Does she have her own blog yet?

There are a number of blogs that I read daily. One of the main ones is Anglosaxy, written by my dear friend and former blogging partner. He's the one who got me into blogging in the first place, and I'm really glad he pushed me to into it (most days, anyway!).

Over the past few days, I noticed that his blog had gotten rather quiet, and he hasn't appeared online on either of our mutual chat applications. Most unlike him, so I figured that something must be up. According to the SMS I received less than an hour ago, something has definitely been up. The message reads:

"I'm a Dad again!!! She's a cutie!"

He writes that mother and daughter are doing well. The question remains - does she have her own blog yet?

Congratulations to all the Anglosaxies, especially the newest member of the family! The something something family can't wait to meet her. Do we have a boy for her...

Scenes from a visit with the parents

The parents have been and gone, and despite the whirlwind nature of their visit, we managed to take in quite a few interesting activities. Here are some of the highlights - in photographic form, along with some fabulously scintillating commentary...

The picture below was taken at an Arabian horse show, held on the grounds of an agricultural boarding school in the south. Something about this scene just grabbed me, so I decided to play photographer. Coincidentally, this is also the boarding school where Husband and I met, when he was a counselor to a group of rather unruly 11th graders, and I was an American volunteer. Husband and progeny are in the background...

Lots of animals at the school. Not terribly unexpected for an agricultural school. I've always had a fondness for cows (though I'm not terribly keen when it comes to eating them), and am teaching the Little One to follow in my footsteps. He enjoyed the petting, but seemed rather put out once the young calf began to lick him. I, on the other hand, couldn't care less, having been licked by many a young calf while living on a moshav many years ago.

I love penguins. Is it me, or do they always look like they're watching television? Here's a tip. If you're ever in the London Zoo during penguin feeding time, stand well clear of the pool area. The penguins swimming around to catch a meal are cute. The birds that circle overhead are not cute. Especially when you notice that one of them has left a little souvenir on your arm (bless your little wet wipes for cleaning me off, nrg!). This shot and the other animal shots below were taken at the Biblical Zoo in Jerusalem. If you're ever in the area, it's definitely worth a trip. Amazing!


We were all charmed by this lion couple, who seem rather satisfied with their lot. I don't know if these are the same lions, but when I saw them, I couldn't help recalling a story I'd read several years ago about a lion at this zoo named Liza, who was having fertility problems. I was both amused and alarmed, given that I was going through something rather similar, as I alluded to in this post. Just one of those "too close for comfort" moments, I suppose...

"One, two! Tell me who are you! The Bears..." Gold stars to the first person who can tell me what that quote is from.

You pick little bits off my back, and I'll pick little bits off yours. Gotta love those primates! I've always liked monkeys, and even had a remarkably life-like monkey puppet in college named Sherman. Don't ask... The Little One was rather enamored of Sherman, until I inadvertently left him in Ben Gurion Airport's domestic terminal.

We had a wonderful time at the zoo. Grandma's time at the zoo was marginally less wonderful upon discovering that one of the local birds had left her a rather large souvenir on the side of her jacket (we're not quite sure how it happened, since none of us actually saw the bird, only the, erm, package). Grandpa and the Little One diligently wiped down all the markings, and when they were finished we asked the Little One "who made doodie on Grandma". His response? "Daddy".

On Friday, we drove up north. We took a long and winding road to the Druze village of Kifra Samea (and I'm not quite sure why the link refers to Kisra, but it's the same place), heading straight for the village's olive press. It's olive harvest season, and we stood by watching as the residents brought in their bags of olives, poured them into the press, and watched as they were turned into oil. We left with a five-liter container of fresh olive oil and a large jar of olives.

We made our way through a series of twists and turns, ups and downs, and found ourselves at the Rock Park, where the Little One ran around the rocks, skipped through small caves, and generally presented us with many photo opportunities. I'd never heard of this place before, but it was well worth the trip. The shot below shows the view from the Rock Park.

We had lunch at the restaurant below - the originally named Rock Park Restaurant. Don't let the simple name fool you. The owner was utterly charming, the Tabbouleh among the best I've ever eaten, and thoughts of the Kubeh in yogurt can still make me drool. It's right across from the park. The interior of the restaurant is decorated with Israeli flags, photos of soldiers and pro-IDF slogans.

A sated father and son head towards the car...

Following a brief playground stop with views similar to those in the shot above, we drove to the village of Peki'in, which is populated by Druze, Christians and a small number of Jewish families. We stopped in a small bakery and bought this tray of Baklava, which is one of my all-time favorite desserts (along with the Belgian chocolate truffles from this restaurant, where Little One did his best impersonation of the famous Meg Ryan scene in When Harry Met Sally after taking a bite of one of the truffles). The tray was full when we bought it less than a week ago...

Here's a close-up shot. How yummy does that look? I had Knafeh too! Mmmm...

Lots of food and lots of animals - how could anyone possibly ask for anything more?

And now I leave you with one final Little One quote that my parents are undoubtedly sharing with all of their friends. When asked if he was heavy, he replied, "I'm not heavy. I'm little." It doesn't get much better than that folks. Out of the mouths of babes...

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish off the baklava now...

A victim speaks out

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about crazed mobs of Egyptian men who ran through certain streets in Cairo attacking any female who had the terrible misfortune of being in the area at the time.

Thanks (once again) to the Egyptian Sandmonkey for alerting his readers to the existence of a new blog written by one of the victims of these attacks. Wounded girl from Cairo shares her story with the world in a stark, no-nonsense way, describing in horrifying detail what she went through that night. Despite her anonymity, I think it takes a lot of courage to not only relive the experience, but also to open herself up to criticism from readers (and she's taken quite a bit of criticism from people who negate her assessment - which I believe to be accurate - that Islam played a role in what happened).

Definitely worth checking out...

Shameless self-promotion

Sorry it's been so quiet around here. I've just got so much going on lately that I haven't been able to focus on one of the few enjoyable things - blogging. I've got quite a few ideas for entries swirling around in my head, and hopefully, I'll get myself sorted out enough to actually write them (lots of pictures too!). In the meantime, I'm going to leave you with a bit of shameless self-promotion.

A few months ago, I was contacted by the editor of an Italy-based publication - Here - Notes from the Present, which is published in both English and Italian, and comes out in a web-based format as well as a print format. He'd found my blog and wanted to know if he could include excerpts from some of the entries I'd written over the course of the summer. I agreed, and the edition in which the excerpts appear came out at the end of October. I'm expecting to receive print versions in the mail any day now (one for us and one for my parents - seems only fitting since Dad has always told me that I write well, and I never quite believed him), and the latest online version can be found in English here, and in Italian, it can be found here. If you want to find a little bit more about me than I've revealed on the blog, check out the Contributors section.

A most striking visit

Blogging may be lighter than usual during the next week, as we entertain my parents, or rather, the Little One entertains his grandparents while we watch and periodically translate from the sidelines.

They arrived safely, though not terribly soundly, given the strike at the airport that caused massive delays in luggage removal from planes in the best-case scenario, and a worst-case scenario where luggage was not actually removed from the planes prior to the planes taking off again, as happened to Adrian - our local Expat Egghead. By some miracle, Dad managed to come out into the Arrivals Hall, and by another miracle, I managed to spot him from one level up, race down the stairs, push through the crowds, scoot around the passengers' only area, and have a quick conversation with him, arguing with a security guard who tried to make him go back inside before we were done talking (I won). To make a long story short, we picked up my parents - sans luggage, drove through Thursday evening rush hour traffic to Azrieli Center to grab some dinner and kill a few hours, before making our way back to the airport to discover that contrary to what my parents were told, their luggage had not been taken off the plane within two to three hours. It was a total, chaotic nightmare. Passengers were not told about the strike (Mom even grabbed a luggage cart), and once they did find out, there was no one around to provide information, answer questions, etc. Upon returning to the airport, they were told that "no one knew when their luggage would be available", so we headed for home, opting to return the next afternoon, and finally retrieving their luggage.

It's rather maddening and insane to see an entire airport held hostage by the whims of temporary workers (and may I emphasize the word "temporary", which is what these workers are?). As one of my office colleagues pointed out, in hi-tech, an employee can be fired from one day to the next, and he or she has almost no recourse. Can you imagine hi-tech workers going on strike because some of their colleagues were being fired? It is a travesty that these actions are repeatedly carried out in Israel, and it's frightening that the government is too wrapped up in itself to do anything. Why should port workers, electric company employees, and so on, be immune from such "routine" activities as redundancy, when no one else is? How can the government allow these workers to shut down essential airport passenger services for several days, causing total disruption and chaos, not to mention the effects that this will have on Israel's image, given the number of tourists who arrived in Israel for the first time were met with utter confusion and complete indifference to their plight. I can't help but wonder how many of them will be anxious to donate money to Israel in the future, and how stories for the folks back home will be clouded by not being able to retrieve their luggage before leaving the airport.

All of that aside, though, now that they are both fully kitted out with their own belongings, I believe that my parents are having a nice time, and have been completely charmed by their grandson. We've been to a horse show, visited family, and worked our way through Ikea, looking for a bed and closet for the Little One. I'm also pleased to mention that my mother is now addicted to cake from Roladin (sorry, the English link doesn't seem to work), pronouncing their cakes to be just as good as, if not better than, the cakes from Flakowitz, which, if you are at all in the know with regard to either NY or South Florida bakeries, know to be among the best there is.

The Little One ran up to them immediately at the airport, allowing both of his grandparents to cover him with hugs and kisses, and then making them (and everyone else watching) laugh as he wheeled their carry-on bag out to the parking lot. He babbles at them in both English and Hebrew, so we are doing quite a lot of translating. He also makes us watch his new Dora the Explorer and Bob the Builder videos. Repeatedly. I should be grateful, given that these characters are infinitely more palpable than a certain big purple dinosaur who's popularity has risen dramatically in our household lately (would you believe that he's just as annoying in Hebrew as he is in English?), but if I hear "can we fix it?" one more time, I'm thinking the "it" in that sentence is going to be a certain Bob the Builder video.

There's not much more to share at this point, and given that I've got to run over to Roladin in order to get Mom her fix and feed her habit, I'm going to cut this short. Have a good week, y'all, and I'll try to pop in periodically to say hi. Regular blogging to resume next week, though one never knows. I might just surprise you somewhere along the way.

What a frightening world we live in...

I just read a horrifying post written by the Egyptian Sandmonkey. It seems that large mobs of men in Cairo, angered by the fact that they couldn't get into a sold-out film on the first day of Eid ul Fitr, went on a rampage, first destroying the movie theater's ticket booth, then running through the streets attacking women in a sexual frenzy. Apparently, no woman in the area was safe, and the police stood by and did nothing.

Sadly, this isn't the first time that a blind eye has been turned under such circumstances in Egypt. Earlier this summer, female activists and reporters were sexually harassed at the hands of government supporters, while again, the police did nothing. It's no wonder these men show no concern for possible consequences resulting from their actions.

A quick search of internet news sites for this hair-raising story produced no results, which I found rather shocking. How is it possible that such an event received no news coverage? For more on these attacks, please read this blog entry by Forsoothsayer.

Some of the comments I read regarding this incident placed the blame squarely on Islam, but I don't think that's the case. Many Americans will remember the incident that took place in Central Park following the 2000 Puerto Rican Day Parade, when mobs of men accosted and sexually harrassed women in the park, groping them, tearing their clothes off, and dousing them with water, beer, etc. I can't even begin to imagine what causes these men to act the way they do, how this crazed mob mentality manifests itself by turning people into such vicious sexual predators, separating them from their sanity. It is beyond frightening to think about hoards of males roaming the streets led solely by their penises, driven by their frustrated sexual appetites and callous indifference to their victims, treating these living, breathing human beings like objects to be touched and violated, and thinking that these acts are totally acceptable and unpunishable. And it seems, with regard to these last two, they wouldn't be so far off the mark.

All sorts of stuff

Life has been hectic lately. My parents are coming on Thursday for their annual visit, and we've been busy getting the house ready. Exciting stuff, as not only am I looking forward to seeing them and having them spend time with their grandson, but I'm also looking forward to the items that will be accompanying them, such as a CD with nrg's pictures from Amsterdam (at which point I'll do a post showing all of our best pictures - she took far more than I did, hence the wait), which will reach me via a rather circuitous route (nrg gave the CD to her parents when they were visiting her in Norway, they brought the CD home, my parents picked up the CD, and will bring it with them to me), my new mp3 player, ordered from Amazon, and a variety of toys, books, videos and clothing for the Little One (and even a few articles of clothing for me).

In the event that I can't think of where to take them, I'll be sure to peruse my very own fabulous (and slightly puddle-damaged - my fault!) copy of City Guide Tel Aviv, written by the incredibly talented (not to mention charming!) Lisa Goldman. I'd definitely recommend this book - get it for yourselves, get it as a gift. You won't be sorry! I know I can't wait to try out some of the restaurants that are mentioned, and I've even been to a few of them already, trendsetter that I am.

Since I'm feeling rather scatterbrained at the moment, between the upcoming visitors and work, I'm just going to mention a few more bits and pieces, and then be on my way.

If you take a look at my sidebar (go ahead, I'll wait...), you'll notice a few things. One, I'm reading a new book - A Tale of Two Sisters, by Anna Maxted. I discovered Anna Maxted several years ago, and haven't looked back. She writes brilliantly, and I love the way she has her characters deal with very real problems, instead of the usual chick lit fluff. I've always found myself drawn to writing and to people who write well, and Ms Maxted is no exception. I'd definitely enjoy a friendly chat over lattés in a cafe with this woman.

Two, I've added quite a few blogs to my blogroll in the Further Afoot section. In addition to discovering a number of new (to me, anyway) blogs written by expats, I now check in daily with the hilarious Craigslist Curmudgeon, where our blogger shares some of his (her?) better findings for freelance writing gigs from the infamous Craigslist, as well as the thought-provoking blog Warrior of Light, written by one of my favorite authors, Paulo Coelho.

And finally, I've recently become a contributor to a site called Brio, which deals with the subject of parenting in a global world. My first post is here, and originally appeared on something something earlier this year. It promises to be an exciting project about a subject that's very close to my heart, so I'll be sure to keep you posted. Check it out!

Caught with my umbrella down

I admit it. I have a fault. I know, I know. Be still your beating hearts and all that jazz. You thought I was perfect. Oh, and those of you who know me for real, you can stop snickering now, especially you (you know who you are!). Actually, I have two faults. I do not like to be caught unprepared, and I have a low tolerance threshold for stupidity, ignorance and shallow conversation (does that one count as three faults? I mean, it's not like they're mutually exclusive or anything, and often go hand-in-hand!). For this entry, I'm only going to address the former, as the latter is no less deserving of its own entry, and actually, if I were to combine them, I have a feeling that I'd somehow manage to incriminate myself in a really outstanding way...

When I say that I don't like to be caught unprepared, it means that I don't like surprises. And when I say that I don't like surprises, I mean that I'm actually quite anal about it. Take the weather in Israel, for instance. Once autumn hits, I begin my assessment of the local umbrella situation. I have two – one small red one that fits in my bag quite neatly, and one large stripey, purply one that does not. As soon as there's a mere hint of rain in the air, the little umbrella goes into the bag, and stays there for the duration of the season. The large umbrella is kept by the door, saved for occasions when a forecast of rain is actually announced, at which point the little umbrella is taken out of the bag, shunted aside for one with more firepower. You see, the little one, while being extremely convenient due to its size, is also rather ineffective, due, strangely enough, to the same reason. Given my fifteen minute walk between the train station and my office, the thought of being caught without an umbrella when it rains sends me into a bit of a tailspin. Quite sad, really, but absolutely true. As such, the small one is for emergencies, so that I will always be prepared for unexpected rain shower.

Then there's the second umbrella. Having tragically taken the lives of two attractive, but clearly lesser quality umbrellas last year, both at the same location (crossing over a busy road leading over a highway that lies between two tall buildings, effectively creating a massive wind tunnel), I finally came to my senses. I walked into a store, prepared to pay whatever it took for strength, quality and peace of mind. I walked straight up to the counter and asked for the strongest umbrella they had (which, fortunately, was also quite attractive, for there's no reason to sacrifice aesthetics for quality, is there?). One tidy sum later, and I was testing my new purchase, which indeed proved itself to be quite strong, if not somewhat inconvenient.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," would seem like an appropriate sentiment, as the new umbrella, while triumphantly standing up to even the nastiest of winds, was rather unwieldy, to put it mildly. I became unnecessarily dependent upon the words of our meteorologists, lest I be unprepared when the storms hit. And therein lies the crux of the problem. These folks can't be trusted! For the last two days, I dragged my industrial-strength umbrella to and from work, working on the assumption that it was going to rain. Have you ever tried walking while carrying a large umbrella, a jacket slung over your arm, one laptop in what must be the biggest, bulkiest laptop shoulder bag ever created by man, and a large latté, which you struggle to raise to your lips intermittently, taking careful sips while trying not to spill, as a few drops inevitably manage to escape somehow? Not easy. Let me tell you. If I wasn't so talented, I'm not sure I could pull it off. But did it rain? Of course not! It threatened to, and there were even a few big fat drops of rain on my window yesterday afternoon, but certainly nothing that warranted my drastic umbrella measures. Once again, they got it wrong, and once again, I tripped my up and down the street so that I would be prepared. I think that I would probably be more successful at predicting their success rate than they are at predicting the weather. Then again, I imagine that I will continue to take them at their word, lest I be caught unprepared with my umbrella down.

Almost passing for trendy...

Finally. Finally, after a long, harsh summer, it seems that fall is starting to put in an appearance. The days are no longer oppressively hot, and nights are sublimely chilly – perfectly conducive to getting a good night's sleep. Not to say that I am getting good nights of sleep, as the little one seems to be trying his best to thwart my intentions. But still, I'm used to being perpetually tired, so while a bit frustrating, it's certainly not a tragedy on a grand scale, as grand scales go.

I just wish that the days would start to get cooler! I'm getting tired of wearing the same old clothes day in and day out, and am really looking forward to switching over to the winter wardrobe. I've pulled at the shirts with the ¾ sleeves and begun wearing regular shoes with socks, instead of the sandals that I've worn nearly every day since June. I'll miss my capris, to be sure, but having forgotten a substantial number of pairs of trousers at my parents' house several months ago, once I finally get them back in just a few weeks' time when my parents arrive for their annual visit, it will be almost like having a few new pairs.

Most of all though, I can't wait for jacket weather, and the reason why is this:


Do you remember how I went on and on about the beautiful Nepali fleece-lined jackets I purchased in Amsterdam? That's right, folks. I cannot wait to start wearing this jacket (or its fraternal twin – the purply hooded Nepali fleece-lined jacket) everyday. I love this jacket. I love this jacket! I LOVE THIS JACKET! Do you understand what I'm saying? Am I making myself clear? I love the colors. I love the style. I can almost (though not quite) pass for trendy in this jacket. It was love at first site, in the funky Waterlooplein market, and our excitement over such a find was palpable. Not only was I in love, but my best friend approved of the match. You see, she'd been after me since seeing the contents of my suitcase and the obvious lack of color, and given that she'd also been privy to the descriptions of my clothing purchases in the US (I still don't know how it worked out that a significantly high percentage of the shirts I'd acquired were black, brown, or a swirly combination of the two), she'd taken it upon herself to add a little color to my wardrobe, in addition to the color that she added to my life in general. Searches in some of the shops around the city proved fruitless, but our new find fit the bill perfectly. How excited were we?


But I digress. The jackets. Almost as much as I can't wait to wear mine, I'm also chomping at the bit to dress the little one in his. How awesome is that little jacket? How awesome will we look traipsing about town in our Nepali fleece-lined jackets?! Unfortunately, it seems that the weather is going to remain decent for the foreseeable future, despite the teasingly cool mornings and the tantalizingly chilly evenings. For now, the little one is still wandering around in shorts and sandals, and looking (almost) trendy will have to wait.

Is it considered a bell or a whistle?

Oh, and further to my previous post, you may have noticed that I've started using YouTube clips. I still haven't decided if I like the whole clip idea in my blog entries, but it is kind of funky, so we'll see how it goes. I just added a clip to the Blogging Meme post. Go on. Check it out...

And, I've also updated my profile, so you might want to check that out as well.

Ch... Ch... Ch... Changes...