Boarding Past

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?

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

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

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

Rain

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

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

More Smiles... It just gets better

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

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

Dressing Up and Drinking Down

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

“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

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!!

Fast Fast Slow

I am struggling to come to terms with the fact that it is already the time of year of praying, forgiving, apologising, striking the chest, wearing white, praying, going to shul, asking forgiveness, sending “Fast Well” text messages, receiving “Fast Well” messages, praying and praying that your prayers will be answered. I spent much of the ten days between Rosh Hashana (The Day of Judgement) and Yom Kippur preparing myself by looking back over my year. I found myself looking at what I have achieved and where I have stumbled and trying to decipher if I had in fact achieved anything at all, or if I had just carried on and arrived at another year with the same sins to ask forgiveness for and the same hopes for my future.

In truth, very little changes; the same daily struggles, the same men, the same fights, the same break-ups, the same breakdowns, the same excuses, the same denial, the same urge to try and make everything work, and the same let-down when I realise that just because I build it ‘he’ still may not come. It takes more than praying and fasting to make me change my ways, although there are things I have adapted somewhat. The change may not be so noticeable from one year to the next, but looking back to before I made Aliyah and now, I see such a vast difference. There is the physical difference which everyone can see, and then there is the difference in me… the change from Hannah Graham to Channahboo, the change that only those nearest and dearest to me can truly see for its worth. I can show anyone a before and after picture of me, but it is only certain people who can see the before and after shot of my soul.

There was a time that I thought that I was soulless. Not totally soulless, that is impossible, everyone has a soul, but in the sense that my soul never quite felt connected to the rest of me. I could not hear it talking to me, helping me make those decisions that only your soul (often thought to be your gut) can tell you. It seems that for years I had just blocked out that voice, and instead battled with the voices of my father, my teachers, my friends and the world before making my decisions. I have always had a pretty good idea what it feels like to be judged, to have expectations placed on you… “Channah is not fulfilling her full potential”… I never understood this as if I never fulfilled my “full potential” how did these people know what my full potential was! I certainly had no idea! Every decision I have ever made in my life I made with the thought in my mind, “What would those voices say?” I might chose to follow those voices or I might chose to disregard them, but in the initial processing of my thoughts, I ignored my own thoughts and listened to what I knew to be the view points of others. I thereby stopped listening to my gut/ my soul.

Last night I lay in bed, shushed the other voices and tried to let my soul speak. “Quiet there at the back!” I attempted the experiment a little on the tipsy side thinking that this would be the easiest way to block out the other voices… and it worked! Until 2.30am when I woke up thinking it was 6.00am and fell over. Back in bed, wide awake, I asked myself what it was I was hoping for this year, and after a long conversation with myself I fell into a deep sleep. At 6.30am my alarm went off, I woke up, got dressed, prepared my lunch, brushed my teeth, looked in the mirror and smiled… this is going to be a good year!

System Down – 49 NIS

I arrived in early at work, feeling somewhat worse for wear, wearing the same clothes I wore the night before and craving coffee, to find the lights off, the gates closed, and the stench of burning overwhelming me. I limbered under the gate and saw the other early workers sitting out on the balcony, and began to feel the need for a damp cloth to place over my mouth… where is that smell coming from? The office is dark, apart from faint emergency exit lighting, which is too dim to really deserve the name lighting… more like gloss… The Emergency Exit signs sent a faint gloss around areas of the room. I almost bump into one of the file room boys, as we both go to swipe in… the swipe in machine gives the most pathetically weak response as if to say, “Urgh… welcome to work… let me go back to bed.” Today I can empathise with it… In fact I generally find the swipe in machine a little on the chirpy side in the morning!

I walk to my desk with the vain hope that my computer might still be up and working, and that I might still be able to check The Sun, check my emails, and say my good mornings to the msn icons I call friends. Of course this is just a silly pipe dream, and no matter how many times I push the On/Off switch, nothing is going on. Deep sigh. I place my bag under my desk, turn around and walk out onto the balcony to try and find out how long I am going to be cut off from the world for. And what is that burning smell?

The Office Manager is sat on the phone, in her pyjamas looking dishevelled and harassed, as I walk towards the others sat around people are shouting out “fire!” It turns out that at 4.45am a faulty light switch burnt out causing an explosion in one of the offices on the opposite side of the building to me. In an office usually inhabited by one of my friends, who is currently away on holiday… lucky thing! I walk round to inspect the damage, and find the wiring appearing as though pulled out from the wall, and a pile of burnt files lying on the floor. I look above my head and see the sprinklers and wonder why the floor is so dry. It appears that the sprinklers did not work either! Now I am feeling very secure in this ‘haven’ that my managers have taken care to provide for their precious workers… I stand on the spot waiting for the floor to give way!

More people arrive, and we find ourselves sitting out on the balcony, laughing and hoping that we will just get sent home, and be able to enjoy a day on the beach. I decide that without my usual morning ritual I am going to HAVE to get some coffee, so head out of the building. The rest of the office are working as normal, and I have an urge to run in and ask if I can quickly check the status of Posh’s hair, Tarrant’s marriage, and other vital English news. I see the girl sat in reception is the one who I always catch in the toilets walking out without washing her hands, so decide that her computer is not one that I wish to go anywhere near. I go down the elevator, out of the building, and walk to towards the cash machine, brushing by people rushing to get to work and almost being knocked over by the usual bleary eyed Israeli driver. Alive and well I arrive at the bank to find that, after my earlier smugness when my friends said they only had 700 shekels to last them until next month, I in fact only have 250 shekel to last me until the end of the month. Correction, after taking 200 out I actually only have 50, I mean 49 shekels! Every now and then g-d likes to do this to me… a little trip and fall to take me off my high horse…. “That'll wipe that smug grin off your face Little Miss Graham!”

It is only 3.30pm when the system is finally up and running, but it is too late, my batteries have worn down and there is no way I am going to work proactively today! I look forward to going home, to going to the gym, to getting some decent sleep, to going to my parents’ for the Chaggim… Meanwhile the air-conditioning is still not working, so I am also looking very much forward to a shower… and any other suggestions you have for some FREE entertainment let me know… Shana Tova Peeps!

Between my finger and my thumb

I would not say that I was an overly inquisitive child. I was not out searching for adventures everyday. I was happiest in front of the television. Although there was one incident where at the age of 18 months, I decided to make a great escape from the Graham household. I failed, as before my parents even noticed my absence a neighbour returned Little Channah Boo and my parents placed me back in front of the television and continued to prepare for Shabbat. However, I nevertheless would always seem to be able to get myself into scrapes, normal for any child; my brother managed to cut his head open in the same place 3 times… we called it his centre of gravity.

The centre of gravity in humans varies and depends on the age and sex of the human in questions, but it is fair to say that it is usual around the middle to pelvic area of the person… not the head (in the case of my brother) and certainly not in the index finger (as in the case of Little Miss Graham). My index finger is my centre of gravity. No matter what scrapes I have got into in my time it is the Index finger that has pointed the way as it were, to an extent that my nail refuses to grow straight or past a certain length on my right hand… I am right handed by the way.

As a girl my favourite scrape was to trap my finger in doors, draws, and cupboards… only my right index finger. I became so used to trapping this finger that there were times when I was at school, away from the sympathetic shoulder of my mother that I would simply stick the finger in my mouth and comfort myself. Today I did the same thing… I was taking a rice cracker out from my draw under my desk, and as I closed the draw behind me, I forgot that I had left behind my finger. After the initial silent pain, I automatically pushed the finger in my mouth.

This got me thinking; thinking about all the times I had done the same thing as a girl, thinking about all the events that had led to me trapping it in the first place, thinking about all the reasons that it was just this finger that I seemed to subconsciously have it in for, and thinking about what was the hidden meaning behind it all… well when you study English Lit for the best part of your life, you tend to analyse the meaning behind the most irrelevant things.

The Index finger is an interesting thing to study. If you were placing your hands into the phrase, “putting you best foot forward”, your index finger would be you “best foot”. It is the finger that leads you, be it as you use it to point in the direction you are going, to indicate to others what is holding your interest… basically it leads you. As a child it is key to your development. Children will generally use their index finger to point at items that gain their interest… this is before they can speak and say “Look at that massive spot on your face!” It is a sign of inquisition and discovery.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

When shooting, it is the thumb which holds the gun steady and the index finger which pulls the trigger… I don’t write by hand anymore, I type, and I notice that when I type, my index finger still does most of the work. Seamus Heaney wrote the above quote as his own way of expressing the power that is in his hands when he writes, he has the power to hurt the people who read him and the people who he writes about. As I write I discover more about myself, more about the things that I put to one side that come pouring out onto my desktop as type… So is that the relation between my finger and this blog? I don’t know, the thought came into my head and I had to write it down. I think I am starting to sound like Yoda, “All the power in the world is right here.” No matter where you point, there it is… and just look where HRH is putting it!!

Mother's Medicine

When I was young there was no room for being sick, no time in my busy life for a cold, for a day in front of the TV watching movies and eating ice-cream under my duvet. Whenever I approached the breakfast table looking like a used crash test dummy, and complaining of an ailment, my mother would suggest that I take a tablet, “Take a Solpadeine, it will make you feel a lot better.” So I would sit drinking my hot Ribena and swallow two Solpadeine before going to school, and for all my resentment that my mother would never let me just have a day off school, she was right… I did feel better.

The past week or so has not been easy. Work has been a total upheaval of reorganising duties and responsibilities, getting used to new bosses, and making sure that nothing got missed in the process. Then there is my own personal upheaval, the one where I am resurrecting the Little Miss Boo to full working order, dusting off the skinny jeans and making myself the image of the woman I feel. It is not easy when everything in life is not running smoothly to battle it out on all fronts. I feel that just as I am getting my workout routine in check, I am invited to a hundred work events, that I have to go to, but which totally disrupt my routine.

Then there is being a woman. In general I try not to be one. Not that I don’t love being a woman, and not that I am not feminine… I am. I try not to be too much of a woman in terms of being overemotional, over analytical and reading way too much into every situation. Clearly no-one is perfect, so it is somewhat unrealistic of me to expect that I can be the perfect juxtaposition of male and female in one body, but nevertheless I like to think that I am not the average girl…

…And then once every two months (because as I said I am not the average girl) all the emotions I put away in the ‘women only’ closet in my brain come gushing out in a wave of hormones, tirades of self pity, awash with salty tears and the inability to stop myself from drowning in my own self-despair. It is exhausting, especially as I know that non of it is me, the rational me. None of the words that are coming out of my mouth are coming from my heart, my heart which is part male and part female, but are coming direct from this strictly pheromonal place that I cannot control! I try to control myself, I should really just put the phone down, switch it off, close myself away in my apartment with a giant X on the door stating “Stay Away for at least 4 days!”, but I don’t because the stupid man in me thinks he can control the beast, and all men should know that they can never control the woman… not since we threw away the chastity belts and burnt our bras anyway…

My mother calls me and the tears will not stop flowing. I think sometimes my mother reacts to me crying the same way that I react to her being sick… with utter shock. In the case of my mother, it is because while the entire household would be suffering a stomach bug or a flu virus, my mother would always be fit as a fiddle and running around taking care of the sick. In the case of my tears, there is only one thing that makes me cry to my mother, and that has always been my father (well we have always had a nasty way of winding each other up!). So here I am on the phone crying for no reason other than, “I have no idea why I cannot stop crying,” when my mother in despair reverts back in time to when she would send me snivelling to school with a dose of ‘mother’s medicine’ inside of me:

Mum: Darling I think you need to take some Magnesium tablets… that will make you feel better

At this I laugh for the first time in 2 days

Me: Oh no Mum, no pill can make me feel better… Only I can do that!
Mum: I am worried about you darling, you are not yourself.
Me: No you are right… I am just getting so much better!


It is a teething period that makes my emotions rock solid stable one moment and the next teetering on the edge of the tight rope, but one thing I know is that I will never fall off, because I have the male and the female to balance me out…. Until I get to the other side.


Meanwhile apologies to all those of you who were on the sore end of my sour mood… I swear you are all safe for at least the next two months… And thanks to those who saw through it all enough to still want to hang out with me… I love you all!

Kinky Bitches

I am having a bad day. One of those days when you feel like everything is collapsing around your ears. It is spreading into every area of my life, my lucky beans are all gone and the Dark Age is fast approaching. Dramatic I know, but when I am feeling particularly hormonal, and a few crappy things start happening in my life, I just want to retreat to the comfort of the nook and hide away from everything for a while. But the nook is cold, and I cannot retreat there, so I feel like I am running around, lost, trying to find my other comfort zone. I am an independent woman! Comfort zone? What the hell is happening to me? So instead what do I do? I put up a wall, I close the door, shut the window, and flip around the “Out to Lunch” sign. I am done.

My bad day is not of course not just due to the shit going down in my work and personal life, nor is it to be totally blamed on my forthcoming ‘women’s issue’. But when you stay up late, drinking wine with the girls, and then writing your memoirs into the early hours, you have really no-one else to blame but yourself for being a grouchy old bitch the next day. Channah I blame you!

Last night was a really fun night. The girls all invaded my apartment, armed with bottles and ready to talk dirt and dirty. The wine was poured, consumed, and the volume in the apartment rose to such levels that the neighbours are now wondering if I am opening a brothel. I guess when they turn up with a wad of cash, then I will know if I am in business or not. As, we sat around discussing life, work, men and all that jazz, I looked at the friends I have; the ones with boyfriends, the single and dating ones, the single and playing the field, the ones dealing with the depraved world of Israeli men, and I really did not know where to place myself. I know that we (the guy and I) are label-less at the moment and in some ways I like that, but when everyone is talking about their relationships or lack of relationships, for the first time I was speechless… I sat back and tuned out, tuned out of the urge to drunk dial him, and tried to tune out of the nagging thought of “Why has he not called me today.”

The evening continues, and in the same way my guy friends would come back from their stag weekends chanting, “What happens in Amsterdam stays in Amsterdam”, I have to say what is discussed in the four walls of my apartment stays there. I guess the only thing to be said is that it is funny how you meet these people a number of weeks or months earlier, see them as sweet and lovely girls you want to hang out with, and then you get to know them better and realise that they are Kinky Bitches! It is always the quiet ones you have to watch out for! And the loud ones, and the ones feigning shock with a cross of her chest! Hence the orders soon to be coming in from my neighbours… I could do with the extra cash.

By the end of the evening I was left alone with my two favourite drunkards, otherwise known as my original drinking buddies, and notably the last two standing (or trying to stand) at the end of a long night of wine.

EG: You’re soooooooooooooo pretty, do you know how pretty you are?
SD: I’m not sure I want you to get any thinner… I mean you’re so cool, so pretty, if you were thin then you would be too perfect… I don’t think we could be friends anymore.
EG: Seriously don’t you think Channah is stunning… you are stunning you know that! I don’t think she knows that!

So by the time I dragged my sorry large ass to bed I was well aware of how pretty I am, and aware that there are plenty of guys who would come a flocking as soon as I get to the perfect size 10. But who really wants that? I want someone to like me for me (doesn’t everyone?). I like who I am. Ok, so yes I am doing some renovation on my life, but I am changing myself not because I am uncomfortable with myself… I think I hold myself in a way that shows how comfortable I am with my body and who I am as a person. So why have you changed yourself so much over the last couple of years? So why are you continuing to battle on though the war is getting so much harder?

You want to know? Well I am comfortable in my own skin, in the same way I am comfortable in my favourite jeans and T-shirt, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t like to slip into a little black Prada dress every now and then. My outer appearance is not me, it doesn’t define me; it is my costume. In my drunken state I wrote all this down, I wrote so honestly and openly about the topic I never really talk about on my blog, because I reserve it for my book, and then when I came in to work this morning to post it, I found that the disc I had saved it on had not been formatted and so it sits in my bag… so close and yet wasted! So instead I am sitting with my bowl of chicken soup, writing my thoughts, because I am purging myself, detoxing my life, getting on, dealing with my issues, facing the challenges ahead of me, and with everything else… I am done.

No Phish were harmed...

Every time I walk passed the freezer section in my supermarket, or any mini market, in fact anywhere that bares the Ben & Jerry's logo, I search for the flavour to end all flavours... the King of all that is heavenly in ice-cream form... Phish Food!


For those of you out there who led a deprived childhood, or just did not experience life during their university years, you might be led to believe that Phish Food actually contains Fish… and if you did, you would be stupid, but tragically not alone… Yes I have met many people who have believed the same, and I put it to you, who other than a severely hormonal and pregnant woman would even consider feeding a craving for fish and ice-cream in such a vile combination? Certainly not Ben and Jerry… no no no! I mean just take a look at the two men below… you think they would ever invent an ice-cream with fish in it? Look carefully…

These sweet men are Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield… does that not smell distinctly Haimischi to you? So surely if there was fish in the ice-cream they would not have spelt it “Phish”, but would have called it Geffilta or maybe even Lox (Hmmmmm I think I have an idea for “Lox on the Rocks”). Plus take a good look at these men, and despite the knowledge that they are successful business men, Jewish business men, they also look like the kinda guys who in their day used to enjoy a puff or two… which I suspect is where they came up with the idea for the flavour “Phish Food”. Ben and Jerry were at a PHISH concert, getting high, and decided that they needed the mother of all munchies to satisfy their craving… off they went throwing together chocolate ice-cream, gooey marshmallow, caramel, and fudge (which they in their stoned state decided to make into the shape of a fish just for a laugh) and so created the greatest ice-cream ever made… Phish Food!

Yeah those of you who did not know Phish was a jam band and thought it was me just spelling Fish funny are feeling pretty stupid right about now...

Anyway, since the day of its creation, Students have huddled together late at night after long smoking sessions, or during a movie, or even in between class to eat this wonder placed on our earth… I still remember the first time I experienced the heavenly fusion of gooey marshmallow and smooth caramel sliding down my throat on a wave of chocolate… There is nothing in the world that tastes or feels as good! Not that I eat ice-cream very often, but when I do, I know what I want, Chunky Monkey, Dulce de Leche and the rest just do not cut it for me! I want my Phish Food!!

So yesterday I decided to quit it with the passive aggressive, staring longingly at the Ben & Jerry’s freezer section, and start taking action. I wrote a letter to Ben & Jerry’s in Israel:

From: Channah Graham [mailto:littlemissgraham@hotmail.com]
Sent: Monday, August 28, 2006 3:01pm
To: Inbal office@benjerry.co.il
Subject: BRING PHISH FOOD TO THE HOLY LAND!
Importance: High

Dear Ben and Jerry of Israel,
I have searched everywhere in Israel for the flavor Phish Food... I cannot understand why we don't already have the flavor available in Israel... most of the Phish band are Jewish afterall!
Please can you help fullfil a wish and bring Phish Food to the Holy Land...
thank you

Channah

Much to my suprise, I arrived in to work today to find Inbal HaRosh from Ben & Jerry's Israel had responded...

From:?? ????? office@benjerry.co.il
To: 'Channah Graham' littlemissgraham@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: BRING PHISH FOOD TO THE HOLY LAND!
Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2006 16:29:47 +0200

hi there,
fish food were in israel a few years back but on a stick
and then they stop making it
may be it will be here again in the future
have a nice day
inbal harosh

Well that explains it! I mean Phish Food was never meant to be on a stick! Plus there is a glimmer of hope, that maybe one day in the future they will bring it back again, only this time in tub form. All in all I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.
But not pleased enough to just sit back an rest on my laurels!

So I am writing this blog, in the hope that I may have turned your taste buds on enough that you will stand with me and appeal to the Ben and Jerry of Israel to bring our most favourite flavour to Israel! It doesn’t matter if you have never tried this flavour before… just read back through this blog, and imagine… It doesn’t matter if you do not live in Israel… we appreciate support wherever it may come from. Please cut and paste the following text to office@benjerry.co.il (Please CC me as well littlemissgraham@hotmail.com… I want to keep track of this) and join the Bring Phish Food to the Holy Land Campaign:

Dear Ben and Jerry of Israel,

We have one wish, one hope, and one dream and that is to bring Phish Food to the Holy Land.

Please join your fellow Israeli’s and help bring Phish Food back to the Jewish Homeland where it belongs. Not in a stick and not in fat free or yoghurt variety, but as pure and as wonderful as the day it was created in a big tub!

We are sending this petition to you in the hope that by NEXT YEAR WE WILL HAVE PHISH FOOD!

Thank you
THE BRING PHISH FOOD BACK TO THE HOLY LAND CAMPAIGNERS!!!

Shitface Shrop

The natural ups and downs of life are far more extreme here in Israel. Where my highs and lows were subtle gradients in my path in England, here in Israel I sometimes feel like I am riding the waves in Taiarapu, Tahiti. Just when I think that I have found my feet along comes a bomb of a wave to knock me off my feet and wipe out. Thank goodness I have always been a strong swimmer if not a natural surfer.

A friend just made Aliyah and asked me what had made my Aliyah so successful. If I am totally honest with myself I cannot say that my Aliyah has been 100% successful, it's a pretty ridiculous expectation, I think I might give it a 75% success rate. For everything that I gained, I also sacrificed. In truth there are very few of my friends who living in this country have it all, just as in the same way there are very few of my friends in the UK or in the States that have it all… but as long as you have your priorities straight and have the most important things to you, then life is never that bad. My priority when I made Aliyah was getting my spirit back… the spirit of Channah Boo which had been lost under the name of “Hannah” in a land where they could not pronounce the ‘CH” without hacking up.

I felt living in England with the 9am-5pm job, which was more 7.30am – 8pm, I never had the time or energy to spend time with those closest to me, my friends and my family. Here in Israel I am home by 5pm and have the entire evening at my disposal to hang with those that give me the most joy and release from the monotony of the day. I realise fully how lucky I am to have the friends I have, and feel even more privileged when my Olah Chaddashah friend turns to me on Thursday night and says, “You have the nicest friends.” What else can I say but, “I know!… they can be yours too if you like!”

Looking through my little black book of friends dotted around the communities of new Olim in the Anglo suburbs of Israel I can see those who have found their Aliyah experiences the easiest and those who have found it a struggle, and for the most part, it has been the ease with which they have fitted into or found their new social circles that has aided them. I turn back to my Olah Chaddashah friend and say, “Now is the time to let go of the friends you had back in England, they will always be there, and you’ll never replace them, but if you want to get on, you gotta get on with those around you… make the effort, and most importantly never be afraid to make yourself known to a group you want to get into… The beauty about Olim is that we rarely turn each other away.” And true to form, within minutes I see her chatting among the group as if she had been there forever.

In the bar, among a sea of strangers, I saw the good friends I have as the lights floating at the top of the water ensuring that in the darkness I don’t become too disorientated and drown. They are there; I trust in them, I know that if I need them they will be there in the same way that if they need me I will always be there. Yet they too give me the space to swim in my own direction, try and catch that killer wave, and laugh with me when I fall flat on my face with a mouthful of sand.

Not to give the impression that it has all been so easy for me… it has not been smooth sailing. I guess it has taken me some time to find a circle of friends who I totally trust and also want to get drunk with on a Thursday night. When faced with my own personal dramas they don’t force their opinions upon me, although they do offer words of wisdom and advice. And when I want to be left alone, they understand and give me space… I don’t feel I need to explain myself… they respect the choices I make, the person I am, and I am free to make my own mistakes. They understand that despite all the manuals that may say otherwise, life is about taking a risk, leaping off the boat and plunging in feet first. Ok so I might drown, so he might push me under, but we might have a lot of fun along the way… what is the point of travelling the road of life if you cannot enjoy the ride!

Me: I guess there is no wrong or right, just the decision I have made and trust in.
Friend 1: Just so that you know that either way we will be there.


And the best bit… the best bits are when you find a friend who; without a word will eat the ice-cream for you, because she just knows you never bought it for yourself; shows up at your apartment with a bottle of vodka and four cans of red bull just because you seemed a little quiet today; will never let you buy jeans that do nothing for that sexy ass of yours; buys you a little present on her way over, just because she thought it might make you smile; is more than happy to walk my friends home, because he is just that kinda guy; knows the right moment to cuddle, because there is nothing more to be said; has a fancy dress costume ready at any given moment so we can stop taking ourselves so seriously and just laugh; lets me call her dog “Shitface”, just because I like saying the word…


Oh and the other best bit is when you can drunk text someone and the next morning they think it is adorable!

When it Rains it Pours

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I am currently dealing with the issue of to blog or not to blog… the eternal question of to write down an honest and open appraisal of my life leaving no holes barred, or to sugar coat the truth, conceal names to protect the innocent and myself… I still cannot decide. The fact is that when I started this blog it was more of an easy way for friends to see how I was getting on, for me to be able to let out my creative juices in a healthy way, and for me to keep physical evidence of my loopy psyche for posterity. However, I did not at the time consider who might in the future be reading what I wrote, I did not bare in mind how my family would react to my honest writings, and I certainly did not expect to find it so hard to be open… perhaps this is a little revealing about how I approach the truth in the normal world and not just the blog world.

In recent weeks I have realised that Little Miss Graham is split in two… that is not to say that I have multiple personalities, although I do think that would be a fun experience for a day. There is the Channah who is open and honest, to the point of being blunt. She knows what she wants and goes for it with no fear, no inhibitions, just total confidence in who she is and an arrogance in the fact that all who meet her will love her! Then there is the Channah who is shy and retiring, who longs for an easy life, who likes to follow instruction rather than innovate her own path, who will not make the first move, who will wait and react rather than take action. In the same way, there is the Channah who wants to say to hell with it and write every intimate detail of my personal life, and then the voice of the second Channah pipes up;

“No need to put all your cards on the table… hold back a little of yourself, your personal life is just that… leave the good stuff for only privileged individuals… What if the wrong person reads it? What if the right person reads it the wrong way? What would your family think about that?”

And so I am torn between my Channahs…

Therefore, at the risk of upsetting one Channah I fall short in being as open as I would like to be with you, and you must excuse me of this, but know that reading between the lines can be a help and a hindrance depending on how you read.

This weekend, I was once again in Jerusalem. Some may say this is becoming a habit, something I will never admit to, as I refuse to believe that Jerusalem has finally got her claws into me, but for now I am enjoying the cool breeze that will not reach as far as my apartment in Tel Aviv, and the view of the hills that I seem never to tire of. Away from the girls I found myself in the company of strangers and felt relaxed and at home, once again being in a new and different situation is bringing the best out me, and I am enjoying seeing people’s reaction to the real me. The Channah who knows what she wants and gets it is in her element and is not afraid to show how she feels, at the risk of hurting or shocking anyone else… and yet he is lying there telling me that he doesn’t want to hurt me, that he cares, that there is a connection, that I am special… but ultimately that there is a risk that he will hurt me. Which Channah should take over now? Do I continue down the road of openness at the risk of being hurt, or do I close myself off at the risk that he will never see the real me. There is a grey cloud in our perfect blue sky… I was a fool to think that the blue skies would rule forever… I guess it was an unrealistic expectation. Nevertheless what am I supposed to do? Do I wait or do I take action… risk something great for the sake of my pride, or just accept that in the end everyone gets hurt… and wait…

And as usual all the other weasels pick now to come out of the woodwork… when it rains it pours, and yet I am not really sure where we are, would I hurt him if I was with someone else? Would I be hurt if he was with someone else? It is too early to tell, too early to really differentiate between the feeling of wanting to be with someone, and lust. So when another guy calls me and asks me out, what do I say? What do I want to say? In truth I just want to hide myself in the nook of his arm and fall asleep… I want to close my eyes and take it all one step, one day at a time and enjoy every minute of the good, the bad and the indifferent. Am I getting freaked out? Yes, but isn’t that what life is all about? People jump on the rollercoaster everyday in the hope of being freaked out, and although I have always avoided this scare… I am giving it a go, because ultimately you never know… this rollercoaster might also be fun… and not just make me puke.

Blog Block

Today I woke up struggling. My body was in a full on battle with my will as to whether to get up and face the day or to retreat to bed and call in sick. It would have actually been a really good idea had I not taken so many days off work last week to let my ankle recover. So in the end my will took control of my body, got it out of bed, dressed and into my car to work, and here I am wondering why I didn’t just smother my will with a pillow and go back to sleep!

Ultimately I know I have to just suck it up. I did this to myself. No-one made me drink 3 glasses of wine on an empty stomach. Nooman didn’t force me to stay up till come stupid hour talking and catching up as we haven’t seen each other in ages. I did this to myself and I am not about to wrap myself in cotton wool! I’m old enough to know better… suck it up Channah and get to work!

Only problem is that I cannot concentrate. So much is happening at the moment and I am feeling like all my magic beans came at once while others around me are starving… how can a girl feast on that? My wishing bridge wishes seem to be dispersing themselves very nicely among the group, which makes me smile while at the same time kinda disappointed for them… bridge is that the best you can do? Or maybe I spread the wish too thin. Sorry girls I tried!

This weekend was the most fun I have had in Jerusalem in a long time. The girls all came together for what might be one of the last weekends in Israel’s capital, as one by one they begin the move to Israel’s metropolis… Tel Aviv. Ironic, just as I began to form an attachment with the city of gold. We drank wine on the balcony, read glossy magazines and talked about all that girls talk about while applying nail varnish. We keep giving ourselves these little pleasures as we settle into the nine to five life, it is our friendships which are the vehicles by which we release the stresses of never saving a penny, of rent prices rising, while our pay checks seem to stand still.

Shabbat afternoon I left the girls to their afternoon sleeps and learning and I lay back in his arms and let it all drift away… nothing matters, all the good will come in time, I never believed it before, but I now see that it is the things you cannot control that fulfil us the most. I refuse to be melancholy; I refuse to think too much about what is going on, in my personal life and the situation in Israel. While my ankle is still giving me grief I am gonna laugh my ass off instead of dance… I do not care if people think I should change my lifestyle because I come into work looking like I have been kicked around by a kangaroo in my sleep… I am happy with where I am and where I am heading and I guess nothing else really matters. I am just going to have to get over the fact that people read this blog and if I want to say something then I should just say it and not worry that someone might read it and freak out… all in good time I guess.