marks an event that for many Israelis, is a historical event.

One of the most interesting facets of this day, though, is the switch. The switch that we will make this evening, as Israel transitions straight from deep sadness into pure, unadulterated joy. Within moments, Memorial Day turns into Independence Day, and the celebrations for Israel's 58th year as an established state begin. Fireworks, festivities and happy pandemonium take over the country from North to South, as each city and town tries to outdo not only its own previous celebrations, but also those taking place in other towns. Singing and dancing, free concerts and performances, children and teenagers happily running through the streets with their friends… Only in our land of extremes could such a transition of emotions be possible.

And yet, I can't help but wonder about the families of the fallen. Do they make the transition as well? How is it possible to be mourning the loss of a child, a parent, a spouse, a sibling in one moment, and celebrating our independence the next? I can't even imagine being able to do such a thing. I question whether it is wise to mark these events so close together, whether the mourning on one day makes the next day even more unbearable, as you are once again left alone with your pain while everyone around you has moved on. When we mark the day of our first son's passing, whether or not we actively mark the day, I am careful never to schedule a joyful event on that day or the next, whether it be dinner out with friends, a concert or show. I don't do it. I can't. All this for a child who was with us for less than seven months. How do these parents do it, after losing a child who's been with them for so much longer? How do they make the switch? Strong people they must be.

In any event, we will be quietly celebrating this evening, barbecuing on our porch with He (my blogging partner) and family, watching the fireworks with our children as our dog cowers in our shower, shaking uncontrollably as he waits for it all to be over, as tradition dictates (which will inevitably be followed by weeks where he will refuse to go out after dark for his evening walk, afraid that the fireworks and other loud noises will catch him unprepared out in the open). Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, while every other Israeli will be outside searching for a few blades of grass on which to start their barbecue (I've seen people barbecue here on traffic islands), I will be comfortably ensconced on my couch (sans bird), watching Israeli films from the 60s and 70s and running around the house after the little one, who has no need for such traditions, despite the fact that he's a first-generation native-born Israeli. Whatever happens, yihyeh tov (it will be good).

**************

And here's a little post-siren update. I ended up getting roped into a conference call with some of the folks from work. When the siren started, I could hear the scraping of chairs all around, and then all went quiet as we stayed on the phone, each standing silently in their respective locations (with me silently praying that my dog, who was laying on the floor behind me, would not start to howl, as he sometimes does in these circumstances). Once the siren ended, we went back to our meeting without skipping a beat. Only in Israel, I think.

Dog 1 : Bird 0

Yesterday started off like any other typical Saturday for us. The little one and I were up at around 7 am (and before you start grumbling about the hour, I actually woke up before him, and couldn’t fall back to sleep), and following a stroll with the four-legged family member, we returned home for chocolate milk and coffee (and I’ll leave it to y’all to figure out who had what).
A few short hours later, we were showered, dressed and out of the house, heading down to Tel Aviv to meet some friends at the Park Hayarkon. Following approximately 45 rounds of “This Little Piggy” with my son (who kept taking my hand, placing it on his toes, and sweetly asking, “more piggies?”), he was thoughtful enough to fall asleep just as we were pulling into the big city, allowing him to nap for about 23 minutes or so, while we found parking and waited for our friends to arrive.

We realized about halfway through the drive that we’d forgotten to bring the stroller, which could have put a serious damper on things. We needn’t have worried, as our friends – who have three children – brought both a stroller and a little bicycle (with parent steering from behind) for their youngest, so while she alternated between the stroller and her father’s shoulders, our little one happily took over the bike. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of going to Park Hayarkon, it is a lovely, huge park with lots of grass, a huge play area, footpaths, water features, vendors, etc. And on a beautiful, extremely warm Saturday afternoon, it is full of Israelis - running, riding, playing, seed-spitting, dog walking Israelis, with all that this implies. I could have stayed longer, as some areas of the park were quieter than others, but as a few in our group were clearly dismayed by the mayhem, we decided to move on, heading up to Tandoori in Herzliya Pituach for lunch.

Tandoori puts out a most excellent buffet of Indian food on Saturdays, and I highly recommend it if you happen to be in the area. The food is fab, and the value for your money couldn’t be better. Oh, and they’re also really child-friendly, which was very important yesterday, given that we were four adults and four children ages seven and under. Our little one was impressively (surprisingly?) well-behaved, munching on bread and schnitzel (thank God for children’s meals!) without making a mess, and even admonishing our friends’ daughter (three months younger than he is) for getting rice on the table, telling her to sit down when she tried to stand up in her high chair, and putting his finger to his lips and shushing her when she shrieked. All in all, it was a very good meal. I love Indian food almost as much as I love sushi, so needless to say, I was one happy camper.

The ride home was uneventful, as the little one slept for most of the journey, waking up only once we’d arrived home and Husband attempted to lay him down in his own bed. Given his earlier frolicking at the park, we were quite convinced that we were in for some serious nap-time, but alas, the little one clearly had different plans. Husband attended to him while I attended to myself, and when Husband made a comment regarding the dog, it was muffled by the bathroom door, and I didn’t pay too much attention. Making my exit into the bedroom, Husband casually suggested that I go see what our dog had done on the couch.
As I wandered down the hall towards the living room, I tried to imagine what I might find. Had he had an accident? Had he been sick? He wasn’t prone to either, and will resort to such actions only out of absolute desperation, so needless to say, I was very curious as to what might cause my husband to send me to the couch for a peek.

Oh. My. God. It was GROSS. At least the fleeting look that I got when I realized what it was. Dead pigeon. On the couch. Feathers everywhere, but thankfully, hardly any blood, etc. Ran back to the bedroom in disgust. It would seem that the poor creature had managed to enter through the porch door, which we had left open so that the dog could go in and out while we were out, and had had the misfortune of encountering our aging, four-legged hunter. I delegated cleanup duties to the husband (I mean, isn’t this precisely the kind of task for which we marry them?), who reported back that our mutt hadn’t actually eaten the bird, but had apparently just removed its feathers. Man, was it disgusting! As the little one put it, “Malal (his butchering of the dog’s name) pichsa couch”, and I couldn’t come up with a more accurate assessment if I tried.

Once Husband disposed of the body, I swept up and vacuumed all the feathers (who would have guessed that a little pigeon could have so many feathers?), laundered any item that may have come into contact with our feathered friend and shampooed the spot on the couch where “the body” was found. Hopefully, the wind will get rid of any feathers remaining on our porch (did I mention the copious amounts of feathers?), and hopefully, our dog’s breath will soon return to normal from its current state of “bird breath”, as my husband coined this latest bout of “dog breath”.

If a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, what is a bird on the couch worth? Does it make a difference if the bird is dead? Sigh…

Eat matzoh. Drink more wine. Slouch. - Thoughts during Passover

Here we are, about halfway through the Passover holiday, and unfortunately, about three-quarters of the way through the Passover cookies. Our Seder was mercifully quick, and seems to get quicker and less structured from year to year, which suits me just fine! Fourteen of us at my sister-in-law's home, which is where we've held the Seder every year since my mother-in-law passed away, just before Passover back in 1999. The food is always wonderful and always plentiful, and I am extremely, extremely lucky that my sister-in-law actually enjoys making the family Seder, as the thought of doing it myself practically brings on a panic attack.

The Seders I remember most from my childhood were held at various hotels in the Catskills, where the amounts of food served at any given meal were simply mind-boggling, and Seders were performed by various high-powered cantors. We often spent at least part of the holiday there, depending on how the school vacation was scheduled during a given year, and we would spend our time running around with all the other kids, begging quarters from all ancestors and blood relatives, to be spent on the hotel arcade pinball machines and video games (Pacman, Asteroids, Phoenix, and the like), and I shudder to think of the house I could have now had I saved all the quarters spent on arcade games in my youth. For the most part, the same kids would return year after year, and we wandered around like a pack, looking for things to do (Bingo, anyone?), going swimming/ice skating/bowling/etc, participating in Simon Says, going to the evening shows that embodied the Borscht Belt genre of comedy. Those were good times, characterized by food (it always comes down to food with us, doesn't it?), bingo, Latin American waiters who were often both charming and handsome (and given the amount of time spent at our assigned table in the dining room, we got to know our assigned waiters quite well), and endless supplies of Kosher-for-Passover rolls that my grandmother (and all the other elderly ladies in the vicinity, of which there were many) casually nicked from the dining room by stashing them in a pocketbook seemingly designed for just such an eventuality.

We even managed to maintain contact with some of our "Passover" friends during the year, and no one was more surprised than I at a new student orientation lecture on my first day at university when a guy came over and sat down next to me and said, "hi, don't you recognize me from "Unnamed Hotel"? I'm Garey. I saw you and your parents moving you into your dorm room." I did indeed recognize Garey, but had always assumed him to be older, as he was always with his grandparents, and never hung around with the other kids. While never becoming great friends, we maintained casual contact throughout our four years on campus.

I must say, that despite nearly 13 years of marriage, I've never become completely satisfied with my husband's family Seders. While I do enjoy the "rapid" pace of the Seder itself, I often find myself missing the Seders of my own family, always a special occasion where everyone gets dressed up and makes extra effort to get into a festive mood, where the pace is comfortable and familiar, where the traditions are mine, and not something I've had to adopt (and anyone who has attended a Persian Seder probably knows what I'm talking about...). Every year, I tell myself that maybe next year we'll plan our trip to the US to coincide with Passover, but it never seems to happen. Admittedly, though, my joy knows no bounds when it comes to the fact that we only have one Seder in Israel, instead of the two held everywhere else, and the holiday is one day shorter here (isn't it, or am I just making that up?). All good eating habits go out the window whenever this holiday comes around, and one of my most anchored traditions is spending a week feeling guilty about my calorie consumption. As the old saying goes with regard to Jewish holidays, "they tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." And that, my friends, sums it up.

In keeping with the holiday theme I've got going here, I'd like to share a recent email that my father sent...

The Two-Minute Haggadah - A Passover service for the impatient

Opening prayers:
Thanks, God, for creating wine. (Drink wine.)
Thanks for creating produce. (Eat parsley.)

Overview:
Once we were slaves in Egypt. Now we're free. That's why we're doing this.

Four questions:
1. What's up with the matzoh?
2. What's the deal with horseradish?
3. What's with the dipping of the herbs?
4. What's this whole slouching at the table business?

Answers:
1. When we left Egypt, we were in a hurry. There was no time for making decent bread.
2. Life was bitter, like horseradish.
3. It's called symbolism.
4. Free people get to slouch.

A funny story:
Once, these five rabbis talked all night, then it was morning. (Heat soup now.)

The four kinds of children and how to deal with them:
Wise child - explain Passover.
Simple child - explain Passover slowly.
Silent child - explain Passover loudly.
Wicked child - browbeat in front of the relatives.

Speaking of children:
We hid some matzoh. Whoever finds it gets five bucks.

The story of Passover:
It's a long time ago. We're slaves in Egypt. Pharaoh is a nightmare. We cry out for help. God brings plagues upon the Egyptians. We escape, bake some matzoh. God parts the Red Sea. We make it through; the Egyptians aren't so lucky. We wander 40 years in the desert, eat manna, get the Torah, wind up in Israel, get a new temple, enjoy several years without being persecuted again. (Let brisket cool now.)

The 10 Plagues:
Blood, Frogs, Lice - you name it.

The singing of "Dayenu":
If God had gotten us out of Egypt and not punished our enemies, it would've been enough. If he'd punished our enemies and not parted the Red Sea, if would've been enough.
If he'd parted the Red Sea... (Remove gefilte fish from refrigerator now.)

Eat matzoh. Drink more wine. Slouch.

Thanks again, God, for everything.

SERVE MEAL

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

When I see the world through the eyes of my child, it is an infinitely more beautiful, simpler place. The look of pure joy on his face as he runs out to our porch to see the plane he hears flying overhead, the excitement of watching trains go by, the pleasure of seeing so many cars on the road. His world consists of his family, his friends and his favorite television characters, and it is a happy little world indeed. A world where he is the center, a world filled with love, laughter, tractors and trucks, and a perfect day includes all of these things.

The innocence of my toddler is precious, and I sometimes long for a similar innocence. I am tired of the wars, the politics, the hate. I am world-weary, saddened by the news of more death and dying, whether it be victims of war and terror, the friend of my father's whose life was cut short by cancer, or the woman I grew up with who, at age 38, is in advanced stages of ALS - Lou Gehrig's Disease. I am saddened to hear about a former classmate who will never see 38, a woman whose doctor did not believe that such a young woman could have breast cancer. It is all so senseless and so frustrating. I am angered by stories such as this one, angry at these young Israeli soldiers who use their powers to hurt the innocent, simply because they know they can. I am tired of hate for hate's sake, tired of senseless anti-Semitism and Islamophobia, tired of people hating me for my outer "labels", without bothering to find out who I am on the inside (though admittedly, I'm sure there are people not too keen on the real me either...).

Sometimes I don't like this adult world, a world where priorities are screwed up, where money is power and we forget what is truly important. A world that frequently rewards those least deserving, and often shits on the rest. I had breakfast ruined for me one morning last week by an individual who believes that he, as an engineer, is worth more than one who works as a cleaner for a living, and that there is nothing wrong with the fact that the rich are getting richer while the poor are getting poorer, with no end to this gap in sight. He said that people who are earning less than minimum wage aren't really working, so they essentially deserve what they're getting, as does he, an educated (!) man who claims to work hard for his (I'm guessing high) salary. I was shocked and disgusted by his attitude, and left pretty quickly, having lost my appetite during the opening moments of his rant.

I envy my son his innocence, and I marvel at all he does not yet know about the world outside his door. I imagine a world where the worst things that can happen are not getting another cookie or having a toy taken away, and where both are soon forgotten by Mommy holding him close, stroking his hair while whispering softly into his ear. I feel his excitement over identifying members of the animal kingdom wherever they might appear, whether in books, on television or somewhere outside. It doesn't take much to make him happy, and his laughter brings me great joy. He knows nothing of betrayal or abuse, murder, death or mayhem. He is happily unaware of political wheeling and dealing, nor does he know what a terrorist is. There is no pain that his parents cannot make disappear, and money means nothing.

Granted, there are some good things about the world of grown-ups, but sometimes I yearn for the times when all I needed was a warm embrace or a piece of cake to take my problems away, the times when seeing planes, trains and automobiles were all it took to make me happy.

Empowered by Democracy

Call me naive and idealistic, but I find that there's something very empowering about the democratic process. Voting excites me, especially here, where there are so many parties to choose from, and a population small enough to feel that you might be able to make a difference, that you can make your vote count.

We went to our polling station this morning, Husband, the Little One, and I, greeting neighbors who were also doing their part for democracy. Until just a few days ago, I was still undecided as to who would get my vote, but in the end, I went with my conscience, and damn, did it feel good! I hadn't been sure if I'd vote for them or not, given that I don't like the party leader, but their platform matches my beliefs perfectly, and once I made my decision, I suddenly felt at peace. Standing behind the partition with my little blue envelope, I didn't even hesitate. I quickly spotted the paper I needed and slid it into the envelope, knowing that my party was getting my vote.

I suppose it may seem strange to get so worked up over the simple act of putting a small piece of paper in an envelope and dropping it into the election box, but I can't help it. I am fulfilling my obligation as a citizen, as a citizen concerned about the directions and decisions that my country will take. It is a privilege to take part in the democratic process, and this was brought home to me once again just last night as I watched the chaos currently taking place in Belarus, where people are willing to put their lives at risk in order to ensure that the democracy takes place. I wonder if I'd be strong enough to do the same if I was in their shoes, and am very grateful that I am not. Grateful that I can vote freely and know that my vote will count for something.

I have a hard time understanding those who are indifferent, those who don't feel the need to vote. Voting is one of the most important obligations a citizen can fulfill, and democracy should never be taken for granted. I could go on about why you should get out there and vote today (assuming, of course, that you are an Israeli living in Israel - for the rest of you, think about it when your turn comes, wherever you are), but instead I'm giving you a link to an article I came across on OneJerusalem.com, which sums it up better than I ever could.

Living in the Past

I am a child of the 80s, a decade of contrasts. On the one hand, outstanding music (if you don’t like it, I don’t care), and on the other, fashion statements and hairstyles that would probably be best forgotten. I was reminded of both yesterday after discovering a wonderful link to hundreds of 80s music videos. I reminisced through viewings of Scritti Politti’s Perfect Way, singing along (quietly) to the Psychedelic Furs, and tapped my toes to And We Danced, by The Hooters, to name but a few. Aaaah, bliss. And of course, such joy is not limited to the music from my coming-of-age years, but also to the movies and the television shows of this gone-but-not-forgotten era. Who could forget such classics as The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and virtually every other Brat Pack film? What teenage girl didn’t envy Molly Ringwald for always beating the odds and getting the cute guy at the end? With half the population of the United States running around saying, “Whatchu talkin’ about, Willis?”, and the other half running around trying to figure out the words to “Pass the Dutchie” and “Come On Eileen”, the 80s were glory days indeed.

The 80s were happy, more innocent times, where no one worried about planes being flown into buildings, toxic white powder being sent through the post, or people not being able to accompany their loved ones to the airport gate. We wore our hideously loud, patterned (remember paisley?), oversized shirts with no fear, went preppie (remember the pink and green combo, Izod shirts with the collars up?) with no immediate concerns for our safety. They were good years for growing up. Our parents weren’t afraid to let us be outside after dark during lazy summers, nor were they worried when we wandered around the mall with friends, boys and girls eyeing each other over the 45s in the record store.

Oh, how the times have changed. Here I am, twenty years older and about a hundred years wiser, and to say that I’m troubled by the times in which we live would be an understatement. Today’s youth are far savvier than I could ever hope or want to be, robbed of their innocence at increasingly younger and younger ages. I long for the good old days, before violence became so normal, before drugs became so prevalent, before coffee became so expensive.

And now, it seems I may have to chance to go back, at least in a sense. Without me noticing, it seems that my twenty-year high school reunion has crept up on me, and will be held this summer. To my great fortune (though Husband is clearly less keen), it coincides with our annual trip to the US to visit family and friends, and I find myself greatly looking forward to the reunion events. I look forward to catching up with old friends, and to showing everyone how far I’ve come. I look forward to seeing how people have changed, who they’ve married, how they’re doing. I look forward to showing off my little family. Ever since the reunion was announced, there’s been a flurry of emails between old classmates, and the excitement is steadily growing. One thing that I find kind of scary is how many of them still live in the area where we grew up, how many of them are still friends who regularly spend time together. Some of them are parents of children who go to school together, and even run into each other at school sporting events. Some of them are high school sweethearts, miraculously still together twenty years later, which is just amazing.

I can’t wait to take this trip down memory lane, to remember the good times from my youth (while conveniently forgetting the bad times, of course!), to dance to the songs that we danced to twenty years ago, to laugh about simpler times and long gone bad hair days.

“What a long strange trip it’s been…”

When the ends don't justify the means

I averted my eyes from the television last night, so that I would not have to watch the humiliation of Palestinian prisoners being paraded in front of the cameras in their underwear, hands held high over their heads in surrender. The Israeli military raided the Jericho prison yesterday in order to retrieve those believed responsible for the assassination of former Israeli Minister of Tourism Rehavam Zeevi, as well as Fuad Shobaki, the man allegedly responsible for organizing a shipment of illegal mass weapons to the Palestinian Authority back in 2002. As far as I understand it, the raid was triggered by the newly elected Hamas government’s promise to allow these individuals to go free, despite brokered agreements with international parties, and closely followed the hasty departure of the on-site British and American authorities responsible for ensuring that the agreements were carried out properly.

As usual, I’ve got mixed feelings here. On the one hand, these individuals were most likely mixed up illegal, murderous activities, and should not be given their freedom based on the whims of a new government whose views are not quite in line with those of the previous government. I can’t imagine that the planned release sat well with foreign governments that had possibly hoped that the new Palestinian government would actually act like a government and keep to previously brokered agreements. I’m thinking that it doesn’t really bode well for any kind of talks with those governments that attempt to reach out. Or maybe the foreign governments don’t really give a damn. I don’t know.

There are a number of issues pricking my conscience over this act, though. What could possibly be served by the underwear parade? Granted, these individuals are prisoners, incarcerated for an assortment of illegal activities, I should imagine. However, I cannot understand the need for such humiliation, and in such a public way, no less. Seeing this parade (or not seeing it, for I really couldn’t bear to watch it) and knowing that it was being beamed around the world for all to see made me ashamed to be an Israeli. Capturing Ahmed Saadat and Fuad Shobaki, et al. is necessary, and given the nature of the playing field, there will most likely be collateral damage, unfortunately. And now let me play the devil’s advocate here. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that there was some reason that it was indeed necessary to relieve these prisoners of their clothes (remember, devil’s advocate talking here). Why the public parade? How will it serve Israel’s interests? How will this scene of humiliation improve our standing in the world? No media pundit am I, but I daresay that it won’t be too helpful, that these images will not portray Israel in a positive light. Any sympathy or understanding we may have received will certainly not be forthcoming, in view of the way in which the action was carried out.

Which brings me to my next conscience-pricking issue. Is this to be the final nail in Mahmoud Abbas’s role as Prime Minister? Can Israel possibly emasculate him any further? Granted, he wasn’t very effective when his own Fatah party was in charge of things, but won’t yesterday’s actions push the Palestinians even further into the arms of Hamas? While he is certainly not blameless with regard to his inability to lead the Palestinians, did the Israeli government not have a hand in creating that inability to lead? By choking their economy and thwarting and rendering him irrelevant in what little he tried to do, it is no wonder that the Palestinian people voted for Hamas. What happened yesterday only affirms this, as we once again marginalized the little that remains of the final shreds of moderation in the current Palestinian political arena. Granted, I'm not sure how this whole affair should have been handled vis a vis Mr Abbas, and maybe there really was no other way to go about it, but it still bothers me to some extent.

And to what end? So that Ehud Olmert could show the Israelis and the world that he won’t be soft on terror? To show the world that he is capable of making his own security-related decisions? I, for one, am not impressed. The ends do not always justify the means, though I suppose I do owe Mr Olmert a debt of gratitude, as he has helped me to conclusively decide that any fleeting thoughts I may have had about voting for him and his Kadima party have been completely eradicated from my brain. A politician who allows people to be humiliated just for the sake of scoring a few points at the polls is not a politician I want to represent me. Not that I have a clue as to who I will vote for – only who I won’t vote for.

So. Who should I vote for and why?

We're Back!

If you're reading this, you know that we've returned. Apparently, Blogger was a bit glitchy over the past few days, resulting in something something suddenly disappearing for about a day. More than a little stressful, and thanks to those of you who sent emails asking what was up. Now I know how many readers we have! :-)

Random thoughts on a Monday...

Just a few random issues that I've been dealing with lately...

The concept of having to watch what you say around your kids was really brought home to me recently. While fiddling with the home computer one morning, it suddenly froze up. Fearing that I’d just lost all my work, I swore, emphatically repeating the same word three times. Suddenly, a small voice next to me called out, “Puck! Puck! Puck!” and giggled. Sigh…
******
How depressing that everyone seems to be in agreement that the best thing to come out of the Israeli elections will be a day off on election day…
******
I met up with two new friends last week, one is a journalist and the other a professor. We were discussing our careers – the benefits and perks, etc. The journalist mentioned that she gets kidnapping insurance. “That’s interesting,” I remarked. “You get kidnapping insurance, and I get dental.” Hmmm… Whose career is more exciting, do you think?
******
Why couldn’t I be good with numbers instead of writing (going on the assumption, of course, that I am, indeed good at writing. I know I am because my father told me! Hi Dad!)? Then I could find a job I enjoy that pays well, instead of the job I don’t enjoy that pays well or the job I know I’d enjoy, but I also know that the pay is serious crap. The sad truth is that I suck at anything having to do with numbers – can’t add to save my life, nor can I figure out my own part of the restaurant bill. As far as figuring out the tip, well, let’s just not go there, okay?
******
Can anyone recommend a hotel in Amsterdam? A friend and I are planning a girls' weekend away, and I've spent hours upon hours poring over websites. Some hotels look better than others, but if anyone has any specific recommendations, we'd love to hear! We're looking for a small hotel, preferably non-smoking, within walking distance of most major sites, and definitely not expensive.
******
Now that I’ve been given an opportunity to do some real freelancing, I can’t think of a damn thing to write about (which may be evident, given the way this blog entry is going)! This could very well be my shortest blog entry ever! What the hell am I going to write about?

Tagged again...

Looks like I've been tagged again! Thanks Emah S - I owe you one... :-)

Here we go!

Q: WHOS THE 4TH PERSON ON YOUR RECEIVED CALL LIST?
A: Don't know - it only shows a number.

Q: WHATS YOUR MAIN RINGTONE ON YOUR PHONE?
A: Karma Chameleon (slave to the 80s that I am!)

Q: WHAT WERE YOU D0ING AT MIDNIGHT LAST NIGHT?
A: sleeping and coughing

Q: WHAT DID THE LAST TEXT MESSAGE ON YOUR CELL PHONE SAY
A: "N is fine. K has ear infection and is home now..."

Q: WHOSE BED DID YOU SLEEP IN LAST NIGHT?
A: Ours.

Q: WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
A: Grey

Q: MOST RECENT MOVIE THAT YOU WATCHED?
A: I don't remember the last movie I saw in the theater, but I watched "Grease" on TV a few weeks ago.

Q: NAME 3 THINGS THAT YOU HAVE ON YOU AT ALL TIMES?
A: Cell phone, Cheerios, tissues

Q: WHAT'S THE COLOR OF YOUR BEDSHEETS?
A: Light brown and maroon

Q: HOW MUCH CASH DO YOU HAVE ON YOU RIGHT NOW?
A: none - I'm wearing pajamas

Q: What is your favorite part of the chicken?
A: thigh and leg

Q: What's your favorite town/city?
A: Hmmm... There are several - London, Sarasota, Boston, Tel Aviv

Q:I can't wait to (til)...?
A: Take a vacation!!!!

Q: When was the last time you saw your mom?
A: End of October

Q: When was the last time you saw your dad?
A: End of October

Q: When was the last time you talked to them?
A: On the phone, last Friday. I chatted online with my dad at least once this week.

Q: What did you have for dinner LAST NIGHT?
A: Spring chicken with rice. Yum!

Q: How long have you been at your current job?
A: 5 months, and I'm already ready for a change!

Q: Look to your left. What's there?
A: A desk and bookshelves.

Q: Who is the last person you spent over $50 on?
A: Myself, when I bought my monthly train pass.

Q: Whats the last piece of clothing you borrowed from someone?
A: I borrowed my husband's jacket when I took the dog for a walk this morning.

Q: What website(s) do you visit the most during the day?
A: Haaretz, email.

Q: Do you have an air freshener in your car?
A: I don't have a car! Well actually, I do, but my husband uses it. No air freshener.

Q: Do you have plants in your room?
A: No, but we've got more than 100 types of cacti on our porch. Does that count?

Q: Does anything hurt on your body right now?
A: My throat hurts a little, and the usual aches and pains from sharing a bed with one husband, one child and one dog.

Q: What city was your last taxi cab ride in?
A: Tel Aviv

Q: Do you own a camera phone?
A: no

Q: What's your favorite Starbucks drink?
A: Iced caramel machiatto

Q: Recent time you were really upset?
A: Yesterday afternoon, while reading a certain blog...

Q: Have you been in love with anyone?
A: yup, still am--with my husband, and of course my little one!

Q: Who do you think will repost this?
A: ?????????

Let's see... Who to tag? Who to tag? Ok. Tololy (or her Evil Twin), Yael, Bobby, and Squarepeg.