Little Miss Graham

I have moved

2010-09-23T19:29:00.001+02:00

I have moved/ upgraded to wordpress... I know it has been a while, but if you are still with me, you can carry on reading at http://littlemissgraham.wordpress.com/

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

2010-06-30T15:39:00.002+03:00

You ever have those days when you just want to punch everyone in the face? I feel like that today…

Strange Bedfellows

2010-06-03T09:00:00.000+03:00

I am already missing taking my laptop to bed with me... and yes I realise how sad that sounds.

Recap: New York

2010-05-11T08:18:00.003+03:00

I have been home now a month and a half. It does not seem that long and yet New York feels like a decade ago, like a two week vacation long gone. I have to remind myself that this was no two week vacation. I lived New York. I loved New York. My leaving may have been an inevitable, but I never want her to forget how much I loved her.

A period of time in my life that I will treasure always and always write about to never let myself forget. Who could forget New York? It seems crazy right! But I am not talking about New York, the place; the tall tall buildings, the wide roads packed with tourists, the yellow cabs buzzing around the city. No I am talking about MY New York, what she did for me, how she made me feel. How from the moment we were reintroduced that September morning I knew I would never feel alone while I was with her. And that is true. Through all the ups and downs of my time there, through the great work nightmare to the man debate and all the little dramas in between New York was constant. Through a time in my life, and possibly the first time in my life when I just wanted to be left the fuck alone, New York lay her palm on my back, giving me my space to go forward but letting me know that she was always there if I needed her to fall back on. I guess at the same time Israel was doing the same thing.

So when the time came to make the decision to stay or go it was not easy. Should I stay in a job that brought me to tears every day, for the sake of New York? Should I carry on going further into debt because I did not want to let her go? And what about the benefits of going back to Israel? It had been a long cold winter in New York and I could definitely do with some thawing out. I wrote lists. I wrote journals. I talked it through with everyone. I was trying to find a way to stay, a reason to stay, a way to stay, but at some point I had to give her one last hug goodbye and jump back into the open arms of Israel.

I miss her. There is a part of me that wonders what is New York doing now? She's probably dressed up fabulous and running all over town ending the night a hot mess in a diner. I smile when I think about her, knowing that her hand will still be resting in the curve of my back if I ever need to fall back.

The problem with the world today...

2010-01-26T17:18:00.000+02:00

The problem with the world today is Starbucks coffee. On every street corner, spreading like a disease around the world (apart from Israel, we had the good sense, for once, to give that shit back!) – Anyone who actually thinks that it is actually any good needs to come to the realisation that they have bad taste, poor judgement, have never drunk a decent cup of coffee in their lives or perhaps like the taste of weak, close to the taste of urine coffee… oh and those who like Dunkin Donuts are even worse!2

The problem with the world today is that we are all sheep. Where ever you go, herds of people all clustered together looking the same… and yet still referring to themselves as alternative. Alternative to what? Times Square it is the tourist and the police who are only there to pose or hold cameras for the tourists; Wall Street it’s the suits; Williamsburg it’s the Hipsters; in a small bar around the East village it’s the punk rockers/ Goths… I was the only alternative one in that bar my friend! Accept it we are all human… alternative to what? Vampires maybe…

The problem with the world today is “Harry Potterism”. I would like to begin this section by stating that I am a fan of the Harry Potter series. Yes I may have tried to avoid the craze, however once I bit the bullet I realised that it was not half bad. That being said, it has since brought a craze of Harry Potter copies. “Well J. K. Rowling managed to make millions out of wizards… how about Vampires?” No no no!!! Please stop! The problem with the world today is our ongoing and tiresome urge to drag out a good thing. One sushi bar makes a killing the first week it opens so as a result 30 sushi bars open on the same block. Soon all we are eating 24/7 is sushi… Get my point? No I don’t think you do. My point is Twilight is literary garbage! We have Vampire Diaries, True Blood3 and the Twilight movie series. I sure hope that vampires do not exist because I am telling you if I was one I would be pissed!4

The problem with the world today is we are all so hell bent on making it a better place that we ultimately forget the truth that, people steal, people cheat, and given the chance most people would help themselves to the wad of cash in your wallet and not give it a second thought. We are a species evolved by self preservation, self growth anything to move ourselves forward. The sooner we accept that fact the better off we will be and the less shocked we will be when finding out that someone has stolen our credit card details and racked up £1800 worth of debt for you5. If we accept this truth then finding our coat/ cashmere cardigan stolen at the end of the night would come as no surprise and we could perhaps save ourselves a great deal of heartbreak in the long run.

The problem with the world today is that we, and by we I am referring to my own kind… women, we try to be Superwoman. Ladies, we are not Superwoman, we should stop trying to be a fictional hero… no Wonder Woman is not real either so stop. No I mean it, stop it! There is nothing wrong with not being able to fit everything into your already jammed full life. Getting married and having babies does not mean that you life should be getting up at 5.30am for a yoga session before fixing the kids breakfast; taking them to school; heading into the office for a little nine to six ass kicking because you are of course the office rock star; using your lunch break to go to the organic market so you can make your family the most wholesome and natural dinner possible, getting home from a long day to sit with your children and help them with homework/ teach them a second language; head back to the gym as soon as the children have gone to bed; take a detour via the beautician to get waxed and plucked so that your can put on your sexy lingerie when you get home and give you husband the best time of his life… again! Yes it sounds like the life dreams are made of but seriously it does not have to be this way… and if you cannot do it all then please stop beating yourself up about it! Moreover if you by chance one of these ‘Super’ women who can do all of this (without being addicted to a performance enhancing drug) then please stop gloating about your achievements in public and making other ‘mere mortals’ feel inadequate.

The problem with the world today is that the Beta males have become the new Alpha males. No I have not moved on to men bashing. I am woman bashing right now. We are after all our own worst enemies… I mean men cannot help themselves they are only doing what comes naturally, but we… we stupidly think that we can change them. Women! There is no changing a man. Word up! Anyway back to my point being that prior to deciding that the Beta males were to become the new Alpha male we did not consider that these Beta males were the boys who grew up geek. The shy guy who had no balls to go chase after the girl of his dreams… Guess what ladies, they still don’t! Don’t we want our men to fight for us? Don’t we deserve that? Fight for it you bastards!

Ok morning rant is over. Thank you!

1. This post was inspired by friends on Twitter and Facebook who bitch and moan about this stuff almost as much as I do… I said ‘almost’

2. Sorry Ahuvah!

3. I kind of secretly like this one

4. Oh lord I have started writing with an American accent

5. Well in this particular case me.

Same Channahboo... A New Adventure

2009-09-30T15:56:00.003+02:00

London, Tel Aviv, London, New York… And so now my adventure takes a new twist and I am finding myself sipping Mocca Latte in terminal 5, staring out at the British Airways planes lined in a row and smiling at the irony of the situation that an English Girl who had just 5 years before moved to Israel, has now found herself back in London in transit to New York for the next leg of her adventure.

How many legs does this adventure have? I do not know and I have stopped asking now. The point is that it keeps on running.

I think it is fair to say that the last year saw my life as I knew it flip upside down and while I could have carried on being the same, living the same life as before I took a long hard look at what was my adventure so far, and thanks to this blog I had record proof of my adventure so far, and so far my adventure was rather unadventurous… and downright repetitive. I jumped from year to year and found that the same stories were repeated year in year out and ultimately I needed a change. Ultimately I need a change.

This is not to say I am done with Israel. I have mixed feelings about this statement. I have mixed feelings when people say, “Oh no! You can’t leave Israel! How sad!” I guess I would have said the same thing if the person was not me. So I say it again. I am not done with Israel. But after 5 years living in this bash my head against the wall one day and jump up and down with gratitude the next day country, I feel I am entitled to a break, or as we would say in Israelהפםקת נפש or a break for the soul. And for those of you have stuck with the sad and woeful blog over the last few months you will agree that the soul of this blog needs a break indeed.

Now we can enter into a whole debate about whether I have allowed myself to be defeated by Israel and the harsh way she treats her new immigrants by separating the fair-weather friends from the dedicated settlers. We can have a discussion for hours and split hairs over whether I made the move to Israel for the right reasons or am leaving for better ones. We can talk for hours about the ins and outs and whys and who is to blame, but seriously who gives a shit and who really takes life that seriously. Basically it breaks down to the following; I need a change, my job offered me the chance to move to New York, I decided it was an opportunity I could not say no to, So for the next six months I am giving New York all that I got and will see if she is a keeper or not.

As I said, I am not done with Israel. I will never be done with Israel. My family and my dearest friends are in Israel and if that is not reason enough I will stand proudly in the middle of Heathrow airport and shout rather un-politically correctly that Israel is my homeland and I will never be done with her! However, that does not mean I have to be stuck to her for the rest of my life; the equivalent of living at home with the parents forever (so says a 30 year old who until this morning was living at home with her parents). No it is time this Israelite flew the nest and spread her wings in another land. I will still have sweet dreams of a land flowing with milk and honey, but for now I will be dancing in streets paved with gold (or cheese depending on how you look at it).

So here I am in Heathrow again only this time I am heading West and high off my ass on a concoction of cold and flu remedies that ultimately will make no difference at all to the state of my mucus filled head, only to give an illusion to the swine flu scared passengers around me that I at least making an effort to get better. I am seriously looking forward to knocking back a few whiskeys on the plane and passing out…. Just wonder if I am sick enough to beg an upgrade to class with the beds, or if I am too sick that they may refuse me entry into the USA until I have completed quarantine. Cats and dogs must have 6 months quarantine before being allowed into a country… imagine if they imposed the same with humans. I could spend the 6 months I am supposed to be in New York in quarantine instead…

Ok I am going to take America English chocolates so they let me in!

By the way, England is still grey, Terminal 5 is not all that (the Prêt a Manger has only 5 sandwich choices) and I would like someone to explain the logic to me of why security in this country makes people throw away their water bottles when they are clearly swigging from it so it cannot be anything other than water… oh and yet at the same time recommending their passengers to keep themselves hydrated on the flight. One thing the world could learn from Israeli security… yes we do not have to take off our shoes to ensure that there are no terrorists on our flights!

New York baby here I come!

140

2009-07-22T21:07:00.001+03:00

Must write blogs for all that has been going on, but what has been going on is a lot and I am too used to writing in 140 characters Twitter!

Wrong Number... asshole!

2009-06-21T16:34:00.003+03:00

For the last week and a half I have had the great displeasure of repeat phone calls from a man. Now I do not want to imply that this man is my stalker, nor to I want to imply that I encourage him in any way to continue to call me by striking up a conversation or asking how his day has been. To the contrary I make it very clear to the man what an irritant he is to my life and how I wish he would learn to input numbers correctly and thereby remove himself from the bubble of my universe forever.

The phone rings again and I see the same number that I have seen flashing up on my phone for days and even though I have a rule not to answer numbers I do not recognise, I have seen this number come up several times before and have a voicemail message on my phone from a very agitated man looking for Amit.

Channahboo: Hello
Man: Hello can I speak to Amit (in Hebrew)
Channahboo: No. Again, this is not Amit.
Man: Oh I have no idea how I keep calling your number by mistake
Channahboo: Perhaps Amit gave you the wrong number deliberately so you would annoy me instead of him
Man: But there are times when I have called this number and got through to Amit
Channahboo: You see that would be a lie sir, because if you actually dialled in Amit's number every time then you would only ever get through to Amit, but you don't do you... several times a day you call me instead.
Man: There must be something wrong with the phone
Channahboo: Now if you were using speed dial to call Amit then I would agree with you, but I think that we both know that is not true now don't we.
Man: I am so sorry this will not happen again
Channahboo: Oh I live in hope!

(click)

The Hendonshites

2009-05-26T16:39:00.005+03:00

Israel is taking a little הפסקה (break), taking a deep breath and exhaling with relief that for a short period of time between Pesach and the summer there is a little respite from the tourists. Not to seem ungrateful, the tourist provide a much needed boost to Israel’s somewhat flailing economy, and don’t get me wrong it is always a pleasure to have visitors to stay. However, I think the old phrase, “The best part of having a guest to stay is their leaving,” can be held true, or was it “After three days, fish and guests stink.”? Either way we love it when they come; we just love having our place to ourselves when they leave.

So many tourists came over Pesach and it was actually pretty amazing to see so many Anglos around. Seriously I wonder how many synagogues in London closed their doors as most of the congregation was walking the streets of Tel Aviv and Netanya (why do people still go to Netanya?) At the same time it was a little strange for me. As someone who moved to Israel almost 5 years ago (no I cannot really believe it myself), it is one thing to go back to England to visit my family and friends who are still there. It is a different feeling though to find the ‘London’ scene on my doorstep. When I go back to England, maybe it is that I only see the people I really care about, or perhaps I slot back without a second thought, but when I see the London scene in my home, I can really see full on how different our two worlds are.

I know part of my urge to come to Israel was to rid myself of the “keeping up with the Jones’” mentality, to be around like minded people as opposed to judgemental and hypocritical types. To be honest I had all but forgotten their existence until I bumped into an old friend who reminded me of one of the things I gladly left behind. Not the bad weather, not the long commute to work, not even ridiculously long queues at H&M. No, my friend reminded me that one of the greatest joys I left behind in England were her men, specifically (because I actually am rather partial to a man with a posh voice) what has come to be referred to as the “Hendonshites”. The “Hendonshites”? I hear you all ask. Well to explain further I would like to call once again my favourite expert (note also a British yet yummy man) Sir David Attenborough.

For those of you who do not recall, Sir David Attenborough once assisted me with the analysis of the Jerusalem plague of The Katamonster. Today he has been working on the enigma that is The Hendonshite within his new study “The man with two faces and little else”. I simply had to find out more:

Channahboo: - Hello David, I can call you David now right? What exactly is a Hendonshite?

Of course Channahboo. Well in order to answer that question and define the Hendonshite, one must first explore its origins. Born and bread within North West London, this creature is of male sex and past its years of sewing its oats across middle England and travels overseas, has come to rest in the area known as Hendon, London. Known as a largely Jewish populated area, it also holds a great deal of wealth which is what attracts these men to the region. They work in a variety of fields, not out of passion per se, but with the specific aim of funding the mortgage to their Hendon apartments which they quickly furnish into bachelor dens to lure their prey back to.

Channahboo: Prey?

Yes. These males not only choose Hendon for its wealth and prestige, Hendon is also a stalking ground, rich with fertile females and more importantly numerous dark alleyways hidden amongst the houses where they can hunt out new young prey, lure them back to their dens and wolf down whatever will fit into their oversized egos.

Channahboo: Wow sounds scary. Are they really so dangerous?

Not perhaps in the way that one might think. You see these males forget that it was a woman who brought them into this world, or perhaps they see no connection between the women they bed and their mothers and sisters, but they have a primeval view of women. I spent a week amongst them in disguise and found that I was quickly accepted once I told them how I had told a girl I loved her to get her into bed and then dumped her the next day.

Channahboo: Is that true?

I am a gentleman! Of course not. But I had to be accepted into the pack in order to study them more closely in their natural habitat, being at one of their houses, on their sofa watching the football. In the group they love nothing more than football and sharing stories of their conquests. One evening a particular Hendonshite was telling the pack of his recent conquest. As I mentioned earlier Hendonshite, predominantly prefer the younger flesh as their prey. There are theories as to why this is, some say it is their preference, others claim that it is all they can get as the older woman knows better. It is an area I am actually studying further at the moment.

Regardless this one night one of the Hendonshites was regaling the group with his tale of conquest and in this occasion the lady in question was in her 30’s. One Hendonshite upon hearing her age called out, “Wo ho! In her dirty thirties??” to which the group all began laughing. Another Hendonshite bellowed out beer bottle in hand, “Older girls love cock… And even if they don’t they do”.

Channahboo: So if that is their view how do they interact with the rest of society?

In disguise. They have friends who are married who they go to for meals and “endure the pitiful looks from the smug marrieds”. They have female friends who they use to further fuel their egos by telling them what sluts they are for being intimate with someone they liked (not knowing that they were also a Hendonshite too). I was intrigued by the primitive behaviour of these men who still in today’s day and age still refer to women as ‘sluts’, ‘whores’ and ‘bitches’.

Channahboo: I am confused here you say that they “endure the pitiful looks of smug marrieds”, so they themselves want to settle down with a mate?

Correct. However they may never do until they learn to respect the opposite sex.

My head was reeling from our conversation and I could not help thinking that although I am repulsed by these creatures I in some ways feel sorry for them. These lowly men seem to be stuck somewhere in the ages where it was ok to treat women in such a second class manner, that it is ok to degrade women publicly to such an extent for what? Admitting that they are sexually active? Is this jealousy and therefore their own ego at hand… I mean literally at hand because that is the only place their action is coming from? Or are they simply a group of boys who never grew up and that perhaps one day when they meet the right woman to tame them, then they will learn the value of a woman? I tried to ask Sir David these final questions, but he was unable to answer as he had yet to complete his studies to this extent. However he did state that from what he saw once a Hendonshite always a Hendonshite. So I wonder to myself, what are the women there doing? Run girls run! Save yourselves.

Things I have learned...

2009-05-19T19:36:00.000+03:00

As I walked out of the office yesterday I took in a deep breath of fresh sea air and my heart felt like a weight had been removed. So many things are swimming around my head, but my heart is finally feeling clear and at peace. I have so much to tell, but nothing I can yet say… lets just say that plans may finally be coming together and I am finally feeling the fear and doing it anyway instead of hiding back under the blankets. Oh I am scared shitless, but oh lord I am doing it anyway!

I walked to my car, heading to Tel Aviv for some FroYo loving, and smiled to myself as I saw a young family walking towards their car after a day at the beach. The father and little son packing up the car while the mother and young daughter in matching short denim skirts danced to the music pouring from one of the restaurants.

I drove to Tel Aviv singing “Sin Wagon” at the top of my voice, imagining what Simon Cowell would say if I sang it to him and I giggled to myself as I imagined what I would say back to him in response, “Hey I just love singing this song!”

And so as I call an end to the dark time I have been in (thank you for your patience with me) I would like to end this post with some inspiration from dear friend and a list of things I have learned/ heard/ thought about during this time. (Thank you for your continued patience)

I’ve learned that no matter what he said, you said, they said, sometimes it just does not work out the way you thought it would

I’ve realised that I deserve better

I’ve thought a lot about the future and it is not as scary as I thought… ok still scary, but doable

I’ve heard that “guys have to eat a lot of shit before they realise the caviar they had”

I’ve learned that no matter how crazy you think you are being that there is someone who will tell you that they were so much worse!

I’ve realised that I am so lucky

I’ve thought about what it is I want and I am working on it

I’ve learned that beating ones self up is only self destructive and otherwise futile

I’ve realised again how blessed I am to have a family who are unconditionally there for me and friends who are like family

I’ve heard and learnt to “feel the fear and do it anyway”

I’ve had a good talk with myself and we are still friends

I’ve realised that I don’t want to be the kind of person who makes promises (to myself or others) that I cannot or won’t keep

I have realised that despite my depression/ nervous breakdown I am a pretty self aware and well grounded person

I have been told that I tell people too much about myself

I have realised that I don’t care!

Thanks for baring with me!

I’ll be back :)

Replay

2009-05-10T16:43:00.003+03:00

Sweet Fruit Crumble and Sticky Toffee Pudding were sitting over a Chocolate Ball wishing for a Belgium Waffle and replayed and old song, an old conversation that happened so long ago with a Cornflake Girl and a Raisin Girl in a cereal box.

Sticky Toffee Pudding: I just cannot get over it. How do you get over it?
Sweet Fruit Crumble: I’ve been there babe. It was horrible.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: As horrible as calling five times in a row because he didn’t answer the first time?
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Oh so much worse. And it was mean, cruel, evil words that would come out.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Did you beg for him back?
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Oh yes. Even though I knew he was with someone else. It was a dark place.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: So how do you get out of it?
Sweet Fruit Crumble: You will
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Ha! How can you be so sure?
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Because you may not believe it right now, but you are not crazy.
Chocolate Ball: Men are assholes – Get off my Balls!

I never loved nobody fully

Always one foot on the ground

And by protecting my heart truly

I got lost in the sounds

I hear in my mind

All these voices

I hear in my mind all these words

I hear in my mind all this music

And it breaks my heart

Sticky Toffee Pudding: You know I have not seen him since.
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Ha his loss! You know you are looking gorgeous.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Me?
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Yes you! Who you think I mean Chocolate Ball?
Chocolate Ball: Why thanks a lot ladies!
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Awwww thanks. You know he said that he saw pictures and said something about how us breaking up agrees with me… funny that.
Sweet Fruit Crumble: What a douchebag thing to say.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: I guess.
Chocolate Ball: What a Spotted Dick!

And suppose I never met you

Suppose we never fell in love

Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft

Suppose I never ever saw you

Suppose we never ever called

Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall

Just to break my fall

And it breaks my heart

Sweet Fruit Crumble: You seem to be keeping it together
Sticky Toffee Pudding: It’s been four months!
Sweet Fruit Crumble: So! There is no time limit on these things.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Oh there definitely is. There is a time limit until you become a psycho bitch and then another time limit before you are just pathetic. I think I have exceeded both those time limits
Sweet Fruit Crumble: I think you are too hard on yourself
Sticky Toffee Pudding: I think it is time for a little tough love… So I can keep saying to myself “Why can it not just be easy? Why can it not be simple?” but the truth is it wasn’t and it ended for a reason and I should just get over it.
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Of course but it is not that simple
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Of course not. Too much hurt. Too many broken promises and one broken heart.
Sweet Fruit Crumble: Hun, you did everything you could… It really is his loss.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: I am not sure he sees it that way now.
Chocolate Ball: Seriously you are a quality girl. Seriously get off my Balls!

All my friends say that of course its gonna get better

Gonna get better

And it breaks my heart

Sweet Fruit Crumble: You’ll meet someone else
Sticky Toffee Pudding: So they say
Sweet Fruit Crumble: I promise it will get better you will see.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: Oh I am sure the world with unfold the way it should.
Sweet Fruit Crumble: You will meet the right Cupcake for you.
Sticky Toffee Pudding: What if I already did?

Fimo Heart

2009-03-24T22:11:00.010+02:00

I am trying to write again. I stare and this plain page in front of me and think about the multitude of words that I want to say, how I want to laugh at myself, how the dreams I have at night have surprisingly nothing to do with the tears that come in the morning… some mornings, not every morning.

I am trying to organise my thoughts somehow; to feel one emotion at a time, rather than every emotion at once. It is not easy. An internal conflict arises every time and I am left shouting myself down and the one thing my head and heart both agree on and belt out is “You Fool!” I guess that thought is not just voiced at me.

The song ‘Why do fools fall in love’ comes into my head and I consider it has a point, but then I get angry at the happy beat that accompanies those sombre words and I move on to an all encompassing rage that spans from every corner of my soul and I am left clenching my teeth and piercing my palm with my nails and trying to breath it out while my heart becomes leaden in my chest and then cracks.

It is funny how in reality you cannot break something soft. Fimo does not break; it moulds into a new shape. Only something hard can break. So how is it that a heart is the opposite? Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe if my heart truly was open and softened then I could just bounce back with a newly moulded heart. Crack.

You see this is why I have found it so hard to write again.

Lauryn Hill says it best...

2009-02-09T10:39:00.002+02:00

It could all be so simple
But youd rather make it hard
Loving you is like a battle
And we both end up with scars
Tell me, who I have to be
To get some reciprocity
See no-one loves you more than me
And no one ever will

Is this just a silly game
That forces you to act this way
Forces you to scream my name
Then pretend that you cant stay
Tell me, who I have to be
To get some reciprocity
See no-one loves you more than me
And no one ever will

No matter how I think we grow
You always seem to let me know
It aint workin
It aint workin
And when I try to walk away
You hurt yourself to make me stay
This is crazy
This is crazy

I keep letting you back in
How can I explain myself
As painful as this thing has been
I just cant be with no one else
See I know what we got to do
You let go and Ill let go too
Cause no-ones hurt me more than you
And no one ever will

Care for me, care for me
I know you care for me
There for me, there for me
Said you'd be there for me
Cry for me, cry for me
You said you'd die for me
Give to me, give to me
Why won't you live for me

Got a nice little story?

2009-01-15T10:06:00.005+02:00

"How you, uh, how you coming on that novel...you working on, huh? Got a big, uh, big stack of papers there? Got a, got a, got a nice little, nice little story you're working on there...your big novel you’ve been working on for three years. Huh? Got a, got a compelling protagonist, huh? Got an obstacle for him to overcome, huh? Little story brewing there...working on...working on that for quite some time, huh? Yeah, talking about that three years ago, huh? Been working on that the whole time? Nice little, uh, narrative- beginning, middle, and end? Some friends become enemies, some enemies become friends? Yeah? At the end your, uh, main character is, uh, richer for the experience? Yeah? Yeah? Yeah?" Stewie Griffin

It is not easy to write about what is going on in your life, when the better half of it has been sectioned off away from public view. Being in a relationship changes everything. Whereas before I would have happily waffled on about the ins and outs of my love life for everyone to read, now there are things I want to keep private.

And what else is there to write about? Work? The situation in Israel? I prefer to write about the things I know, the things I have experienced, and although I am currently experiencing another time of war in Israel, I am not really in a place right now where I want to have all the crazies of the world using my blog as a place to air their hate of Israel and all Jews through hateful comments. Speaking as one Jew in Israel… I just don’t care what you think.

So back to me. I moved back home with my parents a few months ago. Now as someone about to turn 30 you would think I would be embarrassed of this fact, but I certainly am not! At the age of 18 my parents moved to Israel and I was suddenly thrust into a world of independence and having to fix my own car problems, issues with the bank, landlord and phone companies, and I think I handled it pretty well. While many of my friends started off their working life in London living at their parents and saving money I was living in London on almost minimum wage and I managed, I coped and eventually I did better. So after all that time I feel like I deserve a little time to take advantage of the closeness of my family and make some life savings while new life choices and possible life changes lay ahead of me.

I was somewhat nervous about the move. The return home has always been like a return to my childhood even when I was just visiting. Surrounded by my parents and sisters I would find myself transformed to a stroppy fifteen year old, annoyed by her sisters who seem to want to touch everything she owns and thoroughly un-amused by her fathers jokes at her expense. But this time maybe I am a little bit older, maybe it is because it has been so long since I have lived in a real home, but I find coming home so comforting. I am loving getting to know my younger sisters better and becoming closer to them. I love the days that my dad comes walking with me around the park. I love to come home on a Friday and help mum around in the kitchen before Shabbat. Now I admit I don’t always stay at home. Having a boyfriend less than half an hour away means that many nights I stay away, but I look forward every day to those hours when I leave work and walk into the Graham house.

The house may be different; the walls a stark Israeli white painted plaster to keep the room cool, as opposed to the soft coloured papered walls of our warm home in England, but the furniture is still the same. The piano I sat at, trying to play, but never managing to get my hands to do two different things at once; the wooden cabinets built by my grandfather that are spread throughout the house in almost every room; the old couch that has been given a new lease of life every 10 years since I was born, originally in floral, then to pink and now in rich cream covered when the grandchildren are in town.

I love the smells that greet me every time I walk in. Once a week there is the smell of ginger dough from the biscuits my mother bakes to feed my father’s habit. Then there are the chicken soup days, the days of barley soup and brisket, the days when mum is preparing for a dinner party and the entire house smells of roasted peppers and chicken. I wake up in the morning to sound of clattering pans, the kettle boiling for my dad’s first cup of tea and people chattering downstairs and rushing to get to the gym or bus station before their first appointment of the day.

After ten years I forgot what it was like to grow up in a big household. A home that seemed to move with all the bustle within and swelled and sighed with joy at the number of people who would come to be entertained, fed and maybe given a bed for the night. I now realise how much I have missed it. I have lived a lonely and somewhat selfish life for so long and now in the heart of a family, of my family, I am looking with different eyes at how I grew up, how we lived as a family, and how I would like my own family one day to be.

There is also a sadness. I loss for the people who are no longer there, who are in a different city, country or just no longer of this world. I find myself transported back to moments in my youth. I lay in bed and I sometimes think I can hear my grandmother snoring next to me as she would do every Friday night when she stayed over. Some may say that what I am hearing is actually myself snoring, and they may be right, but it is far more romantic to think I am hearing my dead grandmother. I see the sofa bed that was the bed my grandfather would sleep in when he came to stay and which was also the bed in which my parents nursed me with chicken soup when I was sent home from my year out with the flu. I remember Rebecca and a tear comes to my eye. I cannot remember Benjamin, so a tear comes to my eye for he who I cannot remember. I think about the struggles my parents as parents went through. I think about the wedding speeches made when they said, “mum, dad you really are our inspiration” and I now appreciate that all the more.

If you have come expecting me to regale you with stories of my love life then you will be disappointed, if you weren’t already disappointed by my love life. Instead when I write, and hopefully it will now be more often, I will write about the things that made me who I am, the memories I still hold dear and that I still dream of almost every night. I will write about the people and the times I loved and hated the most. I will be writing about family.

Fazed and Confused

2008-09-22T07:47:00.003+03:00

Three months have flown by and looking back I have to pinch my self to believe that we are really here. My life is changing and the future I had planned for, for so many years seems to be rapidly approaching towards me and I want to be prepared so I wont have to duck.

It is also a sad time. Good friends are going away, moving away, fading away and although I am trying to focus on the 'important' things in life, I am saddened and feel a sense of loss.

Gone are the days of 2 years ago where we would sit around drinking multiple bottles of wine until there was nothing more to say. No more running home from the bar via a group plunge into the Med just because we can. It seems like the fun times have gone and in its place we have something different. Different is not always bad... just not really the same.

Now we can sit around a Friday night dinner table together and a bottle of red go untouched. I look forward to evening walks with a good friend, one I can talk endlessly to and at the same time never feel boring in silence. I enjoy hanging out at my favourite vegan salad bar with my favourite vegetarian/ non-mammal eater/ fellow sprout salad obsessive girlfriend. I love coming home to snuggle in front of a movie, talk about our days and crawl in to bed.

I guess I am saying goodbye to Tel Aviv. Goodbye to all the old old hang outs; the benches we would sit and drink beer and talk for hours; the apartment block we all dreamed of living in every time we walked by; the good time restaurant that served cheap wine, cheap food and always had a free shot to give away when we sat at the bar; the old reliable sushi bar we would meet at in the evenings before we got bored and it closed down to become an ice-cream shop.

I am going to miss a lot of things, but the long evening walks, the vegan salad bar and the messaging all day long I will not!

I guess what I am saying is... Don't faze me out just yet, because I am still here.

In summary…

2008-08-03T16:17:00.005+03:00

Coming home is a bittersweet symphony, especially at this time of year with birthdays and summer lovin’ to have me a blast. Coming home changes everything and the little bubble we were living in for our month of bliss had to burst at some point… within minutes of saying goodbye the thought, “Well what do I do now” came to my head. Expecting to hear the voice I had heard so often every day for month responding. I was so disappointed to have to answer for myself… “You have to settle back into reality.”

But things have changed in such a wonderful way and life is developing at such a fast rate that I take a look at my over-flowing plate and I cannot wonder whether it is half full or empty for there is no room in it to wonder at all. But then I see a lifetime of time ahead for me and I know that each of these steps will come in their own sweet time and I should enjoy their build up as well as their passing equally and with equal anticipation.

I see my world evolving in front of my eyes and although I am scared… scared is the human reaction to all that is new… I am also excited for the new world I see hovering just ahead of me. Who knows how it will all pan out, but with everything I am lending my ear/ hand/ foot/ heart to, I am giving one hundred percent of myself and may I win or lose I will remember these days as being some of the happiest and most fulfilled of my life.

Funny how life happens when you were busy taking a break from it.

The Drive to Boston

2008-07-02T16:05:00.004+03:00

I've been awake for a while now
You've got me feelin' like a child now
'Cause every time I see your bubbly face
I get the tingles in a silly place

It starts in my toes
And I crinkle my nose
Wherever it goes I always know
That you make me smile
Please stay for a while now
Just take your time
Wherever you go

The rain is fallin' on my window pane
But we are hidin' in a safer place
Under the covers stayin' safe and warm
You give me feelings that I adore

They start in my toes
Make me crinkle my nose
Wherever it goes
I always know
That you make me smile
Please stay for a while now
Just take your time
Wherever you go

What am I gonna say
When you make me feel this way?
I just, mmm

It starts in my toes
Makes me crinkle my nose
Wherever it goes
I always know
That you make me smile
Please stay for a while now
Just take your time
Wherever you go

I've been asleep for a while now
You tucked me in just like a child now
'Cause every time you hold me in your arms
I'm comfortable enough to feel your warmth

It starts in my soul
And I lose all control
When you kiss my nose
The feelin' shows
'Cause you make me smile
Baby just take your time now
Holdin' me tight

Wherever, wherever, where ever you go
Wherever, wherever, where ever you go

The Drive to Maine

2008-06-30T15:57:00.001+03:00

An "I Heart New York" Weekend

2008-06-30T14:35:00.003+03:00

By the weekend we were so at home in New York and had done pretty much all the shopping we had planned to do. We were looking forward to a relaxing weekend with friends. First we began with Friday night dinner on the Upper West side. We arrived early to help. It’s also a ploy of mine when I know I am going to a dinner where I know only the hostess so that it gives me a chance to spend time with her first and also to make myself at home enough that when the other guests arrive I look like part of the furniture. I hate awkward entrances.

I have to admit that once I knew how many people were going to be attending the soirée I gulped with nervousness, but once we sat among the other guest and were immediately pulled into a heated discussion about how to stop terrorists from being terrorists, we immediately relaxed and began to enjoy ourselves. After 3 courses of truly delicious food, and enough red wine that I was beginning to feel sleepy we decided say our thank yous and goodbyes and make a speedy exit before the Charadi guys started on their 3^rd Devar Torah.

The next day we met up for brunch with a friend and her husband in the East Village. Now this was my kind of meal. A meal with eggs, amazing company and three free alcoholic drinks! Now thinking about it, after not seeing my friend for three years, a drunken brunch was probably the best way to reconnect. We sat chatting like we had all known each other forever and when I told her how we had lined up at Magnolia the day before she insisted that we go across the road to her favourite bakery so she could show me where I went wrong. We were really in no rush though and it took the waitress giving us free coupons to “continue our conversation at the bar” before we took the hint and decided to stumble out of the restaurant and into the bakery across the road. The place was called Sweet Sugar Sunshine and when I tell you that it pooped on Magnolia, I mean that it totally ripped it apart, kicked it to the ground, stomped on its face and pooped on it… who would have thought cupcakes could turn so nasty. All I am saying is if you every happen to be on the corner of Rivington and Essex then you should go and get the Spicy Pumpkin cupcake… that’s all I have to say.

After walking around the area, checking out the local stores and working off some of the brunch we had had, we decided to head back to the hotel to hang out in more comfortable surroundings. We had plans for the night and our friends just wanted to come check out the place… that was at around 3pm. Over 6 hours later we were all still hanging out at the hotel… starving!

A dinner of burgers quelled our hunger and we spent the rest of the evening chatting life and discussing our plans for Maine and Boston. We would be sad to leave New York, but our day had led to an invite for next weekend in Brooklyn and we were so looking forward to another perfect week ahead.

I heart New York!

All about me

2008-06-28T13:59:00.001+03:00

Our time in New York meandered on in a haze of hot and cold days where we left the hotel in the morning and kept walking until our return at night. We spent our days exploring the city, shopping, taking long lunches, sitting in parks, drinking in New York and then swallowing it whole at night. And just when we felt we had discovered everything there was to see in one area we were exploring we took a turn north and realized how much more there was to see.

At times I wished that we had not made plans to travel further up North at the end of the week to New England, but on the other hand I was looking forward to seeing so much more of the country. At the beginning I chose to soak everything in. We took a tour bus around the city and firmly decided that we would never be so stupid again. We headed towards the Statue of Liberty and instead of standing in line for 3 hours with the rest of the tourist trailers we decided to hop on the Staten Island ferry and take a free trip across the water to see the view of Manhattan in all her glory. We waved to Miss Liberty and contemplated what it would be like to ride the ferry every day to work.

On our way back we took a walk around Wall Street and took a moment by Ground Zero. It seems that no-where on this little island is free from tourists, but then on second thoughts I cannot complain, it is not as if we have been anywhere other than the tourist trail, so for now I just accept it.

We carry on and find ourselves in Chinatown surrounded by plastic bags, fakes leather belts, Christian Dior and Valentino pours out onto the streets and everyone is walking around with black bags filled with the not so designer goods they have bought. Deep into Chinatown we find a little place to eat which gladly did not have a tourist in site and gathered our second wind.

Back on the road we headed up towards Soho and excitedly raced each other into Urban Outfitters and competed as to who could do the most damage to their credit cards… I may have won.

Our days continued in this way, until one evening the Israeli turns to me and says, “You really have not bought anything. Tomorrow we are going to have Channah day. We’ll do anything you want… I will be the bag carrier.”

So the next day we began Channah day with a hearty breakfast and many coffee refills before heading out towards downtown on the hunt for dresses, shoes and Aveda shampoo. After hours of walking around, buying little we finally found the Aveda store. Once in I promptly began filling my basket full of the Shampoos and potions I had been lusting after since our arrival, when the lady offered me a rejuvenating massage before I head back out onto the street to shop some more. I sat there as she massaged my shoulders and scalp and hoped that the Israeli was taking notes to do it again to me once we returned to our hotel.

Half an hour later feeling relaxed and slightly light-headed, my wallet significantly lighter we made our way further south towards Bleeker Street towards The Magnolia Bakery. We got directions from the chatty owner of a local Irish pub, who informed us that there was no way we would miss it for the line of people we would see outside. However when we got to Magnolia we realised that perhaps we had underestimated his warning… the line went all the way around the block! But we were there and despite the Israeli insisting, “It’s not the holocaust! Why are we queuing for food!” we waited it out to try the most famous cupcakes in New York.

The line was filled with tourists, Japanese school girls with their cameras at the ready, the odd New Yorker who spent the entire wait bitching at how many tourists come to their beloved local bakery. Once in it was a race to the finish line, who could get the best cupcakes and get out alive! The thing is, although the cupcakes were definitely delicious, I prefer to be able to pick the food I want, instead of the limited selection that was available to me. Channah day ended so peacefully with drinks with a friend and a good night sleep… I wish every day could be Channah day.

New York, New York!!

2008-06-24T08:19:00.006+03:00

I awoke the next morning so excited I could not control myself. Today we were moving out of this dump and into a decent hotel! It was 10am and I did not care that check in was only 3pm; I wanted to go there now! But alas that was not possible, so instead I settled for a hearty smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel from a local deli, a coffee from Dunkin' Doughnuts, before checking out of our slum.

Bags back on our backs, we decided to head to the new hotel again, we have no shame, and leave our bags there for the day until we checked in. This was obviously no problem, and we then headed out into Midtown New York ready to explore the streets.

Unlike with every other town that we had visited, in New York we did not use the Lonely Planet Guide; we did not walk around with a map (ok a couple of times, but only for reference). In New York we were not tourists, at least we did not feel like tourists. In New York we were home. It is very hard to explain, especially as for the Israeli, this was his first time in the States ‘period’ and for me, well last time I was in New York it was for a minimal amount of time and while there I chose to close my eyes and let my hostess lead me around the city. This time around we were leading ourselves in the only way we knew how… getting lost, getting found and realising that using a Starbucks or Dunking Doughnuts as a point of reference is not going to help you find your way.

Regardless, we had a vague idea of where our hotel was in relation to a few major landmarks, so off we headed down the road, past Grand Central Station (we’ll get to that in a few days), in the shadow of the Chrysler building, past the Empire State Building and on to Time Square. I remember going to Time Square in the winter, in the snow and watching the bright lights, made all the brighter in the snow seemed so magical. Here on a hot summer’s day, with an overcast sky and the heat of the streets steaming up all around us, the view was totally different. I suddenly looked at Time Square from the perspective of a local, and I had the urge to wipe at my arms and legs to swipe the tourists away from me. It reminded me of the promenade in Tel Aviv mid-August when all the French tourists are in town… I avoid the promenade in Tel-Aviv during the whole of August. In fact I avoid that area from the end of June, July, and August and maybe will venture back around the end of September… maybe.

But this was different. This was not my home, I was one of the tourists, so as much as I felt a little overwhelmed by the number of people swarming around me, I could not be mad at it… I was one of them. We spent the rest of the day visiting my New York office, buying a Nintendo Wii, checking out the shops and getting used to the city. And we walked. Lord did we walk!

Eventually we returned to our new hotel, The Eastgate Tower Suites. In our room, which was pretty much the size of a studio apartment, with its own kitchen, dining area, sofas and chairs, walk in wardrobe and bathroom, we unpacked our belongings into our home for the week and could not help but feel like it was our home for good. And as we lay on our giant bed and surveyed the space around us and the clothes hanging in our closet we smiled contently for we saw that it was good.

A bit of a screw up...

2008-06-23T06:27:00.007+03:00

So we left my cousins' early this morning in somewhat of a rush to get our car to the rental place before the 12pm deadline. We made it, settled up with the rental company, put our rucksacks on our backs and headed towards our home for the next week on East 39th Street Manhattan... or so we thought...

On arrival at our hotel we found that our booking had been cancelled and then on second glance the hotel receptionist informed us that the hotel room had in fact been rescheduled for Tuesday 24th June and not Monday 23rd June. They would happily arrange a room for us for the evening, but it would be $500.

We scratched our heads... on the one hand we had been driving all morning and were tired and just wanted a place to call home for longer than a couple of days, but on the other hand nothing was worth that amount of money... just think of all the shoes I could be buying with that!

We checked a few websites and found a little place on the Upper West side which was of a reasonable price and thought, "well really what other option do we have?" Rucksacks back on our backs we hailed a cab and headed uptown.

Now I hate to sound like a snob, but when I mentioned that this place was small I don't think I gave a full and true representation of how tiny this place actually was. Firstly the bed was possibly the smallest bed we have experienced here in the States and secondly that was pretty much the entirety of the room... just the bed. No I think I do not exaggerate when I tell you that in order to get into the bathroom I had to move our luggage in front of the main door to the room and then to get out of the room we had to move the luggage back in front of the bathroom.There was certainly very little breathing space and the window opened up to a brick wall, so there was very little air in the room to breath anyway.

Not to be down heartened we decided to find the best out of the crappy situation we were in and although we could not work out how we had both overlooked such a stupid mistake, I decided to call my sister who had lived around the neighboured a few years before for a couple of years. Within five minutes we had a game plan and decided to head out onto the streets and explore some of the Upper West side.

New York has a way of hitting you the moment you step into it. I realised this as soon as we drove off the Brooklyn bridge into Manhattan and I got stuck in a right lane wanting to turn left. Outside of the tourist areas it is eat or be eaten and after 4 years of living in Israel I was certainly prepared to bite back... This English girl ain't no fool!

The Upper West side is actually a pretty cool place. I mean I had always thought of it as one of the big Jewish hang outs in New York, but after walking around I saw so many decent bars and restaurants... it made it very difficult to choose where we actually wanted to park our tired butts to eat. The second plan for the day, under my sister's recommendation, was to head to Central Park and take advantage of this oasis in the middle of the city.

On the way we were only slightly distracted by the Museum of Natural History. It was 5pm and at first we thought it too late to go into the museum as they closed at 5.40, but the lady at the door informed us that now was possibly the best time to go as it was free and fewer people were around. Free! We were sold and we headed in to get a quick tour, but really we had one thing on our mind. The Squid and the Whale.

For those of you that have never been to New York or never heard of the Squid and the Whale I will paint little picture for you. In the Oceanic area of the Museum is a Giant Blue Whale hovering mid air and the walls surrounding are alight with various displays of aquatic life. All very interesting and a little more gritty than the fluffy displays we had seen at the Museum of Natural History in DC. For example one of the displays was, at first glance, of a Polar Bear and a baby seal, however on second glance you realise that the polar bear is stood growling by the side of a hole in the ice and the baby seal has clearly been plucked from the water by the bear, leaving a trail of blood on the snow behind it. So now that you have a feel of the place, we headed downstairs to the deep sea level of the displays and somewhere under the stairs you will find the display entitled the Squid and the Whale. In darkness the giant squid is trapped between the jaws of the Whale deep under the sea. It is pretty gory, scary and fascinating to see an artist's interpretation of how these two aquatic giants meet. It really is a display you have to stand and stare at...

Anyway, back to Central Park. I have been to New York once or twice before and enjoyed Central Park in the winter, but after walking around for half an hour trying to find the area that I went to last time to show the Israeli that area I gave up and decided to enjoy what was around us... The Jackie Onassis reservoir, the Great Lawn. We walked and found ourselves outside the Shakespeare Theatre, which my sister had told me showed free performances throughout the summer, so we decided to grab some tickets and make a night of Hamlet in the park.

After running home and having a shower we headed back to the Shakespeare Theatre and found our seats. The plan was we would meet up with a friend and eat afterwards, but I clearly have not been to the theatre for a while because I did not realise that the show would go on so late. Three and a half hours later, after a thoroughly enjoyable performance, we were walking out of the park and carrying our tired asses back to the hotel. Within minutes I was out and dreaming of a squid and a whale in our real hotel room tomorrow.

In the Capital

2008-06-21T19:44:00.007+03:00

I would like to dedicate the following post to our precious GPS and our beloved Chrysler which I now appreciate more than ever... Our time we shared together was so special and we miss you very much... (Especially the old GPS. New one is shit!)

The drive away from the Appalachians, up the Blue Ridge Parkway was a long one, but gratefully I was not driving and enjoyed a sweet slumber along the lush mountain road. A sweet sleep that is until we realised we were about to run out of gas and so turned to our trusty GPS for guidance. I think somewhere along the lines she was a little confused that we were looking for a gas pump to refill our tank and not looking to dig for oil, because somehow GPS took us off the road and through some undergrowth, over a brook and down towards a number of rickety old houses with signs warning, "Trespassers will be shot first and asked why they were here after the corpse has been identified." We were certainly not in Kansas anymore and although we trusted our beloved GPS something told us that perhaps she was mid flow or just having a bad day, so at the next gateway we did a speedy 3 point turn and headed back the way we came. Back past the menacing looking houses, over the old brook and back up to the main Parkway Road... thankfully with no bullet holes to show.

After finding a Yokel gas station and refilling we decided that enough was enough of the wilderness and it was time to head back to civilisation. Next stop on the route was Washington DC, or to be precise Potomac, Maryland to the house of my cousin Marilyn.

After days in a strange surrounding, in the middle of redneck nowhere and surrounded by nothing more than trees it was such a shock to drive down my cousins beautiful suburban street and even more of a treat to arrive at her door just as she arrived home from work... this trip is all about timing.

Finally we were in a real home. Shoes off, bags thrown in our room, orange juice poured we sat in the living room and regaled my cousin with stories of our trip so far and caught up on family news from her. Both of us were exhausted from our long travels and were very much looking forward to some home comforts and to sleeping in a real bed... goodbye tent!

Our first evening was a relaxed one with a family meal and an early night. The next morning we slept in a little and then headed towards Washington DC via the metro. Arriving at Union Street station we were immediately overpowered by the historical monuments that surrounded us. Having been used to trees and rocks for so long I was a little overwhelmed by the giant American flag that greeted us as we exited the station and the 7 foot bell, the 10 foot Statues and the buildings... all the building were stone and white and had pillars.... we have gone from nature to industry in one step and I was ready to lap it all up.

Rightly or wrongly (ok it was wrongly) we decided to spend our hard earned cash on a bus tour of the city. It all started well, however we made the classic mistake of being a little too eager and got off the first stop we were told about which was the Art Museum, the West Wing. Two and a half ours later it was already past noon, we were starving and realised that we still had 4 other museums, 6 other monuments and Arlington cemetery to fit into our schedule and we only had a couple of hours left before the tour buses stopped running. We decided to carry on on the bus, not getting off at any other stops and then get off at the White House, walk through the Mall and see the monuments ourselves. The idea was a pretty good one, apart from the fact that it was Friday, traffic was a mess and our tour guide decided not to tell us about the history of monuments were were passing, but talk about the state of Washington traffic instead for half an hour.

Finally we could take no more.... However, in the time we spent after getting off at the White House and heading back to Union Station and back for Friday night dinner at my cousins we managed to see the following:

The White House
Washington Monument
The Lincoln Memorial
The Second World War Memorial
We walked the length and breadth of the Mall
The Korean War Memorial
The National Art Museum - East and West Wing

Day 2 in Washington DC, my cousin and her husband took us on a day trip of the capital allowing us to see some of the things we missed the day before:

The Natural History Museum (2 hours)
The Air and Space Museum (1.5 hours)
The Native American Museum (.5 hours)
Arlington Cemetery (1 hour)

After a long day, we were then treated to a meal on the other side of the river, back in Virginia. With a sunset view of the Capital, a cocktail in hand and the best company we had had so far on the trip I felt like a very lucky girl... could I simply stay here forever?

Our third day in DC we arranged tickets to go visit the Holocaust Museum. After so many days of museum hopping, we decided to dedicate one day to this final museum and then return to Potomac for a home cooked BBQ and an early night. We were also warned by my cousin's husband, who had been very much involved in the Museum from the outset, that it would be a long day. I think I must have underestimated his words because we were shocked to find that 3 hours had passed and we were little over half way around the Museum. It was a amazing experience and although I have been to a few Holocaust museums and memorials, it was most interesting for me to see and hear about it again from an American perspective. US reactions to the concentration camps and US papers with headlines of news from Germany between 1938 and 1948 came from a slightly different view point to the ones I had read and seen in the UK, and it made the experience all the more new and fresh for me... and ultimately all the more poignant.

The next day we decided to see the other side of DC and walked around Dupont Circle and Bethesda. I think I now understand why my cousin loves Maryland and DC so much. And there was no other place that we both felt so at home.

Sorry I know it was a long post... and to be honest I feel I have still missed out so much...

Oh well on to New York!

The long drive

2008-06-20T21:47:00.000+03:00

With full tummies we fell into a deep sleep in our over sized bed at the Best Western Ashville and I dreamt of red velvet cakes and fried green tomatoes. We will be heading further up North through North Carolina and Virginia towards Maryland soon and I am already feeling nostalgic for the South.

The blue ridge parkway is a scenic stretch of road that runs from North Carolina (Smokey Mountains) to the Shenandoah National Park and is by all accounts has the most beautiful views of the area. We met the road somewhere outside of Ashville and headed up the road as far as an area called Otters Peak. The entire road was lined with forest either side and beautiful green hills in the distance. Brooks lined our drive and as we drove we soaked in the scenery. It is so lovely to be surrounded by so much green... reminded me of England in someway, only as with most things American it was bigger and better.

After a long drive we decided to camp for the night in Otters Peak and stumbled onto a great find in the middle of a forest. This was a campsite that was like no other campsite we had seen or stayed in. A larger forest area with small campsites placed far apart throughout the area with stone fireplaces, a picnic table and a small plot to pitch a tent it left the surrounding area untouched and so we almost felt like we had simply pitched our tent in the middle of a deserted forest. As we ate our dinner of hummus, bagels and salads a doe walked around our campsite surveying her new neighbours for the night, nodded her head in approval and then moved on. Fireflies dances around our tent and the forest was a live with sounds of birds and wildlife bustling around us. We read a pamphlet I had picked up on route about what to do if a Black Bear approaches and retreated to our our tent for an early night. This was the first night we felt the cold and so our tent provided shelter and warmth that our t-shirt just could not match.

We awoke in the morning to to see two long legged spiders, lit red by our tent, entwined on the front window of our tent obviously also seeking some warmth from the cold night. Although I am scared of spiders it was a comforting sight to awake to and we began our preparations for the rest of the day.

At the visitors centre we were told about a beautiful walk by a waterfall where we could go and so we headed of for a walk in the woods. Beautiful it was, although it was somewhat harder than we had thought it to be, but as we were getting tired we saw the doe (we like to think, our doe) walking through the forage in the direction we were heading and we got our second wind and headed on back to the car.

Back at the car we typed in our next destination into the GPS (g-d bless GPS) and headed to Potomac, Maryland where we would be spending the weekend with my family and seeing Washington DC. We said a fond farewell to our tent and hello to civilization. The camping part of our trip was over and as happy I was to be heading into civilization I looked back with a little sadness to be leaving the shelter of the forests. Sadly we never did see our Black Bear.

A little town called hippyville

2008-06-19T21:23:00.000+03:00

When we were in Bonnaroo we loved our tent. Perhaps it was due to the long days and exhaustion that we felt that caused us to sleep so soundly on our floor made of yoga mat on top of plastic on top of dirt, but our night in the Smokey's was a totally different experience.

Firstly I got bitten twice on my right foot. Now I know in the past I have moaned about being the chosen one of all mosquitoes and as a result itching and scratching throughout the night with howls of ooooooof and woe, but in recent years they seem to have found a new victim and I have been fairly bite free my time in Israel. In addition i would like to point out that in all my time of being bitten the bite in question had never caused the body part attached to swell up to twice the size or form giant red lumps around the area. I exaggerate not... in fact we were not entirely sure what bit me, but lets just say that it was not pleasant to say the least.

Apart from the bites (as if that was not enough) the land we slept on was not exactly flat so we slept half the night with our heads pointing downwards and with the feeling we were about to slide into the brook below. That was until we had the brilliant idea to turn around and go feet first instead.

Then there were the neighbours moving in some time in the night making noises that at that late hour sounded to me like a chain saw wielding psychotic red neck with a little too much whiskey in him and the lust of fresh blood in his nostrils... we were the closest tent to his. Although I decided that the camp of young mathematicians that were opposite were definitely more appealing than our quarter aged blood that had been made impure I am sure by whatever it was that bit me.

Outside fireflies lit the woods while bright yellow caterpillars scaled our red tent and we fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning we awoke to use the amenities which were filled with the local wildlife looking for a place to stay the night. I became intimately connected to a small yet very friendly cockroach, packed up our belongings and headed out to our next destination... Ashville.

Ashville, NC is supposed to be one of the happiest places in the USA. When we entered their visitor center we understood why. The place was filled with information, computers with free Internet access, and some of the loveliest and most helpful people we have yet to encounter in the States. After an hour we booked a motel, checked our emails and decided to drop off our belongings and explore the town... with restaurant recommendations in hand.

Walking around the center of Ashville we saw cobbled streets lined with artists and street performers. On one corner a tattooed and pierced girl played banjo while her equally pierced friend with purple hair juggled. As we walked on Lior turned to me and said, "How come you don't play the banjo... hey?"

After some time walking around, hunger took over and we headed to the most recommended restaurant in town, The Easy Girl Eatery. I have to say this place was everything the recommendation stated and more. I simply could not get enough of the Fried Green Tomatoes and even though we were full by the end of the meal, when the waitress told us that we simply had to taste the traditional Southern desert, Red Velvet Cake, we simply could not say no.

I cannot begin to describe the morsel of heaven that we put in our mouths at that moment, suffice it to say I have been trying to recreate it ever since, but no red velvet has yet to be the same. Have no fear though I am on a mission to bring red velvet back home with me so you can all have a try... i just need to try and convince the chef at Easy Girl Eatery to give me the recipe.

Well fed and satisfied we headed to bed. Tomorrow the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Country Road

2008-06-18T03:12:00.002+03:00

After returning to our home called the Comfort Inn Nashville, ordering Domino’s Pizza to our room, sleeping off our time in Bonnaroo, we awoke reasonably refreshed and only slightly wishing that we could sleep in a few more days I mean hours. We skipped breakfast (well we knew this time what we would be getting) and headed to pick up our car from the Airport.

We had originally ordered a Dodge Calibre, but when we arrived at the desk the guy asked us where we had come from and when we told him Israel, he said, “Welcome! We are brothers! I come from Egypt” and proceeded to offer us any car we wanted for the same price as the Dodge Calibre (the cheapest option). 15 minutes later we were cruising up the Interstate in our big black Chrysler. I have never driven anything so big… erm ok.

Anyway off we set on our tour of the backcountry.

It was not a short drive, but there was plenty to see along the way. In essence it looked a little bit like the English countryside, although as is typically American they got to do it bigger and better! Seriously. Although once we got off Route 40 and headed via Route 441 through Gatlinburg towards the Great Smoky Mountains we were in for a shock. Amongst all this beautiful natural scenery, they (“who have to do everything bigger and better” and tragically go too far) decided to build a miniature Disneyland. No I am not talking about Dollywood, which is close by, and I am secretly a little disappointed we missed (ok no not really… ok a little bit… ok I am over it). No this was what I can only describe as Walt Disney flew over the Great Smoky Mountains and threw up a bit on the way back down to Disney World Florida. The roads looked fake. The people were all tourists or just fake. Roller coasters lined the road along with the most about of sweet stores I have ever seen in one area other than a fairground!

Once though and safely back into the real world, we found a campground for the night, pitched our tent and settled to sleep.

Only one issue I am finding here is that none of the locals can understand me. Now I have been told in the past that my accent is that of a CNN news presenter. Universally understood by all, but it would appear that the yokels here cannot understand a word I am saying and so the Israeli is having to translate what I say to them! Very demoralising… Home of the brave! Yeah whatever!! Kiss my… “She said thanks and have a nice day.”

Bon-a-ROOO Baby!

2008-06-12T02:06:00.004+03:00

Two days in Nashville to get over the jetlag (Thank you Natalie for introducing me to Melatonin), check out the scene (thank you Shara for introducing me to Jonah and Jonah for introducing us to Gold Rush) and then in no time at all we were all packed up again ready to head to Manchester TN for the Bonnaroo festival.

Four days in a field in the middle of nowhere and 3 nights in a tent may not fill all of you out there with feelings of envy, in fact the idea of using a portal loo for that time period may remind some of you of bog duty in a field somewhere in Wales. However when you consider that during those 4 days you get to party your ass off, meet some really cool people and dance oh lord dance to everything from Latino funk to hard rock, you may get where I am coming from… ok maybe not.

Anyway, Our Bonnaroo experience began really the night before. We heard about a small pre-Bonnaroo party going on in Nashville and quickly signed ourselves up for the free gig, grabbed our local friend Jonah (The best thing in Nashville!) and headed over to check it out. The line-up was not exactly headlining acts, but as we watched the lead singer of Lez Zepplin (the lesbian cover band of Led Zepplin) our feet began itching for Bonnaroo and some food… wow we were hungry! Jonah asked where we would like to go and he did not hesitate when we said, “Somewhere not on the tourist trail.” Gold Rush.

Gold Rush is the kind of bar every town should have. A bar with a bartender called Patrick who knows everyone by name and drink, no waitresses, no non-sense just good old bar with good ole Southern style food. I highly recommend the Nachos (Shara a picture was taken in your honour. I hope to get it uploaded soon).

After we fed on decent food we headed back to the Comfort Inn motel that we had called home for 2 days and fell into a deep sleep.

Early in the morning, I have no idea what time it was, we received a call from Matt, our ride to Bonnaroo. Actually to call Matt our ride is really is selling him short… Matt our friend, our brother, our Captain arrived with two friends early in the morning, quickly showered and ate and stuffed we squished ourselves in the back of his Audi and headed towards Manchester.

The ride in theory should not have taken too long, but we were prepared to add a couple of hours on our journey to get into the Bonnaroo campground. We were actually told it could take up to 8 hours, but there was no way we were going to queue for that long! Initially we seemed to arrive a the exit and were so excited that there was no queue, however our excitement was short lived as we saw a State Trooper blocking off the road. We were further disheartened when we realised that we were being redirected 20 miles to turn around and come back from the East. Then as we came off the Interstate to turn around we saw that the entire right lane was one giant queue for Bonnaroo. There was no way we were waiting in that line! After a few softly English spoken words with Trooper Taylor (I think I remember his name correctly) we were informed that we could just overtake the entire queue and carry on, “Yeah hunny I don’t know what them people are doin’. You go on there suga… You go ahead and do whatever you want.” So never being one to go against a Trooper that is exactly what we did.

I think that after 10 miles of overtaking traffic headed in our direction, we began to feel somewhat guilty and then very nervous about what would happen when we finally got back into the line, so once we found a big enough gap between two camper vans we decided it was a good a time as any to rejoin the queue. Plus we all needed to pee so it was a good time to find a bush along the freeway.

Now, I don’t want to go too much into detail here as I still have a lot of Bonnaroo to get through and we are not even there in the story, but let me just say that getting out to pee, finding some nice people from New York to talk to along the way and thinking that the traffic is moving slow so you will be able to catch up with your car quickly is stupid. Lets just say we were stupid and as a result spent the next 2 miles running after the car, only to almost catch up with it before it sped off again… Now I know I have been training for a Marathon, but 2 miles in flip-flops is not fun!

Okay, so we arrive in Bonnaroo and a re secretly hugging ourselves for our traffic surfing as we ended up camping next to a group of guys who had got in the queue around 7.30am while we joined the line closer to 10.30am. And we could not have got a better spot; close, but not within smelling distance of the toilets, 3 minutes from Centaroo (where all the action happens) and 1 minute from the showers (used only once in the end… they were not as luxurious as we had anticipated them being).

Now whoever said we would be the only Jews in Manchester TN, clearly had never been to Bonnaroo before! They are everywhere! In fact there were few people we met who weren’t Jewish. The two groups of boys who camped near us were Jewish, the friendly dealer from Kentucky who was just around the corner from us had a “Get Chai” t-shirt and proudly announced that he was the only member of his family not to live in Israel!

We settled in, made ourselves at home and got down and dirty at a few shows. I was initially surprised to see such a diverse crowd of people there. People of all ages, with and without children. At one show I saw a guy with his teenage son enjoying a gig together… I was blown away!

I would have to say overall we got the most out of our Bonnaroo experience. We saw a hell of a lot of music, but did not wear ourselves out too much in the process. And thank the lord we had the good sense to sleep through Kanye West! On behalf of all of us who attended Bonnaroo 2008, “Fuck Kanye West!” The guy made a whole hoo ha about changing his performance to 2.45am so everyone could go see his light show with naked astronauts and then the guy didn’t even get on until 4.30am… AFTER SUN RISE! What an arrogant ass! As Chris Rock said, “No-one has a bigger ego than Kanye West!” Chris you are the man!

So 4 days later we came back to Nashville to recharge batteries and are soon to be heading to the Great Smokies and becoming one with nature. Bonnaroo was a blast and I was so sad to say goodbye. Many fond memories I will carry always. And who knows… maybe one day I’ll go back with my kids and tell them how I partied Bonnaroo 2008.

25 hours

2008-06-11T15:38:00.009+03:00

When we booked the flight, went through all the transfers we had to go through to get here, I never stopped to think how long it would take in total... 25 hours. 25 hours of my life spent on planes and in airport terminals and the irony is that only in the first 5 minutes we both giddily spoke about how much we loved flying, "I love everything about it! I would say it is my favourite part of the holiday!" Well after 25 hours travelling I would now have to say that it is a very overrated experience.

Yet, arriving into Nashville airport where the announcements are read by local celebrities who are so proud to be from Nashville, and a branch of Tootsies bar seems to sprawl itself out into the hallway with its live band strumming a country tune, there was this feeling of excitement that surged through me. This was not Israel, not England, not like anywhere I had been before. This was new and suddenly and probably for the first time I can remember I was looking forward, instead of being ashamed, at being a tourist. I have been perfecting my 'cutest' English accent ever since... Do you by any chance know where I might procure some tea? Thank you.

After checking into our motel, checking out the local pharmacy that seriously contains everything a person needs to live, and filling our bellies full of truly junkilicious junk food, we headed to bed and were gladly horizontal for the first time in 25 hours.

There are somethings I am not a fan of in the USA, I am sure I will list these many times along this trip, but I am definitely a fan of the bed in our room! So big I have no idea who I am sleeping next to and with the most comfortable pillows ever! Seriously I am not sure I want to leave this room... the only down side is the stench of smoke that lingers up from the carpet. Note to future Channah: Next time you book a motel room ask for non-smoking.

Waking up in the morning I was so gutted to find no breakfast would be served in bed, and then going downstairs to find eggs, something that resembled rubber that was apparently meat, waffles and lots and lots of bread was somewhat of a disappointment. I know, I was warned. Tennessee is not known for its great choice in fruit and non fried vegetables. So while we ate I closed my eyes and pretended for a moment that I was eating breakfast in an Israeli hotel with choices of salads and fish and 5 different types of eggs and a decent cup of coffee. I then opened my eyes swallowed my eggs on toast and smiled.

Our motel is situated about half an hour bus ride from Downtown Nashville. Probably less, but that was how long the friendliest bus driver in the world took to get there. Having no idea where we're going and relying souly on the Lonely Planet guide book, we decided that while in Nashville we should check out some sites and found ourselves walking towards the Country Music Hall of Fame. We thought it might be a cool thing to do for half an hour, but 2 hours later we came out fully educated in the origins of all that is Country and humming Dolly Parton's Jolene.

Just a piece of trivia to leave you with. Jolene was actually written by Dolly after a signing where a little 8 year old girl came to Dolly to have her sign the book/ CD she had. The little girl had beautiful red hair, green eyes and freckled skin and by Dolly's account was the most beautiful little thing she had ever seen. When Dolly asked the girl her name she said "My name is Jolene". "What a beautiful name," said Dolly,"Your dad must be called Joe so you're name after him?" and the little girl said, "No. I am just Jolene". Dolly thought the name was so beautiful that she decided then and there to write a song with the name as the title and told the girl that if she ever heard a song with the name in it she would know the song was written for her. Dolly told this story and at the end admitted with some regret in her voice, that she had never heard of anyone coming forward as the Jolene the song was written about. I feel your pain Dolly. I would like to see the girl with 'flaming locks of auburn hair and ivory skin and eyes of emerald green.'

No more countdown

2008-06-09T14:03:00.005+03:00

Only a week ago I was surrounded by boxes, unpacking and settling into my new apartment and now here I am surrounded by cases, packed up and ready to head off. In a matter of hours L and I will be boarding a plane and heading via a hop (Brussels) skip (Chicago) and a jump to Nashville where we will begin the first leg of our month long trip out of the holy land and into a new world... well a new world for us anyway.

I cannot believe right now that it was a little less then six months ago when we both decided, pretty much on a whim, that we would travel to the States, go to a music festival and then perhaps see what else was going on in the country. From where we are now, thinking about where we were then, it is pretty crazy to think how easily that decission was made.

So here we are now, ready to go and somehow I feel on the one hand like we are going forever and on the other like it will be over in seconds. Either way I am ready to love every minute of it and if not... well I'll see you in Maine babe.

Our only guide... Lonely planet

Not Forgotten

2008-05-22T09:44:00.004+03:00

It has been brought to my attention that my ramblings may be missed out there in the blogosphere. Very sweet, so I just wanted to drop you a quick note as that is all I can currently afford to say. No I have not forgotten to write, yes there is so much going on... too much going on to find time to write about, yes I will write again...

In summary:

I am moving out of my apartment in 9 days
I am going for a month to the states in 18 days
I am running a 10k run in 100 days (but 31 of those training days will be in the States)

In conclusion:

Life is pretty hectic right now, but I'll be back!!

The Best Thriller Video on YouTube

2008-02-21T16:08:00.005+02:00

Nope... you haven't seen this one yet...

And this one...

Erm... Ok so you thought I was crazy?

2007-11-01T15:05:00.000+02:00

So remember I told you that my Dad was diagnosed with Colon Cancer? Yeah well, he is ok... about to start Chemotherapy, but on the whole ok.

Anyway, so I have been thinking about this for some time now and finally I have managed to drag my poor unsuspecting sister (in the picture below) to join me in on this and we are going to train to run a marathon. Yes you heard right. No I am not crazy... well... not officially anyway.

So I just wanted to let you know, because I am going to be recording my experience/ challenge/ transformation from overweight, over-drinking, under-active party girl to running Channah. Mainly because I cannot really believe it myself so i want proof of my madness for posterity.

Also because I am doing it to raise awareness for Colon Cancer.

I will not be writing about it a lot on this blog. I am reserving this space to talk about my pathetic love life. So in order to keep up with my training progress or lack of you should add this new site to your favorites http://runningchannah.blogspot.com/

Thanks everyone for your support and not laughing at me too much... See you on the other side!

tears dry on their own

2007-10-11T00:26:00.001+02:00

I remember when I first moved to London. A sea of emotions suddenly washed over me and I realised that this was not the normal me talking, thinking, racing through highs and lows at warp speed. I went to my doctor and after some pills to settle my raging hormones I resumed normality and never really thought about it again until lately.

Being a woman is not easy. Is it not enough that we have to deal with men, that our own bodies wage war on our minds as well? I personally have decided that being natural is not for me. Give me drugs, give me whatever generic material you have available behind your counter, anything that will make me feel like my normal stable self again and not some raging lunatic who should be placed under psychiatric surveillance.

And yes, in the light of day I know that everything has a trigger and yes I am just a girl who has a man who is holding the gun. I hear what you are saying and in part you are right. No-one stays up all night crying herself to sleep just due to hormones. Depression may be a good word as I feel my body being pressed into the ground, the life draining out of me and a wave of exhaustion clouds my head and I have no energy to feel anything else around me. But then I do have the strange highs. The moments of laughter, of jumping around the office acting the clown.

The truth is I am broken. So is this any different from last time around? In someways not. But this time my heart has truly been broken. Did it really take me 4 months to figure this out? No. But it has taken me this long to truly admit it to myself. So what now?

They I say I should move on, meet someone new, close the book and find another page turner. I have tried to move on. But my heart says, "No no no."And when your hearts wants what it wants then seriously what is the point. I guess the point is that if they don't want you back then at some stage you have to make the choice of either turning your life around and moving onwards through the door to something else, or otherwise remaining in the limbo of hoping they will change their mind. Or there is the other option of giving up completely.

I feel like I have been in limbo for so long that I have no idea which direction I am even facing to find my way out. So if it seems like I have been sitting still, well I guess I have been. I mean didn't Pooh Bear advise that when lost to stay put until someone finds you? So I guess I have been waiting for someone to come find me, with the hope that that someone would be him.

And why would I live in that hope? I guess every time he has said he loves me I die a little more. And every time he tells me I am beautiful I become more confused. Whenever he makes me feel like the most important person in his world my heart breaks some more and yet when he is not there I feel desperately alone.

Where is the exit? Some say I have to lock him out and then the exit light will become clear, but I cannot. I pick fights and push him in away in the hope he may walk away himself and at times he has come close, but somehow we cannot let go. I say we, because in this two way thing, he holds me there as well.

In the meantime... I wish on every eyelash, every shooting star. I pray for the day that he comes to his senses to come soon. I get dressed, go out, attempt to move on... and I wake up alone.

Throw me a rope

2007-10-05T17:19:00.000+02:00

I want you between me and the feeling i get when i miss you,
but everything here's telling me i should be fine,
so why is it so, it bothers below that im missing you every time?

i got used to you whispering things to me into the evening,
we followed the sun, and it's colours, and left this world,
it seems to me, that i'm definately, hearing the best that i've heard,.

so throw me a rope, to hold me in place,
show me a clock, for counting my days, down,
cos everythings easier when you're beside me,
come back and find me,
cos i feel alone.

and whenever you go it's like holding my breath under water,
i have to admit that i kinda like it when i do,
oh but i got to be, unconditionally,unafraid, of my days, without you,

so throw me a rope, to hold me in place,
show me a clock, for counting my days, down,
'cos everything easier when you're beside me,
come back and find me,whenever i'm falling,
you're always behind me, come back and find me,
cos everythings easier when you're beside me,
come back and find me,
cos i feel alone

Thank you KT Tunstall xxx

Start Wearing Purple

2007-09-09T10:07:00.000+03:00

More tests and a date for surgery has been set and in the meantime life goes on. Last week I think we were all feeling a little melancholy and looking to happier times to help us through this limbo we are going through. My mother found herself sorting through old pictures and came across an old photo taken in front of 11 Belvedere Avenue, the house I grew up in. A young girl stands posing with a red brick background showing off her pretty pale blue dress and purple sash with “Miss Personality” written in pink letters.

“Channah I have scanned the picture onto Facebook. You remember when you were named Miss Personality?”

I remember the day well, partly from my own memories and partly from hearing the story over and over again throughout the years. It seems like a million years ago, but looking at the picture I see the fearless girl I was and I think back and remember the day I became Miss Personality.

It was the beginning of the summer and while my parents were at home, my grandfather and his girlfriend, Ray, took me and Rebecca to the school summer fair. I was in my first year of Brodetsky Primary school and the school fair was new and exciting to me. I rushed from stall to stall, trying to win a goldfish, guessing how many jelly beans were in the jar and as I peered over the book stall at the Topsy and Tim collection, I heard on the loud speaker an announcement that grabbed my attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please make your way to the stage where the Miss Personality contest will begin.”

Growing up in Leeds we did not have the Beauty contests that are prevalent in cities throughout the States. In Leeds such contests where based on your talents; singing and dancing competitions, and in our school’s case Personality. I never realised at the time, but in order to partake in the competition, contestants had to fill our forms, partake in a grilling interview process and gain their parents’ permission prior to the event. For this reason although I was part of the school, I was still considered too young to apply, well if you cannot yet read or write well enough to fill out a form then how can you apply? Some of the girls waiting in line had been waiting for their moment for weeks, practising answering questions, and coveting the purple sash and silver trophy for the honour of Miss Personality 1984.

Little Miss Graham however, was blissfully unaware of this and on hearing the announcement let go of Ray’s hand and began to take off into the crowd towards the stage.

“Channah boo where are you going?”

I turned my head and called back to my Grandfather who was stood bewildered struggling with a large pram, “I know what I am doing!”

‘I know what I am doing.’ Every time the story is retold I laugh to myself how a four year old could say the words ‘I know what I am doing’. I am 28 years old now and I have little idea what exactly I am doing…

Anyway, back to the story. I think I had no comprehension of what a contest was because once I reached the stage, despite there being a line of girls waiting their turn while the first contestant was talking about her favourite foods, I walked up onto the stairs, smiled sweetly at the judges and declared my arrival.

I remember the commotion that was caused. The judges looked at one another bemused and as they shuffled through the application forms they had on stage one older gentleman asked me for my name and who I was here with. I thought the competition had already started.

“My name is Channah Ilana Graham. I am four years old, and I am here with my Grandpa Gerry, his girlfriend Ray and my sister Rebecca. She is the one in the pram over there.”

The man looked up and saw my Grandfather stood in shock wondering if he should apologise for his granddaughter’s Chutzpah or be proud of it. It turns out there was no need. As soon as he saw the look of amusement on the old gentleman’s face he knew that there was no need to feel anything but pride.

“So Miss Graham, would you mind answering a few questions for us as we seem to have er… misplaced your application form.”

“I would be delighted.”

“Delighted? Well in that case…”

Here followed a series of questions regarding my favourite foods, people and class at school. The man asked me who my heroes were and what my favourite cartoon characters were;

“Well I love Tom and Gerry. Gerry reminds me of my Grandpa and I love the fact that he is always cleverer than the silly Tom cat. I also like Speedy Gonzales and Mighty Mouse, but my brother says that Danger Mouse is the best mouse of them all, and all the rest are for babies.”

I remember seeing the judges laugh at my answers and I began to giggle along with them. The time flew by and I do not remember the girls before or after me, I remember answering my questions and then the Gentleman announcing me as the winner as one of the Female judges place the purple sash over my head and, as I was so small, lift me up so the people could see “Little Miss Graham is Miss Personality 1984”.

I now look at this picture and the face looks familiar, the person is still there, the hair, the chin, the eyes. I smile at the fearless little girl I was and realise that we are not that different. Yes I am a little wiser, a little stronger. Yes I have experienced more of life, have learnt from my life’s lessons and come out the other end reasonably unscathed. Yes I know that I am still confident in myself, I still have that tenacity to go for something when I really want it, but the fear… somehow as I got older I became more fearful. I think it is the demise of all adults. Compared to our young counterparts we are more fearful. We have experienced life and we know that if we jump from sofa to sofa at some stage we will fall through the crack and hurt ourselves. So we don’t jump on the sofa, we don’t climb the climbing frames, role down mountains or jump into unknown lakes. We are safe, we won’t get hurt, but at the same time we don’t get to role down mountains or jump into lakes.

I look at the picture of myself and think that in my quest to find Little Miss Graham I have jumped into a few unknown lakes, I have taken some risks and come out the better for it. Would it be so bad to jump in head first and risk cracking my head just for the thrill of jumping?

I imagine myself retelling the story of how Little Miss Graham became Miss Personality to my daughters and I think to myself, I need more stories, I need more adventures for my children. Now is the time for rolling down mountains.

Krazy Carma

2007-08-30T09:28:00.000+03:00

I am not sure how I am handling myself at the moment. I don’t want to sit here and use everything thing that is happening around me as an excuse for the rollercoaster of emotions that flip and loop inside me, but perhaps they are right… Maybe I do internalize things.

Anon: Say it
ME: No
Anon: Say it… you will feel better
ME: No. I will feel like a fool.

I already feel like a fool. If I was my friend I would have slapped me around a long time ago. No, my father is not an excuse. “I don’t care how hard a time they think you are going through Miss Graham, get your shit together and stop behaving like a shadow of yourself! And don’t cry when I say this to you, just because you know that it is true.”

Anon: Stop being so hard on yourself
ME: Am I?
Anon: Yes. You should give yourself a break
ME: I feel like I am on a permanent break.

But really I am not. I cannot escape dreams that keep me awake at night. Dreams that feel so real that my heart starts racing, I feel punched in the face and awake to a tear soaked pillow. I drive to work in the morning with a vague idea of the dream, but when I sit I at my desk I just feel stripped, empty and sad. I drink my coffee, share anecdotes with my friend, perk myself up until I am running around the office, singing out loud, strumming my air guitar and flicking my hair while pretending not to hear them comment on how much fun I am. It is fake and within minutes I am head down at my desk wondering when 4.20 will arrive.

Anon: You know I love you
ME: I am not crazy. I know I am loved. I know that this is all normal. I know I am just going through the motions, but I want to move on now.
Anon: You will when the time is right.
ME: What you Yoda or something? What is ‘the time is right’? Am I not master of my own destiny? Can I not make the time? Can I not turn the wheels myself and get the motions moving?
Anon: Yes, but you won’t.

Who can argue with that?

Another round of dreams last night and I won’t bother repeating them to you. I know what they mean, I know where they are coming from, and although my pillow was dry this morning, the empty feeling in my heart is there all the drive to work and not even a hundred cups of coffee could cure the chill-blains left from the hot, cold, hot and cold wind chills.

Dad: We are not going to sit on the pity wagon
ME: No we are not!
Dad: We are going to be strong, tell them to “Bog Off!” Everything will work itself out.
ME: Yeah you are right
Dad: And if it doesn’t you’ll look after your mother right?
ME: And if it doesn’t I am sure the inheritance you leave us will cover putting mum in a good home.

Thank goodness my father taught me the art of laughing at oneself… I am laughing.

The 'C' Word

2007-08-14T13:37:00.000+03:00

They say the worst part is not knowing. I think that not knowing was pretty great. Not knowing meant not having to think about it, not even putting it as a consideration in your mind. Now it is there, not even a figment of the worst parts of my imagination, it is real and when something is real you have to deal with it. No hypotheticals here. This time I am not being a drama queen, although I wish so much that I was and it was not really as bad as it is… even though I am aware it is not as bad as it could be. ‘Not as bad as it could be’ is small consolation. It is bad enough.

The worst part is having to tell people. People want to know. They want to be there for you, they want to show they care and although you say you need to be on your own to absorb it all, you want to know that they care… It does help. But in order for them to know, you have to open your mouth and say it:

“Hey, how are you doing? I am doing ok I guess. Actually my dad has Colon Cancer.”

I feel embarrassed saying the words. Mostly because I know the words of pity that will follow, and although you want to be pitied, at the same time it is not me who is sick and even if it were, I by rule of thumb don’t want pity. But then again the pity does help. I guess it is the same as admitting you have a drug problem. The hardest part is getting the words out of your mouth. I mean what is the polite way to shit all over your friends’ good mood and tell them your father has a serious illness.

I don’t even know why I am writing this blog about it… maybe it is because I need to get the thoughts out of my head and onto some kind of paper. Maybe it is just another way to sit at my computer, pretending to work, not feel sorry for myself while not Googling the words ‘colon cancer’. I actually did, but just to check the spelling and after getting a quick glance at the number of people Wikipedia claims die per year from it, I quickly closed the window and did a speed walk of the office to get it out of my head. Clearly it is not totally out… but I accept it and am disregarding it.

I know there are friends who would have me doing all kinds of research into the illness so that I have a better understanding of it, but right now I don’t want to look the thing in the eye… I want to just see it from the corner and be aware of what it is, where it is, and be ready to crush it. I leave the understanding of the beast to the experts, and those friends of mine who are interested and then trusted to give me the PG version. I hate horror movies.

It is funny to see who are the first people you call in this kind of crisis. I guess not so much funny as telling. I guess not so much telling as necessary. I noticed that the first thing I wanted to do was be held… I still want to be held. My bed never seemed as big as it did last night… I have never felt so alone and I craved the touch of someone. I know all about this… grief somehow makes you crave a touch. Perhaps it is a way for us to feel human, feel alive despite the idea of death being in the air. I needed it so much last night. I needed to be held, to feel another body next to me, holding me, letting me know it would all be ok. But there was no-body, nobody that I wanted. At 1 am I considered calling the girls for a group hug to fill out my bed, but reconsidered and decided that that might be a bit weird… especially after spending the evening watching The L word. I think it could have taken our friendship to a whole new level.

That is the other thing… laughter. I crave laughter and I am joking about having colonoscopies and regular colonic irrigations. Bottoms are a very funny topic and there are endless possibilities to make a crack about your crack. I’m not sure it is normal or appropriate to make jokes this early on… I’m not sure my friends and family expect it, in between tears I am laughing. I am even trying to make light of it, because seriously, what else can I do?

The say laughter heals. They say things like, “Be positive. There is something healing in positive energy.” I believe that. I believe that if you are afraid of crashing into the tree you ultimately will. I believe that if you set your sights on the horizon you will ultimately go into that new and brighter day. I believe that my sadness cannot help my father, nor would he want it. I guess we are alike in that way. We don’t want pity. We just want someone to make us smile. As he once said, “I know what I want on my tombstone. The same as Spike Milligan, ‘I told you I was sick’...” Appropriate no?

Laughter will heal. So I promise dad this will be the only time I morbidly mention the C word. I love you.

Feel Good Inc.

2007-08-12T09:22:00.000+03:00

I had trouble sleeping last night, despite sleep walking home from drinks with my favourite people in Tel Aviv. Just as my eyes closed the ‘feel good’ intro began thumping in my ears… dum da dum da dum feel good! My eyes wide open, I stared upwards at my ceiling and just as thoughts began to swarm into my mind I closed my eyes in the hope of closing out the thoughts and then…

Dum da dum da dum… Feel Good!

Lord! Let me sleep! I stare back up at the ceiling and try not to let the thoughts come into my mind, but after a number of failed attempts and a rendition of Feel Good to try and get it out of my system, I give in and allow myself to absorb myself in thought.

I think about how the month as gone by so quickly, and my time in England was now a month ago. I think about events leading up to my going to England and how miserable I was. I think about a year before. I think about how happy I was just being me. I think about the people around me, those who I love who make me feel good about myself, those who I love who make me feel bad about myself and those who I love to hate who can make me feel good or bad on any given day. I think what my life would be like without all those people in my life and dismiss the thought immediately.

I then move on to thinking about the weekend. I think about spending Friday cooking new Israeli foods I have never tried before and being surprisingly impressed with the results. I think about the simple pleasure of feeding the hungry, watching their faces as they take their first bite and seeing the glazed look of satisfaction on their faces when they realise they can stuff in no more. I think about my mother and how she would make dinners ever day for us to sit together as a family and how she must have felt watching us all wolf down her delicious meal. I then think how she must have felt when we grimaced and said, “Urgh I hate brussel sprouts!” I think to myself ‘ where can I find some brussel sprouts in Israel?’

I think about my time in Israel and how much I have changed, and yet how I will never really change. I think about a week filled with the comment, “Everyone needs a little bit of Channah in their lives.” I think what a sweet thing it is to hear, and what and honour to hear more than once, and think how deep down I wish I really believed it. I think it is a good thing there is a lot of me to go around. I think maybe I have been spreading myself too thin. I think that giving yourself is a wonderful thing. I think I have nothing left to give. I think that there is always more to find.

I think about the writing I am doing and how I am neglecting my blog. I think about the topic I am writing about and how the first paragraph might actually offend someone I really care about. I think maybe I will cut it out and start again. I think about how many times I have just cut it out and started again.

I think about he who shall not be named and find myself torn. I think about what David said and wonder if being open and honest really does make a difference. I think about protecting myself and then realise that that must be what they mean when they say Cancers are shell people. I think about cutting him out of my life and never looking back. I think about walking away with a smile on my face. I hear his best friend’s voice in my head and so I stand still. I think for the moment there is nothing wrong with standing still. I think that one day everything will work out. I think about what made me feel good a year ago and I think about what makes me feel good now.

I close my eyes and the feel good melody comes back into my ears, but this time I drift off to sleep in time with the beat and I know that regardless I do feel good.

LDN two years on...

2007-07-05T20:59:00.000+03:00

Shopping in Oxford Street, trying on new clothes, realising that my body is changing and the fashions are not making me feel any better about it as everything makes me look pregnant, I got a call from a friend. "Channah get out of the city there has been a bomb on Park Lane!"

I chuckle to myself and think 'oh how typical' and carry on picking out clothes for my new wardrobe. Another call from the same friend, "Channah seriously I am worried about you! They are closing off Oxford Street, you are going to get stuck in town!"

Resisting the urge to remind my friend that she was an Israeli and should not be so quick to freak out about these things I continued to take the items I had found and proceed straight to the changing room. "Look if there has just been an attempt in London then the last thing I want to be doing right now is getting on a tube. I think I'll just wait it out in the my haven of fashion."

After whittling my allowed 5 items in the changing room to the one item that didn't look like a moomoo, I went to purchase my single item.

Considering what was supposedly going on outside the store still seemed very calm. The same drab music was playing in the background, and the sales people were still walking around with the fake smiles and name tags.

Next customer to check out number 1

"Good day madame. Did anyone help you with these... I mean this item?"

ME: No.... Sorry I don't mean to sound weird, but have any of you heard about the bomb in Park Lane?

The guy at the check out looks startled and his boss behind him suddlenly shifts and moves towards her walkie talkie to speak to the security team.

ME: Aparantly they are closing off Oxford Street... My friend just called me in a panic.

"Lord! Well I haven't heard anything, but we'll look into it."

ME: Yeah. Sucks really last time I was in London it was the July 7th bombings.

"Where are you from?"

(Wha do I say? The truth? A lie? Ok how about a white lie?)
ME: Leeds
(Well I am originally from Leeds!)

Some say you always take the weather with you... Seems like for me it is terrorist activities!!

Speak Up!!

2007-06-19T14:23:00.000+03:00

Someone sent me this series of adverts as they were printed in The New York Times... So here is my take on the message to the British Journalists:

ASK YOURSELVES...
WHAT KIND OF MESSAGE ARE YOU SENDING?

ASK YOURSELVES..
WHAT ARE YOU ACHEIVING?

SPEAK OUT!!!

Boycotts are Bullshit... I've been boycotting the BBC for years, and they are still there!

So why don't you stop whinging and get back to work... or change your career maybe. Thank you! :)

The Demise of a Wanton Harlot

2007-06-17T14:39:00.000+03:00

As a child you do not acknowledge the romance of the cherry blossom tree. You see it. It is pretty. You reach out for it as you swing high on your multi-coloured swing set, jumping out in the hope that you might catch a bunch before you fall to floor and bruise your arm. You sit at the trunk for hours and look upwards to a sky of pink and wonder if it tastes as much like candyfloss as it looks. You ask yourself why it is called cherry blossom when no cherries grow from it. But you never see the romance of the blossom as it buds and blooms and then ultimately falls seductively from the tree and cover the brown ground with its delicate colour.

I would gaze for months on end at my sad and lonely tree shivering in the harsh winds of the cruel English autumn and only wish the snow would come soon to blanket her bare branches. Weeks would pass and I would wait with the patience of the child I was for any sign of her re-growth. And then one day the sun would come out and with trepidation I would gaze out of my window and find her blushing pink and shouting out to the world… “the Spring is here!”

But with Spring follows the Summer, the unbearable heat weighing us down, temperatures and tempers rising and only the Winter to look forward to. And I sit under my tree and watch all the blossom falling off and wonder why Spring sprung off so soon… could I not hold the coil for any longer?

Time to cool off and jump back in the sea.

Good Mourning

2007-06-14T09:25:00.000+03:00

I fell asleep last night with a tear held fast in the well of my eye, a pain in my chest and a heart out of beat and waited for the dreams to begin. After three nights of dream filled sleep minus the grey foxes that run through my legs, I saw myself walking in the city. Every face that passed me was the same and the tears could no longer be held in. I found refuge in an old stairway with a yellow bike blocking my route and tried to regain my composure and breath. But I could not breath. The grey fox was staring at me, shaking his head.

“What do you want from me? I have nothing more to hide. I am not concealing anything.”

He carried on staring at me, unfazed by my words and sat on the ground and licked his wounds.

I stood to walk back out into the street. The fox jumped to attention and followed my every step. I walked down tree filled boulevards, in between the familiar faces, avoiding the cyclists and the eyes of those faces staring at me. The fox ran in between and around my legs as I walked and under the purple blossomed tree he stopped blocking my path. Forced to stop I looked up and the face was staring back at me with a smile.

“Why?”

No answer

“I miss you”

No response. Just a smile

“I hate you.”

The face turned grey and cried and I cried, and we stood staring at each other, crying. There was a hug somewhere between us, but we could not reach it; a kiss somewhere in the void, but our mouths were tight shut. I tried to run away, but I could not move. I looked down at the fox and he looked up at me and mouthed the words “I love you”.

Dear Anonymous

2007-05-21T16:18:00.000+03:00

You may be wondering why I rejected your comment. You may think it is because I was offended by you branding me a “fat whiny cow”, something that I have never thought myself to be, but clearly you felt quite strongly that I am a fat whiny cow, so therefore that must be what I am, and as a result I am going to do everything in my power to embrace that fact and try to better myself… or perhaps just use it as an excuse for being a moody and rude bitch 24/7… “Sorry, no I cannot come out tonight I am a fat whiny cow!”

Anyway, the fact that I am a fat whiny cow is not the reason that I rejected your eloquently put comment. No, I rejected your comment because you are a sad and pathetic individual who hides who they are under the cloak of “Anonymous”. In truth you could be even more fat and whiny than I am, but sadly we cannot see that because you are “Anonymous”. It is funny because for the most part I associate Anonymous with being Irrelevant… I guess is it better to be something than nothing/ than irrelevant/ than anonymous… perhaps even fat and whiny.

So thank you for your comments Anonymous. You make me a better person everyday.

Channahboo (With a Perm-a-grin on her face)

Virtual Disbelief

2007-05-16T18:44:00.000+03:00

Can you believe that it is 6.30pm and I am still in work? I feel like the office has sucked me in and will not let me leave. I know that this is nothing compared to the hours I used to work in the UK, and I know that I only came into work at 10.30, but right now I am struggling.

Everyone has left my side of the office and there is an eerie silence all around me. The sound of computers humming on standby act as mufflers for the activity that I know is taking place on the other side of the office where the lawyers and trainees actually work long hours and are probably in the middle of discussing some big deposition.

I don’t think I can do this again. Stay late. Pretend to work. Feel the neon light strips above me get brighter as the light outside dims. I don’t think that this was a very good idea; coming into work late to see what it is like. It is bad. It is shit. It is wrong.

And even though I know that it means missing out on walking with him to my car in the morning and kissing him good-day, I have decided that I am giving it up for early ends to my working day. I did try!

He cannot understand as he spends his day constantly on the move, constantly meeting new and interesting people, constantly communicating in dulcet and sensual tones to shmooze every innocent passerby, as opposed to voicelessly and emotionlessly (well apart from the emoticons you spent a day and a half downloading) communicating in the virtual environment of email, MSN, Facebook/ Myspace and any other website you sign up to, to avoid doing the immortally boring work you are paid close to minimum wage to do.

But please understand. As someone who is always the first to run home from work, I now see how sad it is to be the last one at work, as you slowly watch your friends leave one by one. And you know that they are free of the burden of work, while you have to still sit there, even though you are doing nothing and have closed down your Outlook, pretending to work until you have come close to completing your compulsory 9 hours a day.

Ok that is it! I quit!!!! Sushi is calling me… fuck the computer!

What is it?

2007-04-07T17:38:00.000+03:00

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately, a lot of thinking about my life. Right now there is nothing really coherent I can reveal... at least not at this point, but once I have a plan I will fill you in on it. Right now I am just full of questions... questions and quandaries and wondering perhaps if someone out there has the answers that baffle me...

You see, I often tried in my youth to not think too hard about things. To let everything happen as it should and perhaps this is why I find myself now wondering what it is I want, like and care about age 27.

Then there is the B side... The side that is not the side you necessarily bought the album for, but always happens to have those little gems on it that are once in a lifetime and you cannot believe that the artist decided that mixing the record with some other random artist, not within his genre, but are so glad he did! Sometimes I find myself listening to that B-side over and over again and thanking whoever is up there that I decided to jump out of my bubble and then there are times when I just think about it and realise that I am slightly crazy... well I must be.

Am I crazy to suddenly change everything at age 27?
Have I lost the plot to after finding my home and friends that I love to put it all to one side to sit in solitude for an indefinite period?

Is it weird that I don't want to meet anyone right now, because it will hold me back from uprooting my life again?
Is it strange that I cannot say I love you to a guy?
Is it creepy that he calls just to tell me has a confession to make?
Is it odd that the confession is that he is showing my picture to his friends?
Do you think it is freaky that he shows my picture to his friends?
Do you think it means something that he says he loves me just the way I am?
What does it mean when he says he loves me?
What does it mean when he says he loves me and I freeze?
Do you think he has issues because he loves me, shows me off to his friends, but doesn't want to be with me?
What is it about me that make guys love me, chase me, and then ultimately when they have me, try and convince me to be their new best friend?
What is it about me that makes me now try to figure all this out?
What happened to me?
What is it?

Lucky Mojo

2007-03-21T12:33:00.000+02:00

I have had this niggling feeling that I have lost something. You know the feeling when you pack your bags, walk out of the door, get in the car on the way to the airport and remember that you have forgotten your toothbrush. This is where Boots comes in handy as you rush through duty free.

Anyway, I know that I have lost something, but surely it cannot be something so important to me. My view has always been that you only lose the things you don’t really care that much for; the ring you haven’t worn in weeks and just left on the side of the sink, the extra mosquito repellent you bought but did not need at the time. Of course I acknowledge that there are people in this world who lose their most treasured items, and for these people I have a mixture of pity and ridicule… How can you really lose something you care so much about! Surely if you cared so much for it you would never let it out of your sight. Or so I thought.

TP: So how have you been?
ME: I think I lost my Mojo.
TP: How can you lose your Mojo? You are Mojolicious!
ME: I am sure it was here somewhere
TP: You checked your pockets
ME: First place I looked!

The truth is I looked in every pocket I own. I searched at the back of my draws, in my cupboards, under my bed. I know I had it somewhere…

TP: Ok I will find it!
ME: How?
TP: I am not sure… Let me have a think and I will come up with a plan.
ME: Ok I leave locating my Mojo in your hands
TP: Phew! That is a big responsibility.

When was the last time I had it? It is hard to tell, as it was always there whether I used it or not… Ok when was the last time I used my Mojo?

It was not that long ago was it? I remember that it was around the time my hair grew a personality of its own… Did I leave it in the hotel? I can hardly walk back in there and ask for it back. Did I give it away? Can you give your Mojo away without knowing it? No! Although, it might have been stolen! Oh that dirty rotten…

While TP continues his search I approached the only person I knew with Mojo to spare to see if I could borrow some to keep me going.

JO: You’ll have to ask the Bitch herself. But I warn you. She is not a sharer.
ME: Lucky can I borrow some of yours for the time being?
LM: Er… I don’t think so!
JO: I told you.
ME: Yup. Bitch!

BE RIGHT BACK

Please be patient with me... I have a Mojo deficiency

Sleep Studies

2007-03-14T16:29:00.000+02:00

This week I found that I could not sleep. So exhausted from all the running around I have been doing lately, I found myself in a trance-like-state where although I could not sleep, I could not wake up enough to uncover the reason for my sleepless nights. The only constant was at one point in the night I would find myself scratching my right foot against my left ankle. Even Nooman commented on my lack of sleep and being able to hear me toss and turn throughout the night! Who needs a sleep study?

So I decided that one night I will consciously rise above my exhaustion and attempt to undercover the reason my covers were off my bed every morning. I lay in bed, hearing The Gossip’s “Standing in the Way of Control” pump out in my brain and despite my best efforts I fell into a deep deep sleep. I dreamt that I was walking through a forest, meandering between bending birch trees with soft curtain like branches whose material was the finest green leaf that allowed the sun to shine through and yet act as sunglasses for my eyes. I was in a white dress and my hair had become fair and was tied half up with a braid running through it. I looked at my hands as they pushed through the foliage and noticed a dark brown leather strap running from my finger up my right arm. It was then that I heard the voice.

Channah I love you…

Awake, I could still here the soft high pitched voice brush against my ear.

Channah I love you…

Now fully awake, I look to my side and I see him hovering about my ear whispering softly words of love. We decided then and there we were getting married. I mean he clearly has a thing for my ankles.

The next night the same thing, and despite swatting him away; telling him to leave me be; even hiding myself under the covers, somehow I could not escape from the now high pitched screeching of his voice.

Channah you are soooooo tasty… I love to suck on your ankles…No one loves you as much as me!

I could see this going on forever, I could see me letting him take his bite out of me bit by bit and leaving me punctured, swollen and itching all over. So I smiled and wished him goodnight… and the next day I did what any girl would do. I killed him.

Lily of the flood

2007-03-11T15:14:00.000+02:00

Last week seemed to go on for a century and I was struggling to keep my head above the water when suddenly Thursday appeared. I had plans of Tika Masala, Dorothy Gale and a whole weekend hanging with the Maximus to look forward to, and how I needed it! Work has had my head spinning around and yet I have been standing still for almost two years, so the dizziness churns my stomach all the more and I am left feeling light headed and wobbly on my feet. Why as children did we spin and spin around? I now understand. Boredom.

I have to find a new response to the old question “How you doing?” “All good”, is also pretty boring. But I guess when nothing is bad, but nothing is particularly great, you are left with Parve. On top of that I feel myself loosing my voice more and more. I hear myself and I am bored. I find something interesting to say and I am shushed. I see me, age 5, shrinking in my big chair, under the faces of my family telling me not to be such a drama queen or that I remind them of Sarah Bernhardt. I know that in part neither insult nor intentional injury, and I do not repeat this to feel pity, a fool can pity themselves. I say it to point out a pattern that has encroached upon my life without me realizing it. Have I really taken on the same role among my friends as I have within my family?

All these things swirl around my mind as I lay down for my Thursday afternoon nap before a long and rewarding night ahead. After I awoke I attempted to shower and change for my evening, only to find that the bath would not drain and was full of dirty water. I tried to unclog the drain, but no use. With only half an hour left before I was supposed to meet the girls out I began to stress before regaining my head and deciding that the bath could wait and proceeded to whore wash myself over the sink.

My hair washed and feeling relieved I turned to walk out of the bathroom only to be greeted by water gushing out of the old unused shower and under the door. I was shocked at the amount of water… the noise sounded like a river running down my hallway and I leapt to my feet to try and soak up as much as possible before anything of worth was damaged.

It was not quite too late. The water was using the Twins old technique of when there is only one person to deal with you, separate into two different directions. So I was stood in my hallway naked, because I used my towel to try and stop the water going out of the bathroom, faced with the decision of saving my room or Nooman’s room. I leapt into action throwing on some clothes in case anyone came to my rescue only to find me dancing around in my birthday suit. I then ran, as fast as I could in 3 inches of water without falling on my ass, and grabbed the mop and began the work of saving Nooman’s computer. The water was already halfway to its target, soaking his checkbook and papers left on the floor, taking a bite out of the rug before deciding to snake under the bed, covering his shoes and out towards his study and his massive collection of discs and his new computer. I tried to save as much as I could as I ran towards the head of the flood to stop it in its tracks. As I did I called Nooman… COME HOME NOW!!! YOUR ROOM IS UNDER ATTACK! WE HAVE A FLOOD!!!

Three hours later; after forcing my landlord to do something for the money we pay him each month; crying; taking out all the water; crying; manually moping up the water that had got into the basement; crying; helping the plumber release more water; crying; clearing up more water… Nooman and I eventually collapsed, our Thursday evening sodden. Feeling too sorry for ourselves to give sympathy to the other, Nooman went to bed, leaving me to cry some more alone. A pathetic sight until a friend came baring the curry I had not been able to eat and another with Vodka to drown out the flood and dry away my tears. “You cannot end your bad day this way. We are going out.”

After a night of dancing, drinking and hiding from slimy Israelis, I collapsed into my bed. Unable to sleep I thought about the evening. At least the apartment was clean. A year of dirt never touched under certain beds was washed away and I began to think of the symbolic relevance of the flood. Like for Noah the flood washed away the dirt of our apartment and so too I felt it washed away the stale cobwebs for me, leaving behind a blank canvas to start again. What do I do with this canvas? I think I will paint a picture of what I would like my life to be, but without the high expectations. Instead I will step away in order to come back and be able to look fresh-faced and appreciate the wonderful family, friends and life I have around me.

I have been thinking… If you were to change your name you would be a Lily to me… The Lily is not a dramatic flower like the rose, the Lily is not overly dramatic although it has the ability to be so… It does not demand attention… Its symbolism is both good and evil… it has both capabilities… but for the most part it prefers to not stand out like the rose… It is funny how you fit into the same mould as you do within your family… The one capable of being dramatic, yet never demanding attention when none is willingly give… And then there is Lily Allen.

A Candle in the Wind

2007-03-06T14:29:00.000+02:00

This weekend was a big old funky foo faa for Purim. We all put on our glad rags, in the form of wigs, costumes, funny outfits and ridiculously long fake eyelashes and headed to the roof top of Tel Aviv to party the night away. At least that was the plan…

After deciding that I could be sexy any day of the week, I decided to go for the funny option and went as an over the top Elton John. Now although I had thought a great deal about the costume, the hair, the make-up, the glasses involved in being Elton, I did not really think a lot about what it would really mean to be him… No the men in tight t-shirts were not my biggest worry… I could not remember his songs. All I could think of was Rocket Man.

Now I know that I risk my ‘cool’ status by saying this, but I like Elton John. I think he is one of the best singer songwriters of our time, at least he is high on the list. And no his work may no longer be ground breaking, but it is solid… So why could I not remember any of his songs? Now sat at my desk I can think of at least 50 off the top of my head… On Thursday night however, I struggled to remember that he had written the music to the Lion King! But then I remember that on Thursday night, after 2 glasses of wine with sushi, 2 large glasses of Vodka red bull as I got dressed and the rest of the bar I drank at the party, I actually struggled to remember who I was dressing up as in the first place.

This is not a good place to be and generally I know how to ensure that I finish the night still standing straight, but not this time. This time I was head bent over toilet wondering what the black bits were. It has been a long time since I have done something so stupid, but as I have cut down on my drinking and this was a one off bit of stupidity I will try not to be so hard on myself… we have our reasons… there are always reasons.

Talking to a friend today I find myself thinking more and more about running away. I like the idea of just disappearing. Walking into the sunset and not telling anyone around where I am going… A nice idea… in theory.

Creating Chemistry?

2007-03-01T19:36:00.000+02:00

A couple of weeks ago I was at a close family friend's wedding, just minding my own business, dancing with my dad, when a young man took the initiative to get my attention by asking my mother to dance with him...

I guess that is one way to create some Chemistry... But for you all you boys out there... You want the girl to fall for you? Or at least her parents to fall for you... shmooze the Mama!!

A Long-term Investment

2007-02-26T11:37:00.001+02:00

Last night I went home. Not the home I grew up in and not the home that I currently share with Nooman and his computer, but my home… or should I say where my parents’ live. This should not be such a bold statement to make, but as I admit I am not the best daughter/ sister/ aunt in the world, so when I do step out of my Tel Aviv bubble I try to appreciate my time spent with the people I appreciate most and who probably realise it the least.

Earlier in the day I had a meeting with a financial adviser to discuss how I was going to invest my Pension fund that I (a year too late) have received from my work. I remember back in England, meeting with a financial advisor and gazing over is head wistfully as he droned on and on about high risk and low risk investments, while I contemplated how I was going to spend my money and promptly told him “Just give me the cash”. This time around, a little more mature, and a little more paranoid about the future, I asked him in depth questions about how I could get the highest growth out of my savings, the best way to invest it for the long term, and what other options I had to be a millionaire by the time I retire. In turn he, amazed that someone was actually interested in how their money was going to grow, talked about stocks and bonds, interest rates and the ever unstable market. He asked me questions about my health, lifestyle, family and finally came around to the most difficult part of the process…. What if I die?

Being young, and not having a husband or children of my own to consider if and when I leave this world, I had never really considered what would happen to my ‘things’. I mean I have never really owned anything of great worth… a car… a wardrobe full of clothes… There is nothing that anyone would really want. If I died tomorrow my family would more likely be cursing me for the inheritance of clearing out my draws, jammed full with crap that I have just thrown in over the years, forgotten about and have been too lazy to sort through and throw away. Perhaps that is something I should consider when I next get the cleaning bug.

So I am sat in the main meeting room, looking at the financial advisor with a thick Scottish accent and a large jovial grin on his face and my gut reaction is, “My father, I would like my father to be the beneficiary.” I think it was the right thing to do. I would never want to take favourites amongst my siblings. The advisor continues to look at me and I feel the heat rising to my face, my eyes watering slightly and I flush red. “Does he know how much you love him?” he says winking at me. I say, “Probably not”, and nervously laugh.

Sleeping last night in my parents’ house, in the only single bed in the house, I felt so strangely safe. There is a different feeling you feel sleeping under the comfort blanket of your parents building. I may prefer my bed in my apartment, I may find the mattress hard and unforgiving, but the sleep I have is like the sleep of my youth. It is like the rest of the world is really cut off. My eyes shut, relaxed… no monsters will come out of the wardrobe to get me, no-one is going to break in tonight. In the middle of the night I woke up and heard my father snoring across the hall.

It's funny... the things that guys do to f**k with us

2007-02-15T09:44:00.000+02:00

3 ways to break up

A Clarification

2007-02-14T10:05:00.000+02:00

In light of my blog last year about this wonderful day that, thanks to Ginrod, I will forever refer to as VD, I thought I should clarify all I feel about this day...

Please! I am a woman after all! I wish you all a lot of VD! Peace be with you. x

Taking the Mic

2007-02-13T11:15:00.000+02:00

I got into work late for me today, although at 9AM it would be the standard time to arrive into work for most. Me on the other hand I like to get in early and escape not long after the part timers leave. This way I miss the traffic in the morning, miss the traffic in the afternoon, and get to be home in time to go to the gym and still have a full night ahead of me to hang with my friends. This morning however there was no getting me to work on time.

A night with Ginrod turned into two bottles of wine followed by an excursion to a little blue door in the wall Jazz bar with the girls. This is the kind of bar I like. A small place, with an understated charm that draws your vision to the large black and white stills hanging on the brick wall of musicians looking down at a large, black, grand piano and double base waiting to be played. It is the sort of place I go to dream of being a Jazz singer, “doo doo wa” doing next to a piano man who I slide up to as I sing my song about whoopee, not too dissimilar from Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. In an ideal world where I did not have to consider where my rent was coming from each month, that is where you would find me at night… propping myself up against a grand piano, singing in dulcet tones to an audience who would lap up every drop.

I remember going to see my friend Corinne, many years ago, when she was working in a Jazz bar, go up on the stage and sing amongst the musicians. I would watch her with an even mixture of admiration, pride and a dash of envy. Although I had sung a great deal when I was younger, by the time I finished my teens I left behind singing in favour of finding a ‘career’. It never occurred to me that I could ever find a career with my voice, no matter how many people said I had talent, my view was there is more to being an artist than holding a note. An entertainer can sing a tune, but he is no artist. An artist writes the tune he sings. In my opinion unless you have nurtured the song from just an idea to fruition you may as well be creating the Mona Lisa painting with numbers. I guess this is why I envied her, because when she stood on that stage just singing into the mic, she belonged there. Surrounded by instruments that she could play, singing with musicians who admired her talent as a musician and a singer songwriter. I knew my place. I was and am nothing more than an entertainer, a self loathing entertainer longing to be an artist, and not just a singer.

When you are just a singer it is hard to stand up with the giants and claim that the voice you have is an instrument too. The difference here is I do not have to practice my instrument every day, although there was a time that I did much to the annoyance of my family. I think the issue has always been that I have always held truly talented musicians in some form of reverence. They had the raw talent, the determination and the passion for their art to keep on practising; even when their fingers were bleeding; or when they had failed to get it the first 10 times, but were determined to get it this time; or just even though their favourite TV programme was on and they could not be bothered to concentrate. They carried on in a way that I never could with the many instruments I had longed to play, but never managed more than London Bridge before quitting.

However, last night, when my friend grabbed the dude who had brought the musicians together and said, “You looking for a singer?” while pointing in my direction, I was amazed by how welcome I felt. Arms outstretched he welcomed me to join the musicians on stage… any time… now? No I could not go up. Nothing to do with nerves. Although now the thought of getting back on stage is filling me with an excited fear and loathing, I was just not prepared to sing at that moment. Well after two bottles of wine I stumbled over telling him my name, never mind trying to remember the lyrics to songs I have not sung fully for years. “Anytime you wanna sing, come find me.” And with a wink and a smile I felt so at ease that despite not knowing what I would sing or the words to the songs I almost floated on after him as he walked back onto the stage and lifted the sax to his lips and played. “I will…”

My head heavy I woke sideways this morning, bumping into Nooman in the bathroom and swearing at him, at myself and then clamouring back into bed and switching my alarm off. My excuse for not singing last night was because I had to get home to bed for work. The guy had said that he too had to get up for work, but that was not what was important “This is what counts. Not work.” I definitely could understand what he was saying, although I think Mr. Graham would not quite agree with the sentiment. “When are you going to start earning some decent money?” I did… remember… in England. “Maybe you should think about going back.” I do… and then I decide that it just is not an option. “Oh you could have had so much by now!” I do… I have more.

Mushy Muesli

2007-02-08T08:25:00.000+02:00

Once there was a Cornflake girl, who thought it was a good solution hanging with the Raisin girl, well they needed to talk and so as they lay with nothing to do in the cereal box, only waiting to be opened up and covered in milk, they talked.

Raisin Girl: I think I need to go on a date, get out there and meet someone.
Cornflake Girl: But I thought you wanted to be with him, to give it a go.
Raisin Girl: Yes, but I cannot force someone to be with me who does not want to be with me.
Cornflake Girl: Did you ask him?
Raisin Girl: Yup
Cornflake Girl: And?
Raisin Girl: Something about the time passing by… I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
Cornflake Girl: Ok, so move on, meet someone new, bring in new energy… someone hotter.
Raisin Girl: The only thing I want is one last time with him… you know so we can end this well and I don’t have to hate him
Cornflake Girl: Step away from that idea

I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music

And it breaks my heart

Cornflake Girl: You know I miss the little fucker
Raisin Girl: Who?
Cornflake Girl: You know who… I told my friend last night that I'll be upset if he contacts me tomorrow, but I'll be even more upset if he doesn't.
Raisin Girl: Yeah I hear you… In my head it goes “if he calls I am ignoring it”, but the fact that he hasn’t called just makes me want to call him.
Cornflake Girl: We’re not pathetic right?
Raisin Girl: I hope not!
Cornflake Girl: No! We are desirable!
Raisin Girl: I hope we are!
Cornflake Girl: And deserve to be with nice men.

And suppose I never met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall

And it breaks my heart

Cornflake Girl: Every time I see his name I want to vomit… and smoke
Raisin Girl: Yup I know what you mean… Is it a sign of weakness?
Cornflake Girl: No! It’s a sign of emotion. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!
Raisin Girl: Why do you hate him?
Cornflake Girl: Because it is easier to be angry
Raisin Girl: Yeah I guess it is. Why can it not just be easy? Why can it not be simple? You like each other, you like hanging out together, make each other laugh, have good chemistry, fantastic sex and you love each other. How does that not equal a relationship?
Cornflake Girl: It does. Just without the title I guess.
Raisin Girl: Ok so why does it mean a relationship without a future?
Cornflake Girl: Because someone is scared of the future or doesn't want a relationship, or has it set his mind to not have one.
Raisin Girl: Or just not to have one with me!
Cornflake Girl: That does not make sense to me.
Raisin Girl: Me neither!

All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better

And it breaks my heart

Cornflake Girl: Ok I am doing the worst thing possible now.
Raisin Girl: What?
Cornflake Girl: I am reading through old conversations I had with him.
Raisin Girl: Oh my god! I am doing the same thing.
Cornflake Girl: Are we the same person?

The Golden Pig

2007-02-06T07:41:00.000+02:00

Today was definitely a new day for me. I went to sleep early and woke up before dawn refreshed and ready to start a new day, with a new attitude. I got in the first boiling hot shower I have had all winter and remembered that the hot water was always more efficient in the mornings. After I steamed my self out I walked around my apartment, got dressed, dried my hair and listened to the sound of rain outside my window. I remember this time of year from last year. It has to get worse before it can get better, and now is the countdown to the end of the storm. In the meantime we have a storm to live through. I thought about this and I smiled.

I did not even mind the fact that my car was parked a block away and that the downpour clearly meant that drying my hair straight would be pretty much a waste of time. Dressed and ready to leave the house I took another look around the place, checked myself in the mirror and decided that although I was still early for work, there was no need to put on make-up. I walked through the streets to my car and I did not even mind when I stood in a puddle, soaking my foot in the process. In fact I laughed.

I arrived to work, the only person in the office apart from one Lawyer who it would seem had pulled an all-nighter. My happy mood followed me all the way to my desk, through most of my emails until one particularly obnoxious lawyer’s rant of an email really wound me up. Now I am gritting my teeth and wishing the little runt was here so I could give the ignorant piece of shit a piece of my mind! I grit my teeth. Something I have been doing a lot lately which explains the headaches I keep getting.

Anyway, It is funny that; the fact that the email got me so angry. I mean most people I know when they don’t really care about something they don’t let the things around it annoy them. Take my younger sister for example. In general she just does not give a shit, unlike her twin who takes offence quickly, she does not really care what happens around her. I on the other hand do care very much… even when I don’t. What do I mean? Well, my job is hardly my career. It is not the job I was trained in, nor the job I choose to have for the rest of my life. I am neither passionate nor inspired by it… and before you ask, yes I have been passionate and inspired by previous jobs which were in fact a career. However, when I made Aliyah there were things I gave up to live in the country of my choosing, and my previous career was one. Nevertheless, if I do not care about what I am doing then why should I care if someone criticizes my work? It makes no sense. So too, if I am emotionally detached then why do I care if I feel like others are emotionally detached from me. I cannot expect someone to show me the love if I keep mine close to my own chest. Yeah well… a nice thought in theory, but when it comes to the workings of this heart I have always been ‘show me a little and I will give it all’, so I guess the fact that I feel at times like I am getting nothing shows me that keeping my heart closed is not necessarily a bad thing… protect yourself boo.

I then come to an email from a Chinese associate informing the office about their forthcoming national holidays due to the New Year. It got me thinking. Now would be a good time to have a New Year. Now when the skies are falling down upon us, it would be good to have a time to celebrate a new year, as if all the problems of last year are being washed away and we will be left with a clean slate and a whole new year ahead of us. This year is the year of the pig, and not just any pig, but the Golden Pig. The pig as an animal is considered “playful, honest, forthright and one who enjoys instant gratification and all life has to offer”. Therefore, the year of the Golden Pig is supposed to be a fun year, “a time to get your sense of humour back”. I could really do with getting that back asap!
According to Chinese belief it is also a good year for children to be born as these children will be destined to lead carefree lives. It then comes as no surprise that condom sales in China, and neighbouring countries who also follow the Chinese zodiac, have fallen dramatically since the new year as couples are eager to conceive so their child can be born in the year of the Golden Pig. However, the flip side is that the year of the pig is, according to many Buddhists and followers of the Chinese Zodiac, also known as the “Year of the Widow”, which as it sounds is a bad time for women hoping to marry. Just a note to all single women out there; if you thought this was your year… forget it! However, on a brighter note, it is the year of the GOLDEN pig don’t forget, so that could mean a whole new spin on the issue… but either way it promises to be a year of fun and frolicking in the mud.

The mud tonight being a meeting with my personal trainer followed by an evening of Karaoke... Dazed Glonut I hope you have been warming up your voice!!

Start Again

2007-02-04T16:57:00.000+02:00

Well the weekend began with migraines and tears, a dangerous cycle that could not be stopped with all the drugs I was popping into my system. I lay for a whole day in the dark, tears rolling down my face, waiting for the pain to subside. I drifted in and out of sleep, and as I did I felt all the weight on my mind ease off. Not literally of course, the pain was still there, but I began to feel the things that were bothering me ease up somewhat… And then last night they all came crashing down on me again.

Last night I was relieved to see Fit Joel. We have always been close and although we have recently both been distracted and neglected our friendship, it was so good to spend some time with him, even if the only alone time we got was parked outside my apartment. It would seem that I am not alone. We have all been through those complicated situations where lines are blurred, where the space between black and white is a sea of grey. As we sat and talked, I remembered all the times we spent together during university and how easy it was to not date anyone during that time. As I poured out my heart to my dear old friend I realised that I had not felt so safe in so long. The advice he gave me was nothing I did not already know, nothing new and profound, but it touched me and I found myself only hoping that one day I could repay him with similar words of support. His advice was clear;

Channah you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. You are great and if they cannot get that then they just don’t get that… move on. But in the meantime I get how easy it is to not.

After we agreed that a weekend up North was what we both needed, I got out of the car, my head a whirl with his advice and I could not help but think about all the little niggles in my life that I would like to be ironed out. No matter, be it the issues with work, my family, my friends, or the men that come and go, they are all in my control and I have the power to manoeuvre my life in the direction I would like it to go. I also have the power to deflect the control I see others having on me… No one can tell me what to do. As he once said so many years to me:

Channah, you have a knack for asking for advice. You ask and ask and ask from everyone everywhere. But you only ever take the advice of yourself. That is a good thing… I just don’t get why you feel need to ask. You need to bypass that and just trust in your own instincts.

I figure that the issue with that has always been that I have been brought up to think in a very logical manner. From a young age the wild impulses of the ‘born actress’ were kicked out of me and I realised that logic was the only way I was going to find my path through life. The only problem is that when you are trying to find a new path and you have so many options in front of you it is usually your natural impulses or instincts which help you find the right way. My issue is that my logical brain blocks the instinctual voice in my head and no matter how much I try to hear it, my ears are blocked… for the exception of purchasing shoes. In that case my instincts take control and my logic is bound and gagged. How does this happen? Who knows, but at least I know it is still there… waiting for me to channel it somehow.

Lately I have found strangers shocking me into déjà vu with words I have not heard since my youth. At a Friday night dinner a couple of weeks ago a film director at the table turned to my roommate as I was in the middle of one of my stories and said, “That Channah is something! She is a great Actress… Wow!” My ears were burning as I tried to continue my story without being put off by the commentary going on stage left. However the flush was in my cheeks and I could not accept the compliment for what it was. Nor could I when I was having a rant about the ignorant new waitress in Arcafe who refused to give me my frequent customer discount because I did not have my card… Girl there is no frequent customer discount card!! They just give it to me because every other waiter knows me! During this rant I naturally and unknowingly began to imitate the annoying voice of the waitress. Mid speech I suddenly opened my ears to my audience and saw them laughing their asses off… “Channah seriously you are in the wrong profession! You should have been an actress!”

Once again instead of pride I felt embarrassed, and I could not understand why I would feel this from what was actually a complement. I then remembered all the times I had heard this before when I was a child and remembered how the words had been said mostly in the same way, but also enough times in scoff. Tears came to my eyes and I suddenly felt a rush of all the foolish feelings that had consumed me then; the feeling of being the court Jester rather than the entertainer; the feeling of being laughed at instead of laughed with. I guess every now and then the feeling that no-one around you takes you seriously comes back to me every now and then… it is my issue with myself. On the one hand I enjoy laughing at myself, on the other I often fear that I am being seen as just a joke. Perhaps this is my way of telling myself not to take Channah too seriously.

Looking back over all the blogs I have written over the last few weeks I see the little girl that I was, grappling to find her feet and establish herself again in this older more worldly body. As I said back then, this is not depression, I am not depressed. And no I am not in denial either! I think everyone at the moment is suffering the Seasonal Syndrome and feeling as grey and blustery as the weather and I think we are all waiting for the buds of spring to appear and the sun to shine again. I long to jump into the Mediterranean again after a long night partying with my girls.

In the short term I am starting another week, and I am already looking forward to the weekend. Perhaps there will come a time when I enjoy just standing still and watching the world around me move. However right now I am eager to jump back on the merry-go-round and feel the wind whip through my hair as life exhilarates me and makes my heart race… It has been too long since my heart raced. Ok maybe not as long as others, but long enough for me. So if the play is not panning out as planned, the actress has forgotten her lines and no longer cares about her role, she starts again from Scene One.

Dance dance dance

2007-02-01T07:55:00.000+02:00

So just a little update on my evening last night... Ms Freeman misread the class timetable and despite telling me that the class was going to be Street dance, Noodles and I walked in to find that it was in fact Strip dance! You can only imagine...

Well I have been told that I look like Carmen.... Er ok.

Anyway, my boss is off work today. It would appear that her boyfriend late last night suprised her with a weekend trip to Paris. Where do guys like this hang out? Certainly not around me, any of my friends, or any guy I have as yet to meet. I can't even get a guy to commit to staying at his place for the weekend! But seriously I am happy for her... and as long as this only benefits my annual review which is next week I am all for her taking of a day or two to escape to Paris.

Meanwhile, with no-one in the office to check on me I am being suprisingly responsible and plan to leave only 2 hours early.

Be well, have a wonderful weekend, whatever it is that you are doing. I'm staying in Tel Aviv with the greatest people I know... well some of them ;)

Get Down on It

2007-01-31T16:25:00.000+02:00

After spending the same amount I would spend if I were going to the Jerusalem Winter Ball last night on dinner (and Tequila!), I have come to the realisation that something has got to give. That or my money problems are going to become money catastrophes. And the apartment I dream of calling my own will forever be just a dream. Oh how I long to put my clothes away in my wardrobe knowing that the only reason I will be packing them in a suitcase is to go on holiday.

Oh a holiday! It is so sad to realise that the last holiday I went on was more of a rushed shopping excursion almost two years ago. Last night I talked late into the night about future holiday plans, London, Thailand… maybe one day I will actually see some of the world! It actually makes me cringe to think of all the cheap flights I could have taken advantage of living in England to fly to locations in Europe for a weekend break that I never did because of time/ money or effort constraints.

But now I am determined to look forward to something other than the weather changing. I am in a slump where I feel like I am not being heard, while at the same time I have nothing really to say. I feel like an empty shell, a vase that is just there for decoration but of no use. I have an urge to fight it, to smash it to a million pieces and to start again as me… Sounds a little like how I felt before I made Aliyah. I was sick of not being heard, sick of being someone I am not, and now I feel at times the same… How did this happen again? It is a shame when you feel like you have grown, moved on and improved yourself only to find yourself on the precipice of the same situation, with the same hang ups only this time you do not have a planned escape route. This time I’m going to have to actually tackle it head on and deal with it.

In the meantime though I am making plans to visit old friends and make a visit to the old country for some channahboo cuddles and a trip down the memory lane of a previous life. I am a good talker so when I told Mr. Javor that I might be paying him a visit near the summer he was full of plans for gigs and concerts. It would seem that there is a chance that my visit might coincide with one of my favourite bands playing.

Me: So can I see Bright Eyes?
Mr. Javor: No you are not allowed.
Me: What? I didn’t even ask for a backstage pass! Which I want by the way! Why?
Mr. Javor: Because I said so
Me: Boo you whore!
Mr. Javor: Actually you are, which is why you cannot come.
Me: Ha ha ha ok seriously MoFo sort me out or I will give you evils
Mr. Javor: I saw Lucy Lui backstage at the last Bright Eyes show. I stared at her and she gave me a dirty look. Was very cool!!!

For legal reasons I cannot repeat the rest of our conversation, but Mr. J… you are a rock star! I cannot wait to party with you!

So I have decided that if you cannot beat the funk you should just get down on it, which is exactly what I am doing tonight in the form of a Street dance Aerobics class. I expect that I will enter the class with my usual arrogance of wowing them with my dancing skills only to end the class falling on my ass… I cannot wait!

Walk Out

2007-01-29T08:35:00.000+02:00

It is funny how you can go to sleep with a smile on your face and wake up the next morning crying. I guess it means I am just not happy at the moment. It is the beginning of that feeling deep in my chest that I had living in London, when I knew that I was moving to Israel. But the difference is that I am not going anywhere. I am staying here… with this feeling that leaves me crying on the way to work, snapping at my boss and wanting to walk out and start the day again tomorrow.

The tips of my ears are constantly itching and red hot. The voices are all around me and they are all the saying the same things. I want to shout out and make myself heard but the looks say, “Be a good girl, play your part and try not to say something stupid.” There is no refuge. No home I have in this country where I do not feel this in some way and I try to understand what happened that made me the village idiot. My gut is to just walk away, start afresh and find something new. But I am getting to an age where that would just be foolish, and as I am in fact not the village idiot, I refuse to behave like one.

I try and think about all the good things currently in my life, and there are lots of those treasures around me that I love and adore and who I know respect me for the person they know I am. The ones who take the time to listen to my stories, the friends who walk me all the way home because they see I am too drunk to get there myself, those who know they can rely on me for anything and do, those who understand that when I am calling ‘just to say hey’ that is cue for them to make me laugh, the people who are always around, always there and always care what is going on in my life, not just when they want something in return.

There are enough people close around me that have no idea who I am or what I feel, for if they did they certainly would not take advantage of my kindness the way they do. I feel like I have ‘mug’ written on my forehead and with every smirk that it is sent my way, the lettering becomes darker and darker and is tattooed deeper into the creases. I try to wipe it off, but there on the other side is the word ‘nagger’ so it is either one or the other. So what do I do instead? Nothing. I shut my mouth, I don’t say a word. I pretend like everything is fine, that I am not hurt, disappointed or offended. I could pretend like this forever. I can be a good actress when need be. The only thing is that I am miserable.

(Sorry to be so morbid on my 100th posting... I swear it will get better)

Fox Skin

2007-01-25T15:14:00.000+02:00

On the drive to work today I passed a dead fox in the road. Being brought up in the suburbs, close to the countryside, I was used to seeing foxes walking across my lawn, across my street, in my bins, laughing at my street cat that tried to stop it from entering her territory. The foxes of Leeds were actually beautiful to watch. I loved to see their rich and vibrant coats as they ran up my driveway towards their prize. I never thought of them as wild animals, they were the suburb’s pets… the ones we kept outdoors at all times and never tried to pet. However the fox this morning, despite being dead, was very different to the animals I was used to. This fox was truly a wild beast. Its coat was warn and dull in colour, with black strips throughout. In fact it looked more hyena than fox, with its fangs hanging out of the side of its wide slashed mouth. I stared at it for long as I dared without crashing into the car in front of me.

I have a real feeling at the moment that everything is changing while everything stays the same. New people are coming into our lives as old ones are fading out and for the first time in a long time I am wishing that we could spin back time a few months and hold it there just a little longer. But then I realise that I am a lunatic and that we cannot stop time, we cannot turn back time, we just have to move onwards and forwards. Yes it may seem that really nothing has changed since last year. It may seem that all the goals I set for myself throughout my Aliyah have not all come to fruition, but as long as I sit here and dwell on what never was, I will miss out on what could and should really be. I know what I want for myself and only I can achieve that, even though it would be nice to push the hassle every now and then onto someone else. But the one good thing about looking back is learning from what you left behind you and as someone who has had her fair share of crutches in the past I think the time has come to stand on my own two feet and kick those crutches to the side… ok maybe I will take it step by step.

Last week finished with sickness as opposed to the fun Thursday night I had in mind and this Thursday night looks to be one of those evenings where we are all doing our own thing. Long gone are the summer evenings at Clara’s, buying vodka by the bottle and dancing in the sea at the end of the night. It is like the winter is freezing every bit of fun out of my nights and the only parts of my days that I look forward to are the gym and my bed. Not even my living situation is what it was and it is a lonely existence. Usually it would be about now that I would grab a bottle of wine, grab my mobile and message an ex, but not even that appeals right now. I don’t think it is depression, because I am not depressed and in the wide scheme of things I have nothing to be depressed about. I think I am tired of being boxed up and wrapped in a ribbon. I think I am just bored. Well tough shit I guess. Because if I want to get where I am going then I am going to be boxed and bored for a while and if I don’t like it… well I will just have to keep looking to the future with one eye over my shoulder. At least my hair is looking great at the moment.

And no, I am not a scared bunny… I am a shark goddamnit!!

I'll take the beef with a side dish of guilt

2007-01-16T17:00:00.000+02:00

I cannot believe it has been a week since I have written anything. I cannot believe that with all that has happened in that time that I have not even had the urge to write something down. That is until last night.

Yesterday, everything shut down and all that was left was the overwhelming feeling of guilt. Why guilt? What do I have to feel guilty about? I struggle to remember and then I wonder perhaps it is just hormones, but the timing for that is all wrong. I have the same feeling deep in my chest that I have when I know a family Yautzite is coming up. The feeling of doom; the feeling that any second the knife wielding monster is going to jump out of the closet, the shark is going to attack, and somehow with all this guilt I feel like I had it coming.

Last night with all this on my mind I decided to beat it out of my system with a full on work out at the gym, but after 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer the guilt was in my muscles and I could not go any further. Hearty soup that I had made the night before was home waiting for me and the idea of something beefy and fulfilling inside me seemed to ease my joints. I walked out of the Dizengoff centre and made my way home trying to switch off the little voice… and then I realised that the little voice was not in my head, but was the voice of a stranger trying to get my attention.

I carried on walking and ignored his attempts to get my attention. I snuck a peak under my cap to my side and there he was… still trying to get my attention. I was now feeling stalked. I turned into my road and looked around to see him walk away. Phew! I then walked into the gateway of my apartment to the front door and was suddenly amazed to hear him behind me again. I swung around and was faced with this guy who asked me if I recognised him. “Who the hell are you?” He told me his name and asked for mine and began to move in closer. All the guilt, all the fear and all the shock I was feeling suddenly bubbled over and as tears welled up in my eyes I told him to leave me alone, that approaching a girl in that way was not nice and to Fuck off!

His face dropped and it was then I realised what beautiful eyes he had. But it was my eyes that would not stop… I ran up the stairs to my apartment, opened and bolted the door shut behind me and wept. It took the soothing words of Eli to make me stop crying and once again feel guilt for going crazy at a guy who was probably not an axe murderer or serial rapist, but just a guy who has bad enough taste to ask me for my number as I walked home sweaty and dishevelled from the gym. More guilt!

Today I feel much better. I have been focussed on work and the other distractions have just been fleeting. Plans for the weekend and Thursday night are beginning to take shape and I am now going to have to let go of a very fun Thursday night and blissful Shabbat with the family and move on to a new weekend. Perhaps this weekend will help me purge the guilt and move on to a new week, with new adventures and distractions to tempt me. Not that all the ladies are so happy… now that I am discovering that dipping into their pool once in a while can be a surprisingly fun experience. Bring it on girls… bring it on!

QashQai Fun

2007-01-09T10:48:00.000+02:00

I want to be this guy...

The Flying Fish:

The Flying Fat bloke:

The Flying Fuck:

Thank you Nissan for the amusement. Shame it didn't sell you more cars.

(nb Thanks israluv for forwarding this to me... My office loves it!)

What does the future hold?

2007-01-07T16:39:00.000+02:00

After the thick fog of booze lifted from weighing down my duvet over my eyes, I awoke to a new year and found that I had a lot to look back on and think about. My head was a whirl with alcohol fuelled evenings that although have been a delightful addition to my social life, have done little for my worn down body. And now with the New Year my body is beginning to fight back… and not a moment too soon!

After a month of living without TV and loving the little joy of a laptop with endless episodes of my favourite shows (House MD, Studio 60, Entourage, and of course Grey’s Anatomy) I got a little ahead of myself and decided that I could live without TV full-stop and promptly told the bitch in the accounts department of YES where she could go stick her pompus attitude and if she didn’t want my ‘kind of business’ then I would quite happily take it elsewhere! Unfortunately the only other place to run is HOT. HOT the TV channel that has removed BBC Prime and replaced it with more Russia channels and Ethiopian TV programmes. Where are the British supposed to find refuge in this country that will not let us keep up to date with the goings on of Albert Square nor even provide our bills in another language other than Russian or Hebrew. So when the nice American guy who works for YES’s “get you back” department called and begged me for forgiveness, begged me to come back, promised me all the love, all the BBC Prime TV and all the service I got before at a reduced rate, I thought for a moment and reminded myself that the laptop was soon to be returned to its owner and my smugness at telling them where they could go stick it, would ultimately be stuck with me…. TVless!

YES-man: Please tell me what I can do to make you happy
ME: (Sidestage: Hmmmm find me a man that will say that and mean it)
Actually can you send me my bills in English?
YES-man: No
ME: Ok. So can you have it so my account can be seen on the Yesbox in English
YES-man: No
ME: (Sidestage: I am thinking this is a NO-man and not a YES-man)
Am I a second class citizen?
YES-man: Yes… sadly in the land of Israel there is no room for us Anlgos… I guess there just aren’t enough of us.
ME: Or maybe we just don’t complain enough… Want to start a Coup!?
YES-man: Err… no.

Ok so I am not starting a coup, but I do think it is ironic that both companies who refuse to provide service in the English Language both use English words as their name! YES and HOT…. Hmmmmmmm, I leave it with you to come up with the appropriate rhymes to go with those names. I have lots!

Anyway, moving on, I had a quick week last week due to days off from work to recover from New Years, which was made all the more fun by the presence of Mr. Javor. (Dude you may be gone, but you will never be forgotten… Come back soon!!) But as with all short weeks, the weekend was even shorter and half way through a very pleasant Friday night snuggled on the sofa of Ginrod with a glass of wine in one hand and the other under a blanket trying to find warmth, I realised that the weekend was very almost over. Saturday came too soon and after a festive rendition of Cinderella I contacted as many of the folk I had not sent seasons greetings to and had an early night.

I have never been one to make New Years Resoluations. I like to treat my life with constant assestments and reward reviews so that no year ends with too many nasty suprises. As far as the rest of my life? Well I can only focus on one thing at a time when it comes to my life and I have finally found that I am the most important thing in MY life, so that is what I am focusing on at the moment…. Everything else is frosting… and you know how partial I am to a bit of frosting!

I would like to wish you all a belated Happy New Years. May this year be the beginning of the rest of our lives, filled with joy and happiness, health, wealth and success! XXX

English girls can drink?

2006-12-28T22:05:00.000+02:00

You people clearly haven't downed a shot with Ms Freeman...

Hmmmmm What was that comment about my eighth drink?!?!?!

Roar Like a Lion

2006-12-27T14:25:00.000+02:00

This weekend I took a break from the city of sin and decided to ascend to the heavenly mountains of Ramat Bet Shemesh, where my more holy older sister lives with her brewed of perfect children and doting husband (Yo Vic!) for Shabbat.

I find the problem with living in Tel Aviv is that you become used to the hustle and bustle of the dirty depraved city and to leave seems like madness when you think of all the bars and restaurants and life in general that is swarming around your doorstep. By comparison, the idea of going to a quiet settlement up in the hills only surrounded by the Ultra-Orthodox can seem like heaven and hell all at once. On the one hand, I get to spend a weekend surrounded by the Ultra-Orthodox with no-where to escape in my sleeveless top and jeans without the risk of being stoned (and not in a good way). However, on the other hand, I also get to spend a weekend in the bosom of my family, eat good food, get some peace and quiet (from the city that is) and be entertained all weekend by 5 of the cutest and most beautiful children you will ever meet, my nieces and nephews… and no I am not just being biased… they really are THAT perfect.

Now the weekend might have been a little lacking on the peace and quiet I had hoped for, somehow I always underestimate the noise of 5 children, however it was so great to play with the kids, especially playing Connect 4 with Shalom, laughing as he tried to cheat a couple of times. Being around kids reminds you of how much fun your childhood was. I remember play fighting with my brother and sisters. I remember how rough we would sometimes get, like kittens jumping over each other, so that mum and dad would not realise we were just playing but think that World War III had entered the Graham household. Oh and yes I remember when World War III did actually enter our household from time to time… Oh yes, my older sister and I especially would be the cause of that! Trashing each others rooms, screaming matches in public… for some reason we just loved to piss each other off! In some ways I kind miss it… I mean now that we are all grown up and I can’t just wrestle her to the ground when she annoys me (I always used my extra 6 inches and weight to my advantage), or play fight because we are grown up now and what kind of example would that set for the children!

And then today my brother-in-law sent me this beautiful link and with his permission I am sharing it with you all… Because when you are the little one and your big sister is in your face, my advice has always been stand your ground and roar like a lion!! Noam you are a star!

Destroy Israel?... Why Not!!!

2006-12-20T12:22:00.000+02:00

Dance for Israel

2006-12-19T16:02:00.000+02:00

Back in October I gave you the dancing Matt... Now I give you the dancing Oleh!!

The naked version will be coming soon....

Seasons Greetings... Happy Chrismakah!!!!

2006-12-14T18:02:00.000+02:00

'Tis the season that we all celebrate the dudes, known as the Maccabis, kicking some serious ass and eating sugary doughnuts in celebration. And while are Christian friends have a fat guy with a white beard to look forward to, and one day of presents, I remember the 8 days of increasingly more exciting presents I would get from my folks as a kid (well ok... the first 7 days were chocolate coins).

So as I am starting to get into the festive spirit and as Capital FM has already started playing Christmas songs I did not want my fellow Maccabis to feel unloved... In case you have been on another planet for the last 5or so years, here is Adam Sandler...I give you all three versions of the Chanukah song!!!

CHANUKAH SONG - Part 1

CHANUKAH SONG - Part 2

CHANUKAH SONG - Part 3

And don’t forget after you have smoked your marijuanika to have a happy happy happy happy Chanukah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What is in a Name?

2006-12-12T16:42:00.000+02:00

When I was a Jew living in a foreign country, living with a Jewish name I ran into the following problems:

a) People mispronouncing my name. This can range from pronouncing a CH as in ‘chain’ and ‘change’ instead of making the guttural sound of Ch as in ‘Chanukah’
b) People calling me a different, easier to pronounce, name all together. I have been called every name from Anna to Sharna in my time.
c) Some people find the C before the name Hannah so confusing that they instead choose to call me by my more English last name Graham, and this is not even a pet name. They honestly thought that I was boy called Graham CHannnah!
d) My passport and birth certificate having a different name to the one on my ticket. I would never have thought this would be an issue when flying ELAL, but because my British passport holds the name Hannah and my ticket was ordered by my loving parents in the name of Channah it proved far too confusing for the security at the ELAL check in.

When I arrived in Israel I felt the sweet bliss of not having to repeat my name several times over, or to sigh when people would ditch the C and H all together and call me Anna. In Israel I was Channah. I was me. I was the name of my grandmother, the name my parents gave me, and I felt so relieved. However it was short-lived.

Channah in England is a pretty bog standard name for a Jewish girl, and Hannah is continuously one of the top three most popular names in England each year, however in Israel the name I inherited from my Grandmother is just that… a name of a Grandma. This is a problem a few of my friends who came with pretty traditional Hebrew names in England to Israel… their names were just not cool enough. Shop keepers welcoming the new Olah to Israel would make suggestions regarding a change of name, “Your name is just not cool. You should go with Chani instead… much more hip!”

Er… Chani? Chani in England is the name of the Rabbi’s daughter. For years I had refused to allow the Jews of England call me Chani… well I do make an exception for a Mr Javor and every now and then for a Ms Freeman (if she is very very good). There was no way I was changing my name to Chani! And then there was the option of Ilana, my middle name, which I can only stand if it is pronounced with a Yorkshire or Israeli accent. However, everywhere I turned I saw Ilanas or Elanas. Plus in my first few weeks in Israel I found myself living next door to an Ilana Channah, so making the same change to my name would be way to confusing.

So for the last two years I have lived with the fact that although my name may not be cool in Israel, I am too cool for Israel… well that is what I tell myself anyway. Then Thursday night there was a new revelation.

Yummyguy: So you still haven’t told me your name
ME: I thought I did… you never told me yours.
Yummyguy: You never asked… it’s @#*&%
Me: I’m Channah
Yummyguy: Channah? You don’t look like a Channah
ME: Yeah I know… Channah is a grannies name blah blah blah
Yummyguy: No… I would say Channah is more of a naïve girls name… you are certainly not naïve!
ME: Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…. Thank you?

I wasn’t sure whether to take it as a compliment or more of a reference to the indecent flirting that had been going on all night, but I was slightly shocked. Although I have never considered myself nor have been referred to as a naïve girl, I did not like to be told that I was ‘certainly not’ one! What are you trying to say dude?

After telling my new boss about this she suggested looking it up in a names book. I was a little dubious as I once looked my name up in the Hebrew dictionary and found it said that my name meant “a camp site for soldiers.” I was not pleased, but I thought I would go along with her suggestion and I found the following:

From the Hebrew name חַנָּה (Channah) which meant "favour" or "grace". Hannah was the mother of Samuel the prophet in the Old Testament. The Latin version of this name is Anna.

Channah – Goddess of Life – Hebrew

CHANNAH - Variant of the Hebrew name Chana meaning “gracious, merciful”.

The girl's name Hannah is pronounced HAN-ah. It is of Hebrew origin, and its meaning is "favored grace." Biblical: mother of the prophet Samuel. Being barren, she asked God to bless her with a child, and her prayer was answered. Hence, the name literally means "God has graced me with a son."

But seriously what is really in a name? In olden days I would have been called “Troublesome second daughter of Stephen the man among daughters.” In my mind among my friends I am the UN truck, the one that they can always rely on when they need a hand, an ear or a shoulder. I am the one that cannot stop crying 1 day in every 2 months. I am the one with selective hearing that they are secretly jealous of. I am the one who doesn’t really give a shit, but then does when it comes to her true friends. I am the one that will not let people get too close even though they may think they totally know me. Ultimately I am someone who tries to carry myself with grace and wit. Who strives for humility and love. Who sees the romance in all things and would only love the world just to kiss and make-up. So I guess I have found peace with my complicated name, because it has beautiful meaning.

Beyond the literal, ultimately I was named after my Grandma Annie. I wish I had a picture to show you of Grandma Annie, but you will have to make do with my description of her as a person instead. Although I never met my grandmother, I was born a year after she died, I have always been told what a remarkable woman she was. People describe her as the most welcoming woman with a warm heart, vivacious personality and contagious giggle. An amazing woman with a wonderful soul. I remember seeing a picture of her just before she died with my sister and wishing that I could have met the woman that everyone said I would grow up to be like, the woman that everyone referred to as a woman beautiful both inside and out. What a legacy to leave behind… What a shadow to walk behind. But with her name I do hope that I can leave something similar for my granddaughter/s to look up to. And with a little grace and hoping that HE may look favourably upon me I carry on my walk through life. Just call me the Goddess of Life from now on.

Dude I am fine!!

2006-12-10T16:20:00.000+02:00

I never thought that the last blog would cause such controversy. To be honest I never thought that people really cared that much, but from the time I posted my last blog, I have received the same, “Is everything ok with you?” question and pitying look from near and far. I was a little taken a back to be honest. Sometimes I forget that people are reading. No that sounds dumb. Of course I know people are reading… I have a site meter. What I mean is that although when I write a blog I am very conscious about who the blog relates to and whether they will be reading and I always think about what my family will think should they be reading, I never really think about everyone else… the public, and how they may see me.

Random: Hey… so how are things with you? You seemed blue last week.

Me: No not really. I just had to rant about something. I hadn’t written in ages, I have been overworked and on my period for like forever! I am fine (big cheesy grin)

Random: Err… ok

Hmmmm… Perhaps a little too much information.

Yag: Hey doll, is everything ok? What Sagas? Anything I should know about?

Me: Dude I am fine!

Yag: You missing Nooman?

Me: Dude I am fine!

Nooman (my roommate) has gone to England for a week and pretty much straight after that will be going into the army. So for the next 6 months it looks like I will be living alone. Something I am looking a lot more forward to now that the rapist (Benny Boy – Not Nooman) has been caught. Also we have a new neighbour. A cute old homeless man stands outside my apartment day and night, guarding his wheelie dustbin (trash can) that he has claimed as his home. He asks for money in English. I don’t know what it is about him, but I am always grateful to see him standing there protecting my entrance way when I come home late from a night out a little worse for wear. I want to speak to him, to find out his story, but something stops me from approaching him… perhaps my English reserve, perhaps my own shyness that I cover over with my own self confidence. Either way I am glad he is there… and I lovingly have started to refer to him as Albert…. There is something about the long white hair…

This weekend I spent a night in Jerusalem, joining Lexus Maximus’ festivities for her birthday and then letting friends I have not seen for a while drag me to different parties around the area. In the back streets around Yaffo, all nations spent their evening partying in the spirit of their countries. The Brazilian boys were dancing wildly, drinking heavily and, luring women into their little shack… After we made the great escape we were promised a good time from the Americans… yeah nothing new there.

I walked into a Hebrew Uni frat party and immediately felt at home. The Greek style Karma Sutra playing cards were a fun icebreaker and soon I found myself in the kitchen talking to the tallest guys I have ever met. Mike (6”5) and Brian (6”10)… I kid you not! I stood and talked to them about nothing more than how intimidated I was standing next to them and where the mixers where for the vodka. After I realised that I was going have to drink citron vodka straight, I went to find the girls I had come in with and found them in the corridor with the only Israeli’s in the party. Oh how I love some harmless flirting and a charade!

The next day I enjoyed taking part in the Jerusalem tradition of Tal Bagels for breakfast. However, for me Tal bagels is never as simple as going for a brunch at a café in Tel Aviv. In Tel Aviv, brunch is a quiet, civilised experience with a few friends preferably at The Brassiere. In Jerusalem brunch with your friends means turning up at Tal Bagels and standing around the table your friend has reserved while a million of the people they know from Katamon/ the shul/ the supermarket/ the old country, turn up and sit in your seats! However, as I categorically told my friend that should that happen I would go and eat on my own at Burger Ranch instead, this week was far more civilised. That is until I got passed the salt.

Half way through my brunch and I decided to add a little salt to the egg… big mistake! The cap had not been put back on properly and there I was with a snowfall of salt all over my plate, lap and in my handbag. It was actually pretty hilarious although I am gutted that Sabra did not have her camera to hand as it would have made a good shot for this blog, plus I got a new breakfast so it was all good. The only thing that bothered me somewhat was its meaning… There is always meaning in everything.

They say that salt over the left shoulder is good luck, so what does it mean when it lands in your lap?

Saga after saga

2006-12-06T16:25:00.000+02:00

I know I haven’t written in a long time. To be honest there has been no time in the day, and until I have full access to a computer at home, I am having to rely on the few minutes I have to spare every few weeks to update you on my life… and that is just the parts of my life that I can print!

Not to imply that there is a lot of excitement going on. To be frank there is not enough of the excitement I want, and a little too much of the sagas I like to avoid. But as you all know, although I am always willing to write about my excitements, I am not about to start writing about the sagas… I mean I can barely believe I live them never mind having to repeat the stupidity to the world!

Seriously, what are sagas all about? No-one ever knows what they are about. They come out of the blue with a cat fight caused by a spat, caused by a misunderstanding which generally has something to do with (in the case of women) hormones and or lack of sex or (in the case of men) to do with lack of sex and or being sick. Either way, they are bullshit and I tend to try to avoid them. The only problem is that no matter how much you try to avoid them, when you are in the middle of one, there is no way out. No matter what you say, you make matters worse. Which would imply that perhaps it is better to shut the fuck up, a piece of advice I try to pass on to all my friends, however when you are in the middle of it you just cannot shut the fuck up… you just want to sort it the fuck out.

When I see sagas happening around me I hide out in the company of more chilled out, less hormonally challenged friends. When it is me that is hormonally challenged there is nowhere to hide. I take a walk, I take myself away from others, but I cannot take myself away from myself. So I cry… Why? Because I am totally frustrated with myself, and as I have never been suicidal, and as I consider myself a pretty sane person, it is highly frustrating when you take a step out of your own body and see yourself as a psycho bitch from hell.

So how do I get out of it? Sit it out and just wait for it to pass? Ignore the saga going on around me and try to go back to concentrating on work? Whinge to a friend who will make me laugh at myself because seriously… I am not a psycho… although once every two months I do talk like a coke head. The world is endless of possibilities and options for a girl like me who is sometimes a little too self aware. Do I take up every offer? No… I am a lady after all! Ok I am trying to be :)

"When people are laughing, they're generally not killing each other." ~Alan Alda

Lost for words...

2006-11-22T16:59:00.000+02:00

For months the town of Sderot, situated in the South of Israel, has been bombarded by hundered of Kassam rockets from Gazza. You may not know about this, because, as I discovered when I googled Sderot, only certain newspapers have actually been printing the news:

Sderot: 20 seconds to take cover - November 22, 2006 15:16

Hamas: Jews must evacuate - November 22, 2006 14:01

Sderot: Qassam lands near school - November 22, 2006 09:14

Hamas terrorist killed while trying to launch Kassam - November 22, 2006 08:05

Family of victim message to Olmert: Wake up, Sderot is crying - November 21, 2006 20:27

Sderot rocket victim dies of his wounds - November 21, 2006 00:08

Three Kassam Rockets Strike Sderot, Two People Seriously Wounded - November 20, 2006 13:46

Three Israelis injured in Sderot - November 19, 2006 13:30

And what has the international press had to say about this?

BBC - November 22, 2006 10:38

The Guardian - November 22, 2006 14:15

I am neither shocked nor suprised nor even offended that the international press has forgotten about Sderot. I think the people of Sderot feel like even Israel herself has forgotten about Sderot. "The path to Auschwitz was paved with indifference." Sorry, just something I read today...

Somewhere over… where?

2006-11-15T09:42:00.000+02:00

This morning there was rain… rain with blue skies and fresh green smells all the way to work. After a night of strange dreams fuelled by amber nectar and whispering fairies, I awoke wide eyed seconds before my alarm went off. I made my lunch, showered, brushed my teeth and dressed for another busy day at work. On the way down the coast towards Herzlia the rain showed reflections of cars on the road, while the taillights caused little red trails that I followed to my destination. Even the traffic lights shine brighter in the wet and illuminate the sky as I speed under the amber flashing.

In the office my computer is dull compared to the mass colour activity occurring outside my window. The clouds are coming in from the direction of the black sea, swallowing the blue skies in its path, and I know that soon all the colours will be gone and it will be another grey day of this season of rain. But then I see colour flash in front of my screen and I see in between my building and the office building ahead a rainbow. A thick bright rainbow that seemed to come out of nowhere, but was definitely leading somewhere. They say that at the end of a rainbow is a pot of gold. Well at the end of this rainbow was the non-kosher supermarket that sells pork. They also say that somewhere over the rainbow ‘skies are blue’, but on the other side of the rainbow there are only grey skies.

But I still hold out the hope that somewhere over the rainbow all the dreams that I dare to dream will one day come true.

Have a good day people!

A Global Affair

2006-11-14T14:04:00.000+02:00

In this violent and volatile world that we live in it is very difficult to see how you as just an average citizen can do anything to bring peace love and happiness about. It is something I thought about a lot during the recent Lebanon war. It is something that I know is on the minds of a lot of people around the world... well on the minds of those who aren't blowing themselves up in the name of Jihad. So what can we do?

Well I have come across (thanks to a Sabra) an ingenious website which seems to have the answer. It would appear that my thoughts connecting war and horniness during the Lebanon war were not totally off the track...In 37 days, 18 hours, 29 minutes and counting will be Global Orgasm Day!
That is on December 22nd, 2006 (put it in your diaries).

The purpose of this day; other than being good for your general health, complexion and a sure way to get a good workout, is to help change the energy field of the Earth via the largest possible surge of human energy... Well their reasoning is that it has been tried through communal prayer and meditation, but a communal Orgasm... that could have explosive effects! They have also suggested that it is mainly those who live in countries with weapons of mass destruction who have most need to hop on the bandwagon as it were.

People I leave you to make your own decisions on the topic, but what with all the death, destruction and disease in this world... perhaps we should do it for our 'country', the global community that is our world. And even if you don't believe in all this energy fields palaver, what kinda person are you who turns down a reason to have an extra orgasm. Guys and Girls this is a chance to set aside a day in your and your loved one's calenders, or if you are single to grab a guy or a girl, just for the best reason in the world... an orgasm to save the world!

Well I have tried to do my bit for our Global community... I know what I am going to be doing on

Friday December 22nd, 2006

... Is it an all day event?

For more info check out http://www.globalorgasm.org/

Al BBc

2006-11-13T21:35:00.000+02:00

Sick and Restless

2006-11-08T15:20:00.000+02:00

There is nothing more certain in my life than when I need to be well, when one of my best friends are in the country for one day and one day alone, that is the day that I get sick. After weeks of eating well, exercising hard and generally looking after my boo, my body sees the forthcoming deadline of the J man's arrival and so decides to take a leave of absence... one two three everything begins to shut down and so here I am, on my fourth day off work, sick and restless.

I am craving something...

The doctor said I had a respiratory infection. Basically my cold has got to my lungs and now I am high on cough syrup, antibiotics and a ventilator to help me breath at night. No more wine, no more cigarettes, no more anything bad in my system... I can't even have a medicinal shot of whiskey in my lemon and honey. For the next ten days and perhaps onward I am T-total... again.

I am craving something very bad...

How many times can one person take antibiotics before you become immune to every sickness on the planet... if only it worked that way, but here I am not getting any younger and I am having to remind myself that no matter how young I might feel (I still feel 18 some days) my body is in the know and in the end it will catch up with me.

They say that once you hit 30 your skin stops rejuvenating itself. Hmmmmm just under 3 years to go.... perhaps I should get a head start now. I mean if the rest of my family stopped aging past 16 then maybe I should let Mother Nature take her course and stop fighting her with all the toxins of the world. I mean seriously, what am I fighting her on? Ok I give up I will stay young and beautiful forever... you win!

But I want it bad!

The easy part... Now I am just restless, so I am writing aimlessly... you want to know the point of this blog today? There is no point, other than the fact that I am restless. I have watched my fill of Grey's Anatomy, Sex and the City, Dr. Plastic and Amazing Race, and now I just want to release some energy! I would go to the gym, but the infection is still at a stage where if I go for a walk I am out of breath. So I guess instead of releasing energy I am abusing a borrowed laptop and releasing my emotions.... well they have been kept pent up for a while so I guess they deserve a little spin around the block.

Hmmm... But now I have given myself free reign to go crazy, I just don't want to. I guess I don't have as many emotions as I thought, or maybe I have just lost the energy to bother.

It was so good to see Josh when he was here. He was only around for one evening, but as always it was a pleasure. Josh is possibly the only one of my friends that every single one of my other friends love. To the extent that when I told people that he was in town for one night, everyone came over to see him... I felt very honored on his behalf. And despite being sick and refusing to kiss anyone hello as they stepped in the door, there was no way that evening was going to go by without me jumping on Josh and kissing him a million times. I miss the weekends we used to spend together slobbing out in front of the TV, listening to each others story of the week and saying "whatever" after every silly saga, playing Monopoly with friends... actually it would be more like Josh and his friends ganging up on me while we played Monopoly because I am such "an entertaining sore loser". I beg him to move to Israel, but when you have the coolest job in the world in England, you still come to Israel 2-3 times a year for a party, you have to remind yourself what you would be making aliyah for. Once upon a time I could have convinced him that the women in Israel were the finest in the world, but now not even that bribe is enough.

Have I sufficiently got every thought out of my head? Not quite... but for now.

Still restless, still sick... still sick and restless. So what do you do? You pick up the phone and call an old friend you love. You read a book or listen to a song that makes you cry. You do everything you can to remind yourself that you feel something... because it may be one of the only ways left to remind yourself that you are still human. Maybe that is why my body shut down, stopped breathing... to remind me to breath for myself.

Vincent

2006-11-02T16:37:00.000+02:00

Things have got from busy to hectic since I last blogged and sadly I haven’t even had time to go to the gym… something that my drill sergeant keeps banging on at me about. A semi-promotion (notably without a pay rise at the moment) has left me running around my huge learning curve, and trying to take in as much information as possible before the girl I am replacing leaves. I guess it is an honour to be given so much extra responsibilities… I guess we will see how much extra is an honour and how much is just chutzpah.

Meanwhile the weather in my little country of love has cooled dramatically and I find myself scratching my head wondering where I put all my long-sleeved t-shirts and jumpers. The balcony at work is flooded so now there is nowhere to run for fresh air except downstairs on to the street. The clouds have infiltrated the blue skies and no sun is to be seen, so there is no need to close the blinds. I stare out of my window to a grey sky reminiscent of the good old days in London. The only difference is the sea. At least I can see the sea… dark and gloomy today.

It is funny how the weather can control your mood. Yesterday so full of life and giggles, looking for costumes and trying on wigs for the Halloween party in Jerusalem tonight, today so full of rain and clouds that I am struggling to concentrate on my work. And to make matters worse, all my friends in the office decided to opt for a burger lunch. Tempting it was, but determined to extend my tenacity to myself I decided to eat the salad I had prepared, only to find that some evil person had eaten half of my salad! Was the whole thing not good enough for you?!?!

The rain falls, the clouds swirl and surge further and I am fast becoming an emotional wreck. Everyone has eaten already, my options are walk out in the rain, get a sandwich and eat alone in front of my computer, or I could just wait until I go home… but I am hungry! I walk around the office with a sad face until my pregnant friend orders me to eat with her… the beautiful girl made a meal of rice and schnitzel (the homemade kind, not the crap that people eat from the freezer) and all I had to do was chop the vegetables for a salad.

PF: Channah you have to get out of this blue mood!
ME: I don’t know what is wrong with me… I reckon it is just hormonal
PF: Oh girl that would be great if you were pregnant!!
ME: I don’t think pregnancy is catching…
PF: If it is I am changing your name to Mary!

We feasted like the queens we are, and talked about our lives. I am constantly amazed by the people I meet in Israel. In England I knew people who would whinge about their horrible lives and all they had ever lived through was not making rent one month! Here in Israel I sit and have lunch with someone who lost family members in a suicide bombing, and those who did not die were left heavily scarred both physically and emotionally. I eat and talk with a vibrant girl who after her family moves to the States because they are so traumatised by the situation here is told that her green card is being taken from her because she came back to Israel to be drafted by the army. While her whole family lived in the States she had to find a life for herself in Israel… alone. Her family in the States and her, homeless, in Israel, she now finds herself in love, in a family, married, with a child on the way.

PF: I never thought I would ever deserve happiness

Her statement fills me with sadness, especially when I think of those I know and love who have said the same sad statement to me. We all deserve happiness. I know my friend here realised that in the end… maybe when the clouds give way to a spot of blue we may all realise that too.

Boarding Past

2006-10-23T22:17:00.000+02:00

I love airports. The smell, the hustle bustle, the background noise of the wheelie cases on the shiny floor and the badly behaved trolleys being pulled into line by a traveller with 3 cases piled high. I love the lights. I love the floor escalators that stretch on and on. I love the Bing Bong of the loud speaker, and I love the soft voice that says, “Please can all passengers flying on LY336 to Paris please make their way to the gate now. This flight is now boarding.” I love the golf trolleys that role around the airport delivering the elderly gentleman who got stuck in the toilets to his flight before they close the gate on him. I love the duty free section with its endless selection of perfumes and make-ups, wines and whiskeys, sunglasses, fluffy toys and giant Toblerone bars. I love the feeling of not knowing when you walk through the metal detector, and hold your breath waiting for the beep. I love the baggage collection area. I even have a soft spot for the queues at passport control.

However, regardless of whether I am a traveller or someone meeting a friend, my favourite thing about airports is the Arrivals lounge. I could sit for hours watching people greeting their friends, family and loved ones returning from their holidays, or flying in for a visit. The little old man arrives in to visit his son from England, expecting to find a shed for an airport and people walking around in funny clothes looks relieved if not warn out. The good-looking guy deep grin swaggers towards his girl-friend waiting with kisses and hugs... he has missed her. My favourite game, which I am useless at, is trying to figure out which arriving flight the strangers I see came from. Thankfully Amman is on the list as I would have got them all wrong!

As we stand waiting for Eli’s family and my friend to step through the doors, we control our excitement with this game, and turning around to stare at the beautiful guy behind us, trying to work out if he was there to meet a friend, family or a girlfriend… we were praying for family. It then occurred to us that an airport is a great place not just to pick up your friends and family members, but it is a great place to pick up some talent. The place is swarming with good looking people, only perhaps slightly on the pale side from the harsh lighting… or maybe it is just that I have already lost my summer glow… either way, one thing I am not a fan of at the airport. In the large arrivals lounge our game moves from guessing where they are from to ‘Are they really that good looking close up.’ For the most part I think I have the better taste of the two and decided that none of the guys arriving in were as worthy as the guy stood behind. But just as the voice of my more forward friends popped into my head saying ‘Give him your number,’ I saw a familiar face coming through the doors and heading to the opposite exit to where I was standing.

Forget tall beautiful man and time to hop. Skip and jump over people and their luggage. My friend, one of my best friends from England who had no idea I was coming to give him a kiss hello, finally noticed me stood grinning in his path and burst into a grinning, jumping, spring-back hug landing in perfect form on my right foot. Love is painful! Once we controlled ourselves and stopped hugging each other, I noticed the tall beautiful man was not looking in my direction anymore… “Wait… He is not my boyfriend! He is married for goodness sake! And I am not the right sex for him anyway!” But we had no time for fantasy explanations to my fantasy lover. We were on a mission of phone cards and making sure that Eli did not forget about me in her excitement to meet her mother, sister and splodge.

I suddenly flashed back to all the greetings my brother and I would share with our parents when visiting them in Israel. I remember the old terminal with the old arrivals lounge with the giant screen on the wall so people could see you coming before you walked out into the arrivals hall. I remember feeling not only greeted by my family, but also by all those strangers stood with banners and balloons in hand for their loved ones. I remember my final arrival into Israel; my family stood welcoming me home.

I remember my final departure from England. I remember my brother saying goodbye. I remember my brother, usually so in check of his emotions, hugging me and crying, while thrusting money into my hands for CD’s. I remember standing there, hugging him and saying goodbye and already planning in my head when I would go back to England to see him, and when he, my sister in law and the kiddies would be coming to Israel to see me. Now two years on, I have no date in my head. I have been and come back. He has visited and gone back to England, and now you ask me when I am next going to England and I have no idea… and that makes me sad. But I am determined it will be soon… so to all my favourite people in England, please note that I am thinking of you all, that I miss you all so much, that I am planning coming home to see you, and I am thinking of the Arrivals lounge.

What? Where? How?

2006-10-22T11:06:00.000+02:00

When I first moved to Israel, I was often faced with the question posed by all Israelis, “But why on earth did you make Aliyah?” I guess those people who have never actually lived in London find it very easy to comment on how wonderful a city it is to work and live in. While other friends who were also faced with the same question would allow themselves to be dragged into the heated debate of which is a better place to live, Israel or London, I found a simple 9 word sentence would just these people up long enough so I could move on to another topic of conversation, or vacate the taxi, “You don’t have to understand it. Just accept it.” I chose to move to Israel from London… deal with it!

Now two years on, people have stopped asking the question, perhaps this is because I am still here… I survived the first year of bureaucracy and came out the other side. I survived the second year of job searching, flat hunting and roommate swapping, and I am still here living and breathing with a job, an apartment and great friends. I no longer get the question of “Why did you do it?” and more the question of, “Why do you not speak Hebrew?” I find it funny that they ask me this question in English… I think they pretty much answer the question themselves just in the asking.

My weekend was a long one, starting on Thursday night in Jerusalem at a wedding of an old Ulpan friend. It was a beautiful wedding, set on the hills of Jerusalem under a canopy that the bride had sewn herself. Gypsy musicians on stilts walked the tiny bride and groom to their Chupah where she gave herself to him, he placed a ring on her finger, they drank the dangerously red wine without spilling a drop on her stunning wedding dress, and successfully smashed the glass to a round of applause and L’Chaim! My ‘girlfriend’ Eli and I found that we had finally been put in our rightful place… on the cool table for a change right next to the dance floor! It was so nice to catch up with a couple of the dudes from Ulpan, and avoid the psycho American Army guy who used to freak me out with his tales on how he knew how to shoot to kill. It is nice to see how everyone has found their place here and are creating their lives afresh in the country they have chosen to call home. Relatives visiting Israel for the first time from the States were in awe at the beauty of the venue, the relaxed atmosphere, and the fact that their siblings had found such ‘great people’ as friends and confidants in their new home. I was therefore not surprised by a phone call on the way home… it is easy to miss someone when you are reminded how great they actually are. Kinda sad that it takes the words of others for you to suddenly realise that.

Anyway, back in Tel Aviv a weekend of Oestrogen lay ahead and all things considered it was a pretty smooth and enjoyable Shabbat for all. On Saturday lunch four new girls joined our meal and it was actually nice to have some fresh blood around the table. Ok so a couple of the new girls were a joy to have around… the others… well lets just say that telling a group of new Olim that you are “privileged enough not to HAVE to make Aliyah” really does not make you very endearing. In fact this naïve little American chick was pretty lucky that despite walking into the lions den waving a piece of meat, the lions were all too tired and overfed to rise to her bate… Although the thought of swatting her like a fly did pass our minds. As one person who had been dealing with maggots all day I was not really in the mood for a pesky fly… she would find herself caught in her own spider web one day with such talk. Let the spiders sort her out.

After Shabbat we found ourselves out again at another roof top party. I was expecting a glass of wine and an early night, and at first that was exactly what I got. However, the roof began to fill up with people, the music was raised a notch, and people were beginning to forget about work in the morning and have a good time. It could have been the alcohol, it could have been the excellent tunes provided by DJ Howie, it could have been more of the alcohol, but on behalf of those of us who lay low on the brew I would like to thank the man who put a permanent smile on my face for the whole evening.

Ely, I am sorry that I never got to speak to you, to find out anymore than your name and take this picture. I would love to know if the moustache is real or if it is a dare you had going with your friends. I would love to know if your father and your brothers have the same moustache and it is in fact a family tradition handed down from generation to generation. I would love to ask if you have ever auditioned for the Village people. I would love to ask if you have a special comb for it. I would love to ask if you dye it or if that is it’s real colour… if it is in fact real. And for the other guys at the party, the ones trying to get the attentions of the girl on the sofa who was engrossed in a Chemistry lesson (no that is not a euphemism) and failing, the ones stood around the edge of the balcony staring desperately without making a move, the ones hoping that someone would notice them… Take a tip from our friend Ely... You wanna stand out, you wanna be noticed, you want women clamouring to find out who you are (without having serious surgery on your nether regions) and take pictures of you… Get a funny moustache! Ely we love you!!!

Liquid Dream

2006-10-19T11:22:00.000+02:00

This morning I awoke an hour before my alarm went off, and lay in bed wide-eyed, listening to the sounds of Tel Aviv waking up outside my window, and remembering the dream that had woken me from my deep slumber.

Before I went to sleep last night I stayed up for a while talking to Nooman; one eye on the football and one sympathetic eye listening to my sadness and long arms wrapped around me. I decided that as nice as this was and as much as I appreciated his words of love and sympathy I needed to retreat to myself and sort my own head out. Knowing it all is a disease. I know what people are going to tell me. I know the right and wrong things for me. I know what will and what will not make me happy… but ultimately when the tears start to flow, the tears start to flow and nothing I do and nothing I know will stop the voices in my head.

“What are you doing this for?”

“This is who you are… you will never change.”

“What do you expect? To be perfect?? No-one is perfect! Not even you Miss Boo.”

“You will fail.” “You should give up.”

“You shouldn’t give up.”

And then Nooman silences them, makes the tears flow faster, and says, “You know that you are more than this. You know that you have more to offer than just this. You are more fun to be around, you have more personality and spark… You are special.” But the trouble is that right at that moment I did not feel very special… I felt like the humus of the Middle East and not the variety with the herbs and pine kernels, but the plain old dry mushy kind that was left in the fridge too long.

I kissed my boo goodnight and walked to my room and collapsed into bed. I put the duvet back on the bed this week, and as the fan blared over my head I snuggled under the covers, closed my eyes, put the voices on mute and drifted into sleep.

I dreamt I was falling and as I fell I realised that I was in fact not falling, but sinking in clear blue water. I drifted, watching the bubbles from my mouth float upward. Around me were long stemmed seaweeds shooting endlessly upwards to the unreachable surface. In every leaf of the plant I saw eyes gazing at me. It seemed so beautiful at first, so I did not freak out that I was sinking further and further down and had no idea where the surface was. Blue finned sharks swam above my head, but I was not afraid. On the contrary I watched them envious… why had I not been born a shark? My old doll Mary floated up alongside me, and I stroked her curly hair one last time before she carried on to the surface. I was not ready to follow her up... it was so beautiful in the deep blue.

But when I looked back down I saw visions of the Scream, of Chucky from Childs Play, of the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and all the faces that scared me as a child. The water was cluttered with colours staining the clear water. I saw the faces of friends aging before me and I began to cry. With pained smiles they all reached for my hands, trying to drag me further down with them. I knew that if I wanted to get back to dry land I would have to swim up through the sharks that now had started to look menacing and seemed to swim in a ring of blood. My sister takes my hand, and just as she looks at me, her face pruned up so I could not tell which sister she was, I kicked away and swam upwards. I torpedoed up through the sharks, following the lines of the seaweed trees and heading towards the bright sunlight glittering through the blue.

I opened my eyes and my room was bright with sunlight. I looked at my clock to see my alarm was not due for another hour. So I lay back wide-eyed listening to the sounds of Tel Aviv waking up outside my window, and tried to decide what to wear for a wedding tonight.

Good Vibrations

2006-10-17T15:25:00.000+02:00

So it is another typical day sat in the office, fighting over who has control over the radio, forwarding funny clips from Youtube and basically counting the hours down to lunch, before counting the hours down to home time. Days are made up of routine and schedule. I get up, I go to work, I go to the gym, and only then do I allow variety to enter my life. Today I am particularly excited! My good friend who I have not seen in weeks has ordered me to keep tonight free so we can go out to dinner, at a place of my choosing, where he will probably pay. I love it! He is the best kind of date to have… you know, the best guy friend who loves to listen to your shit, buy you food, get you drunk, and not try and sleep with you afterwards! Every girl should have one!

Anyway, I am at my desk, looking at my msn for someone worthwhile to disturb at work, when another guy friend calls me for a chat and to book me in for tomorrow. This friend, a true hippy, is forever spouting on about Universal Energies and Positive Energies and despite the fact that he claims to have given up the green stuff, I am not so sure… but today I was somehow willing to listen. Apparently today, October 17, 2006, is a day where the Universal alignment is as such that any positive energy you put out there will come on you 1000 fold. Now I am not someone who is usually into these things… actually that is a lie, I am totally gullible and love being told that if I forward this on to 5 people then my wish will come true in 5 days! But regardless of the fact that I am a total mug for these things I do feel that there is something to it.

The world is made up of energies bouncing around; colliding into one another, creating new energies… why is it therefore so strange to think that if we add a few more positives to the mix then some of them might not land back on our plate, knocking the negatives out of the way. Yes I am imagining the energies as bowling balls! But seriously, it is like your friends. When I am pouring energy into my friends they always seem to in-turn pour energy into me. This is the same for any relationship you have… well other than the ones where it seems like you a pouring the good stuff into a black hole.

I once heard a story that pretty much sums this up from a Jewish perspective:

A young couple who were about to be married, but were nervous of how it would work as they both came from failed marriages, went to see a therapist to ask for advise on how to make a marriage work. The therapist told them that marriage is all about ‘give and take’.

While preparing for their wedding they went to see the Rabbi who would be marrying them and told him what the therapist had said. The Rabbi looked at the young couple and smiled, “Marriage is not about giving and taking. Marriage is about unconditionally giving to another person.” The young woman turns to the Rabbi and asks “But Rabbi how do you know that your needs are being met?” The Rabbi smiles again (Rabbi’s have a habit of smiling) and says, “Because when you are both giving you do not need to be concerned with gaining… When you are both giving to each other then automatically your needs will be met.”

We as humans spend too much time wondering what we are going to get out of things. If my boss asks me to do a project I wonder am I going to get the credit?/ will this go towards my end of year pay review? In work this is totally justified, to my way of thinking anyway, but we have let it spread to our personal lives, and I am finding more and more this ‘tit for tat’ mentality entering relationships. In some ways it is fair enough. You feel like you are the one making all the effort and getting nothing in return. I guess it comes down to a choice; you can either give without the concern of your needs being met, or you can cut them out of your life… There is a difference between an energy source and a black hole.

Anyway, in the event that today is a special day where the energies are more pliable and willing to go where you want them to go, I am just a messenger sending out a notice that between the hours of 10am October 17, 2006 until 1am October 18, 2006 there is an energy free for all taking place in a city near you… and all you have to do is just let it out there!

Shake that Thang

2006-10-16T11:14:00.000+02:00

Rain

2006-10-15T08:30:00.000+02:00

Today is the first day of the winter for me… officially.
Today I put on trainers to work and slide the flip-flops under the bed til dryer times.
I stand by my window and watch the rain fall down.
I think about standing outside mouth wide open, arms stretched out to welcome it.

It is 7am… Later than usual for me to leave for work…

Then I realise that I have no umbrella, nothing to keep me dry, nothing to shelter me from the pour.
Should I wear more layers?
Is it cold and wet?
Or is it muggy and damp?

You are late!!

Outside with my raincoat over my head, I remember how far away my car is.
I jump over puddles and slide along slippery mud on the ground.
I pity smile at the dustbin men picking up the now sodden rubbish off the floor of the street,
And they glance back the “Fuck you” look of someone doing a job they detest.

What is that smell?

I am relieved to find my car where I left it,
I am grateful that I find it just as the smell of the sewers rises up to greet me.
I forgot how the rain in the fall differs from the springtime showers…
Spring is sweeter, Fall is fouler.

And all the flowers are now dead.

Put the wipers on…

Just something that put a smile on my face this morning

2006-10-12T09:34:00.000+02:00

One day I am going to do the same... naked

More Smiles... It just gets better

2006-10-12T09:08:00.000+02:00

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Girls... I wanna see you do this tonight... without falling over ;)

Dressing Up and Drinking Down

2006-10-10T16:22:00.000+02:00

This week is passing by in a burgundy haze fuelled fumes of sweat, smoke and lots of red wine. Not that I am becoming an alcoholic, but nothing else seems to go with chats with friends, sushi, a bar stool, just after my shower after the gym. Seriously I have not become an alcoholic!

But on the plus side I have been working out like a fiend! Finally after months of forcing myself to go to the gym and only ever managing once a week if that, I have finally found the joy in the gym! Now I know many of you are going to think, knowing me as you do, that this is due to a man… but no, this is all me! I actually look forward every day to leaving work to go home, quick change, and walk through the Dizengoff centre to my gym. I am actually writing this blog because in 30 minutes I can leave and delve straight into my favourite routine… oh how the little things excite me now!

I love walking through the shopping centre seeing all the people plodding around, while I speed walk my way through the crowd, hopping down the steps, rushing past the people drinking their Café Afuchs and Croissants and straight on to the final slope to my gym where I am greeted by my favourite receptionist who swipes me through, smiles her perfect white smile and hands me my card back with a “Hey Channah” and wishing me a great work out! Yes it is cheesy, but I am growing to like it!

I run on the treadmill do a few weights, a few sit-ups and then head to elliptical trainer to end my session and I manage to do all this in around an hour so that I can be home in time to watch my favourite secret pleasure… The Gilmore Girls. Not even the cute guy asking to ‘know more about the gym’ and in the process ask for my number, will stop me from getting home in time for this little indulgence of mine! That is nothing until bloody Hallmark decided to move it from 6pm to 1pm… How am I supposed to rearrange my day around that?

So this week instead of coming home to one indulgence I have given in to another… Wine! And I wonder why on Monday night (oops I meant Sunday) I tried to get into bed fully clothed only to find myself on the floor… BOLLOX! I promptly decided that I was too drunk to go to sleep and stayed up to watch some TV and sober up... but I had only drunk 3 glasses of wine, and I am no light weight! I then realised that after coming back from the gym, showering, talking on the phone to a variety of people, I totally forgot to eat. Instead I enjoyed a liquid dinner of 3 glasses of red wine and my muscles were soaking up every dreamy drop! Hence my lack of bed to body co-ordination…

Now I am not telling you this so you can say “Channah has lost it”, “She’s becoming an alchi!”, “She’s drinking to deal with her problems”, “She must be feeling really low”. Seriously, I do see that after yesterday’s blog you may be thinking that I am in a very deep and serious place right now, but the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, is that I am doing great! Life is cool! I am feeling healthier and better than ever! The wine is just a little rouge I like to put on every now and then for a little added colour (tee hee hee). Shit the more I protest the more I feel like taking up the 12 steps. Ok fine! I admit it I am a raging alcoholic and I love it!! Anyone wants me I’ll be in the bar! :-)

p.s. playing dress up with your friends and dancing around to music is a perfectly normal and healthy way to let off some steam. (just to explain the above picture)
p.s.s. 74% like Evangeline Lilly!!! My Life is now complete!!!

Words of Worth

2006-10-08T08:28:00.000+02:00

“Every body’s talking at me… I don’t hear a word they’re saying”

I can’t hear it anymore… The words. I used to love the words. Being a person who loves the English language, I would lap them up one by one, let them swirl around my head, absorb into my brain and keep them there. Words of wisdom, words of love, words of worth… But I have heard so many of the same words, the same bullshit words, that they have become meaningless to me. The words of worth are now few and far between and the words of love have become worthless.

When did my heart produce the bounce back button? Is this something that happens to you with age? Or is this a sign of damaged goods?

I spent the weekend with my family in Ra’anana, and had the pleasure of my nieces and nephews being around too. It was such a joy to spend quality time with them. To watch them play together, fight together, find joy in life and scream their heads off when they were told they couldn’t have desert because they hit their brother. It was interesting to note that the Rabbi in Shul on Friday night (yes my dad almost died of shock that I was in Shul too!) brought up the topic of joy. He said “if you want to see joy in its purest form just head to your local Gan (nursery).” I didn’t have to go very far. There in my parents’ house was the Gan of the age 0 to 7, and on Shabbat afternoon I lay on the mattress fortress they had spent all afternoon making and destroying and read Mr. Men books and watched the joy on the faces when I promised to read another, when I let them play with my hair, when I smiled at them, and when their mum woke from her afternoon nap to feed them.

In my journey to find and unleash Channahboo I have been trying to look at my life through the eyes of a child and find the joy again. It has been successful to a large extent. I have found happiness in so many things; in the little things, in the big things, in my blood family and the family I have chosen for myself. The only area that dissatisfies me is the adult world, the world of words, a world without smiles and laughter, without holding hands and swinging in the air. We constantly have to explain ourselves, or at least we feel we do. No-one wants to be ‘the bad guy’ so we use words to explain away the bad actions. We lie to ourselves and to each other in order to appear to be the good one, the right one, the nice and kind one. Not the one who plays with other people’s emotions, not the one who takes advantage of our friends’ or loved ones’ kindness, not the one to use the other and not the one who calls an end to it, because that would make us ‘the bad guy’.

My two year old nephew, Noam, is just at the beginning of grasping the English language while simultaneously trying to grasp the Hebrew language. However, in doing this he uses more than words to express himself. I noticed that while the other children gabbled words out of their mouths trying to develop their vocabulary and learning to express their emotions with words, Noam’s face was more animated than the others. It was his primary way of communicating his emotions. His smiles seemed twice as big, and when I gave each of them a kiss goodbye his kisses were twice as loud as the others. Without words I knew that he was happy listening to my story, I knew that he was sensitive to me telling him to get off the bike, and without words I knew that he understood through my kisses that I was only afraid of him falling off and proceeded to get back on with a big grin on his face when I had moved it off the ledge and to a safer position.

So despite my love of words, despite my own urge to take words and make them beautiful, I have lost trust in these words… the words I hear.

“You are the best!”

The best what?

“You have no idea how much you mean to me”

Well actually I have no idea!

“We love each other”

I never said I love you… do you really love me?

“I can see myself falling in love with you”

But not now.

“You are truly amazing”

But not amazing enough.

“I still think about you”

I have heard it so many times before. And then there are the words of others. They are the words that I hear in my head coming out of the mouths of friends, and the words about you which have already been said about them. So while I am sat between the two, listening to both sides of the same story that all sound so familiar, who do I believe? Who has the ulterior motive? Who is trying to protect me? Who is out to dupe me? It is so confusing and so hurtful to me to think that I could have got it all so wrong, that I could have been so trusting and so stupid. I have been the player, I know the score… but I was told to be honest, to only say the words I meant. So while every body’s talking at me I am not going to hear a word they are saying, because I need more than words to show me how you feel. Or maybe the lack of, is actually worth a thousand words of worth.

Delicious

2006-10-05T16:10:00.000+02:00

I have finally pulled the plug on some of my added expenses. Well if I am ever going to be able to afford my own place I had better stop living like a lottery winner and start saving. So as part of my cut backs I have had to cut back on some of my extra curricular spending… that being my Latte Macchiato and croissant in the morning, my extravagant lunches at one of the many yummy restaurants in the area and most sad of all, my Yoga classes. As someone who belongs to a gym, which has its own yoga classes, it was becoming a little ridiculous paying for a gym and on top of that paying extra for yoga classes that I could be getting for free from my own gym. Although the yoga classes in my gym are not the same, the lovely Jamie is not teaching me, but Jamie is a sacrifice I will have to make for the sake of a home of my own.

Sad. Yes, but don’t cry for me just yet, because I have found a new passion to keep my adrenalin buzzing. Spinning!

Now I am very aware that I am probably one of the last people on this earth to discover Spinning, well including Ms Freeman. I am ready now to admit that in the past I was too scared or more truthfully, lazy, to try Spinning before. But now that I have done it I am hooked! The first class I took was more of an introduction to the bike; here is the seat – it should be at hip height, here is the resistance (Omes), here is the break, here are the peddles… In truth we only did about 20 minutes of a class that day, but it was more than enough for my poor bottom. People had warned me about the sheer exhaustion I would feel after the first class, they had warned me to drink lots of water, to take a towel with, to not eat anything before the class, but not one person had warned about the shear pain and potential damage it did to my rear end!

Obviously the designers spent more time ensuring that the front wheel of the bike (which is indoors and stagnant) cannot get water into it, than spending some time to ensure that my seat is padded sufficiently as to not burst a few blood vessels down there!

Gross! Ok so moving on…

Going to Spinning is like going to a bar. There are disco lights flaring around the room. The music is set to full blast. There are drinking sessions where the instructor makes us all take a shot before dragging us back to the dance floor for another ‘spin’. All in all it was pretty much a party, except for the fact that there was no alcohol to take my mind off the aching legs… perhaps an idea for my next class!

In truth I really loved the class. The instructor was charismatic and, despite the fact that we were all sweating together, made the whole class seem like such fun! Despite my initial trepidation and ‘cannot be arsed attitude’ to the whole thing, I ended up leaving the class grabbing Ms Freeman saying “My ass kills! But we are definitely going again next week!”

Now a week on I have to report that despite my ass-perience of the first class, the seat somehow didn’t hurt this time… Even Ms Freeman concurred! The second time around we had a different instructor who seemed to take the whole class up a notch and although we are all still very much beginners, we are all certainly a lot more confident about us spinning standing up, knowing when to switch on the resistance, and (judging by the way he pranced around the room) that Spinning us actually a good laugh!

Eli and I looked at each other and burst into hysterics as our instructor (the gayest fairy in the world) jumped off his bike as Rihanna started singing, “I don’t want to do this anymore… I don’t want to be the reason why”, and then proceeded to stand feat shoulder width apart, arms in the air, eyes closed, “Every time I walk out the door… I see him die a little more inside…” I swear I thought I was going to fall off the bike for a second then, but after a while it was more a case of ‘if you can’t beat ‘em then join ‘em’ You ready Eli… 1..2..3 and “I don’t wanna do this anymore…”

Damn! Afterwards I felt so good! My skin was glowing, my lungs felt liberated, and despite the fact that my thighs felt tight and unmanageable I managed to climb up the stairs home to perform the dancing fairy routine for Nooman and Hugh with a little help from Ms Freeman.

Later I took a walk around the area… I couldn’t sleep… my adrenaline was still pumping and my skin was glowing too much to waste on being in my bed. The air in Tel Aviv is clearer, and it is far more comfortable being outside nowadays. I can smell the winter coming and I am actually looking forward to the rain… maybe I will regret saying that in a few weeks… but for now… let it rain!!