Monday, May 09, 2005

No, I'm not pregnant. That's not my secret. My secret is not nearly as exciting or important as that. Can't a person have a secret without everyone thinking they're pregnant, for goodness sake? Now you'll be disappointed when I tell you.

Gold in the Walls
New story. This time, something about Bish's family:


The stern looking man in the photograph with the short white beard was dressed in what I knew to be traditional Bukharan garb – a small fur hat and a richly embroidered kaftan. So this was the powerful Moshe Aharonoff that Chenya had told me about, my husband’s great grandfather. I had suspected as much when I had spied the photograph, leafing through the old book in a stall in the flea market in Jaffa.

You can read the rest here.

I have such a lovely family
A. Our Sis and Dad are worried because I'm not enjoying work.

B. Apparently they've all been wondering nervously what my secret is. I spilled the beans to our Sis. Don't want her thinking we're getting another cat now, do I? (Shall I tell you too?)

and C. They're embarrassed for me that I unashamedly revealed to the whole world just who reigns supreme in our happy home.

And here's me thinking Our Sis wanted to tell me off when she said she wanted a little chat with me.

A + B + C = Me basking in family care.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

I'll tell you about the secret soon. I promise. I'm too tired now.

Youngest had parent's night, you know, when you go to hear how she's been doing. Bish always comes too, but today was the Euroleague basketball championship final so he didn't come. Maccabi Tel Aviv won. Bish has been a Maccabi Tel Aviv fan, basketball and soccer, since before he was born. So he's pleased. I'm pleased because he's pleased, but I'm not really bothered.

Youngest wanted to know how come a team from a country not in Europe plays in a European championship.

Saturday, May 07, 2005

I have a secret. Watch this spot for developments.

Daughters. Why?
It was all planned. Youngest was to have her birthday sleepover next Friday. I know, it’s Friday the thirteenth. I suggested they rent some horror movies. Youngest was not amused. Anyway, the big plus of having it on the thirteenth was that I wouldn’t be here. We have a ‘Man and the Desert’ trip that Friday, a good one – traveling the ancient Nabbatean spice route in an open command car (“Make sure to tie your hair back and dress warmly…”).

I had already spoken to Eldest about helping out and Bish would be there (He dropped out of ‘Man and the Desert’ ages ago - didn’t like the idea of getting up early on a free day). It was all set.

Then yesterday morning, I was in Nahalat Binyamin Street’s Friday craft fair with R.T., shopping for gifts for our imminent trip abroad, when I got a little phone call.

“N. can’t come next week. I’m not having it without N.! That’s out of the question. So we’ve all discussed it and we’ve decided to have it … tonight!”

“Oh no. Forget it. No way. Not possible. I’m going out all evening. Bish will be watching the Euroleague final four (and if he wasn’t, he’d be coming with me! He should have been coming with me anyway. Damn basketball!). Eldest is ill, she can’t help. I don’t have time to do any shopping. We haven’t planned any games. We’ve got to rent DVD’s. No. Not convenient. Can’t be done. We’ll find another date. How about the twentieth?”

“But, but, but…”

What do you think? Do you think we didn’t have the party last night (and this morning)? You bet we did. Youngest is not a force to be reckoned with, or to be fobbed off with minor details like no parents, no food, no games, no films.

I’m quite proud of her actually. Tired, I didn’t get much sleep last night, but proud. She and her little friends organized it all by themselves, food decorations, games, everything.

Youngest isn’t tired though. Right now she’s out buying goodies at Baba’s supermarket (open on Shabbat) for a surprise party she and her friends are throwing for… I’d better not say. Not that I think there is any fear of the relevant party reading this but still.

I got home at twelve thirty last night and Youngest’s party was in full swing. Well, besides a sweet little thing that had passed out on Youngest’s bed, and another that hadn’t felt well and had gone home.

I was at the fortieth birthday party of a childhood friend of mine, but that’s another story, a big one. I’ll tell it some day.

Right now, I’m going back to bed.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Not what you think.


The first time he ever glimpsed her was in a dream about a tiger. The tiger was jumping at him through a fiery cloud, but that was easily taken care of: he stopped the tiger in midair – it hung with red eyes and dripping mouth, growing larger but coming no closer. And there in the upper left corner was the woman, floating in the blue, an angel in a Renaissance landscape.

A story by Richard Lawrence Cohen.


Mum and Greta

“Yes, your mother was always fascinated by my story”, said Greta. I was taken aback. This wasn’t at all what I had expected.

I sat with her for a while, but all I managed to learn was that she was a retired teacher. You know how these things are, scores of people milling through the apartment, everyone wanting to make themselves known to you, to shake your hand, to wish you long life...

Continue reading.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

God is the tiny brown insect
crawling along my teaspoon.
If I am not very careful
I will drown him when I wash the dishes.

The insect crawls onto my finger and I place it
gently on the ground outside.
Easier to meet God
in a creature I need not fear.
Today was the memorial day for the Holocaust.

I don't seem to have anything to say. A relevant story of mine is to be published on Cafe Diverso tomorrow. I'll link.

It's a funny thing that every time I bitch about work on my blog, the very next day at work is an excellent one. Maybe I should do it more often.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Going back to work after a lovely nine days at home has not been a good experience. I dislike certain aspects of my life at work very much. I would like very much to let go of this dislike and just see the nice things, which are considerable. Unfortunately I can't seem to do this right now.

On the other hand, going back to my sangha (my Buddhist community) is proving extremely beneficial. Maybe some day I'll be able to let go of my wish to let go and then I'll know I really have let go. If you know what I mean.

A step in the right direction, I believe, was my decision today to cancel my participation in a three day trip with work to Eilat next week.

In the meantime, being at work wears me out and I seem to have little energy left to do any writing when I get home. I will try harder thought, because it has a soothing effect, whatever nonsense it is I'm writing (as you can see).

You know what I love about blogging? People answer you. You rant and rave about something most impolitely, and next thing you know the subject of your rudeness has sent you a very nice e-mail.

Stephen Howe:


Intrigued by your comments on my 'AUT boycott' piece.
There's really no need to speculate quite so vaguely about my sources - most (even Haifa U internal memos etc.) are publicly available. Check, especially, http://www.ee.bgu.ac.il/~censor/katz-directory/

I don't 'claim to be objective' - only that I try...

You say:
'For some reason he fails to point out that Haifa University does actually have a more than fair representation of Arabs on its student body, and in some faculties their percentage is even higher than in the general population.'
But I DO say exactly that in almost the same words!

As for not seeing the wood for the trees - when people disagree so violently about the shape of the wood, or even whether there is one, sometimes just enumerating the trees is the most useful thing to do.

Anyway, what do fish know from trees? And why 'Not a Fish'? I like fish. My only genuine, living hero is the TV weatherman Michael Fish...

With regards,
Stephen

I'm probably one of the few non-academic bloggers who spent their Pesach holiday obsessing about the AUT boycott of two Israeli universities. This is very likely a result of a very large chip on my shoulder about all things British.