Life's Unpredictable Interventions

I  have talked earlier about God's plans versus mine. Well, that was only the tip of the iceberg. Because, believe me, I had so many things planned, only to be shunned by...divine intervention?

I don't intend to look in the distant past, because it would be pointless, and I presume, boring. I am going to tell you about stuff that's been unfolding since, let me see, about 13 years ago...

First of all, if you are new to my blog, you must know that I have been living in Israel for 27 years. That I am a Christian. And that I had a difficult time adjusting to my life here...After a while I simply didn't pay attention to the exterior world, it was too much for me and I would've gone nuts. After a while, everything seemed, I don't know, routine. One step in front of the other type of life. Keep on going for the sake of my family...

Anyhow, in the beginning I thought someday I would be able to return to my home-country, Romania. I said to myself the deadline would be my daughter finishing high school. I made plans and the thought of returning home kept me breathing easier. You know, the light at the end of the tunnel.. 

But...

In 2013 my husband was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. It came from nowhere and for a while, we were paralyzed by the news. Then, little by little, we made peace with the diagnosis and my husband received his (first) treatment. We had to let go of our dream to return to Romania. The doctors said that with this type of lymphoma there is no definitive healing, only remission. One has to learn to live with this awful disease. Like a form of chronic cancer.

So, yes, karma, God, the Higher being, universal conscience, call it whatever you like decided that we are to stay in Israel. At least here the treatments for lymphoma are the latest and very effective.

I said, OK, it is what it is. At least, I have my holidays. I can go and visit Romania whenever I want, recharge my batteries, soothe my soul and come back here.

Wrong again.

Along came Covid and besides the world-wide no fly no holidays no fun situation we had our own situation at home. My husband got sick with Covid in the hospital, while going through his second round of chemotherapy . Yep, it came back. For the second time. The Covid hit him hard, his defenses very very low because of chemo...

And then we thought we will have a reprieve. We were optimistic. Dare to dream. 

My husband was thinking about traveling to Romania for the 50th anniversary of high school graduation. I said I'll go with him, I needed a reprieve from all the wars we had lately.

But, ironically, again somebody had other stuff put aside for us.

My husband's lymphoma was back. He found out during the time we were already packing for Romania. Meaningless to say we were crushed. Oh God, not again!!!

So, you see my point here. No plans. Not anymore. Not ever. Just wait for whatever life has to throw at me...

I still want to do so many things, even now. But, I fear I won't be able to to any of them. If life keeps interfering with my plans, I may never do them at all. 

I no longer trust life enough to make plans.
Every time I begin to hope, something happens — illness, war, fear, another diagnosis waiting around the corner.
So perhaps it is easier not to dream too loudly anymore.

Easier than living with the heartbreak of watching those dreams collapse again and again. Better this way. To avoid heartbreak and that sense of doom that keeps following me everywhere.

  

Did You Ask About My Day?

 

The only quiet time I had was in the morning, the half hour when I drank my coffee.

Then, the day just took off, like a crazy carousel, dragging me along.

First, I had to call the social assistance company representative. They e-mailed me some papers and I didn't know how to fill them in. 

Then, I had to go to the pharmacy to pick up my husband's medicine. On the way there I was so absorbed in my own thoughts I simply continued walking, well past the place where I had to go to the right in order to reach the pharmacy. At the pharmacy there were 13 people in front of me in the line. The pharmacy is small and really cramped. The noise was infernal. Everybody was speaking at once, pharmacists and patients, in a mix of Hebrew, Russian and French. I waited for 50 minutes and when I finally reached the counter, the pharmacist told me they don't have one of the medicines my husband had on his prescription. I saw red before my eyes. I asked what to do and she told me I have to go to another pharmacy, at the other end of the city. They had the medicine there. I kept my mouth shut in order not to say anything I would regret.  I took what they had and returned home.

Cooked lunch. Fed the cats. We also ate, then I helped my husband with some letters to doctors and various institutions. We tried to find the missing medicine on-line, in another town.

Because of his illness, my husband is very limited physically in what he can do. If he drops something on the floor, he has to wait until I come and get it for him. So, I am in constant motion...

My daughter came home but had to leave for her monthly laser hair removal thingy. I went with her. It wasn't very far and so I had the opportunity to spend some time with her. I try to do this whenever I can. I accompany her to the gym, for example. For the same reason. It is now the only time when she is mine, only mine. 

As I was in the vicinity, I went to the supermarket afterwards. We needed some cucumbers. I left with two huge shopping bags. I was on foot and, of course, the bags were very heavy. By the time I got home, I was shattered. My back hurt. My knee, too. I had a terrible stomach ache also. Was it something I'd eaten earlier? Too much stress, maybe? I drank some Cola zero.

I prepared dinner. Took out the garbage. Fed the stray cats. Hoovered a bit.

When I was younger I had this vision of older me: sitting in the sun, with a cold lemonade and a good book, watching the sea...  But NO, no rest for the wicked. I am sixty and my life is still...life. Full of problems, some bigger than the others... some good moments, too. But it is hard to think happy thoughts at the moment. Everything is too hard and complicated right now...

Life Hurts

My husband is in the hospital. With the treatment that he receives, because it is something new, he has to be hospitalized . 

He calls me. He has a fever. "I have the shakes", he laughs. I can feel it in is his voice, in the way it quivers. 

"Not to worry", he says. "I had them before. It'll pass".

We hang up. 

I begin to cry. A huge weight presses on my chest. I can't breathe. Yeah, it is my anxiety, kicking in. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. It is difficult as memories flash before my eyes. .. We went through this so many times and it still makes me nauseous.

I know he has it a million times worse than me...

I know I have to be brave - for him, for my daughter. 

I know I have to plaster that stupid "positive vibes" expression on my face. I know I have to say "It will be all right. ". I know and it is still so, so difficult.

Still cannot breathe properly. Still crying.

This feeling of helplessness is crushing me. It hurts. In my body. I don't know what to do with myself. I beg time to pass quicker, for my husband to tell me he is fine, everything is fine, we are fine. 

My cat jumps on the desk and is looking straight into my eyes. His way of demanding to be fed.

I stand up and go in the kitchen. 

Life goes on. 

Or does it?  

Writing in Order to Exist

Why do I continue to write this blog when (almost) nobody is reading it...

Why do I do it? 

Why do I bother? 

Why do I care if people are reading it or not? 

The truth is, I don't want to care. But I do. In a sense. The thoughts I have in my head and then transfer them to posts are mine, and are important to me. Do they mean anything for anybody else? I don't know...

Why do people write blogs? I have no idea. Maybe they have something to say. Maybe they are alone and don't have any friends in real life and maybe pouring one's thoughts on a virtual sort of diary helps them cope. I know it helps me. 

I just let the words be free and wander around in the internet - I almost see them, swimming in the ocean of information...and maybe they'll get caught in somebody's attention net. 

Maybe somebody will read them and resonate with them and with this burning desire to write and to be read.

Writing is a blessing. It helps me survive. But it is a curse, too. If I don't write, the words just go round and round in my head until I let them go, be free, to say what they want so badly to say...

I am trapped in this infinite loop of writing and feeling and writing some more and the words building themselves in my mind, ephemeral sand castles...

How do I get myself free? Do I want to be free? Would I survive if I were be free of the words in my mind and my soul? 

I am sure that without words I would die. Without being able to make them speak for me I wouldn't be able to make sense of my existence.

So, I write in order to exist. to be alive. To remember. To dare to dream a bit more. To breathe. To be amazed. To feel. To cry. To hate. To love. To live.

And if I am the only one reading them. So be it. They are mine, anyway.

Still Here

These past days have been very loaded, emotionally...My husband started chemotherapy, an innovative treatment, they say. We were worried of side effects, being a new type of treatment. We had to look out for anything out of ordinary, as if having cancer and  going through chemo is something "ordinary" or "normal". 

For us it is, in a sense. My husband has non-Hodgkin's lymphoma and in the 14 years that have passed since he was first diagnosed, this is the third treatment. With the type of lymphoma he has - follicular, you are never clean of it. Remission, yes, but never healed. It is more of a "chronic" form of cancer. 

And to think we were supposed to travel to Cluj-Napoca, Romania...Actually, today would have been our first day there. My husband was meant to attend the 50th anniversary of high school graduation. It was supposed to be a happy occasion, meeting classmates and friends. 

But, God had other plans...Instead of reunions and laughter, we are here.

I really, I mean REALLY wanted a vacation. The memory of the last war with Iran still lingers, my anxiety is still at unhealthy high levels. My husband and my daughter told me : "Go, go by yourself, have fun. It'll do you good". They almost convinced me. I mean, I paid for the lodgings, bought present for friends...and then, suddenly, I was, like "What am I doing?"; I cannot go and "have fun" while my husband is going through everything this cursed disease brings. So, I cancelled my plane ticket, lost the money for the accommodation, set aside the presents and let everybody know I am not coming. 

Yes, it would have been better to get away for a while, but now it is not the time. Now it's time to be by my husband's side and to help him cope and beat this God damned malady .

And then, if we'll survive this, we'll heal together, mentally.

 

The house is quiet. I have a few hours for myself...and what do I do? I sit in front of the computer, I s

tare blankly at the screen and I begin to cry.

I cry.

I cry for the injustice in this world, for the wars, the crimes, the hate, the indifference when it matters, 

I cry for the children, the old, the sick, the stupid, the ignorant.

I cry for the street cats that I feed every evening, waiting for me under cars in the parking lot.

I cry for the trees that are cut down, for money, for power, for nothing.

I cry for the soldiers that fell in wars and for the mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters.

I cry for the unwanted, the hated, the different, the isolated, the sacrificed and the sacrifice.

I cry for my husband who battles an unforgiving illness and when I see the pain and despair in his eyes

 I cry harder.

I cry for my daughter, she has to live in this world long after I'm gone

I cry for friends, lost.

I cry for family lost even more

I cry for my son, vanished in some world or other.

I cry for my youth, forever gone

I cry for my future, there is not much left of it

And I cry until I have no more tears left.  

Alone in Holy Land - The Book

It is finished!
Do you remember when I told you that I intend to gather all my old blog posts in a book? Well, it is done!

These posts, my blog, accompanied me through years of loneliness, immigration, motherhood, fear, absurdity, survival, and rediscovering myself. I never intended them to become a book. But somehow, together, they did.

I don't intend to sell the book, not at present. For now, I am offering it here, on my blog, free of charge. If you want it, it is yours. 

And maybe after you read it, come back and tell me what you think.  

(the cover is the work of my daughter)

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xoKCv5QAiUxy_vRVRenGiVzt9jgkjTFG/view?usp=drive_link

Click on the link, it will take you to the book. 

Happy Birthday, My Dearest Agy!

Happy Birthday Agy !

We all have special people in our lives and I am sure that we don't tell them how much we appreciate them often enough.

I've met Agy approximately 30 years ago back in Romania. She took me under her wing and we have been friends ever since, even if we live on different continents.

Some time ago, I wrote this blog post for her. I think it applies to the present day, too. You can read it below.

Today is her birthday, so, happy birthday my dearest friend. I wish you everything that I wish for myself, and much more. You deserve it!

She is My Guardian Angel

Today I am going to tell you about a very special person...I am calling her my guardian angel, and you know what, I really believe she is one...People like her are oh, so rare, and I consider myself blessed for meeting  her.
I met Agy more than 15 years ago, back in Romania. I was a young career woman and single mother, struggling with life in a new , post-communist Romania. She was my cleaning lady...Well, that was in the beginning...because, in time, she became my friend, my confessor, she took care of me, cooked meals for my son and waited for me when I came from work exhausted, with a cup of coffee and an understanding ear. Only one year my senior she was like a mother to me because she has wisdom beyond her age. She was my sister because she has a true, tender and loving heart and she knows how to listen. Truly listen. She was my best friend because she wasn't afraid to tell me the truth even if she knew it would hurt and then it was there to wipe my tears.
After I left Romania and come to live in Israel she stayed there and took care of my "affairs" (I have an apartment that I rent) and then she "adopted" my mother-in-law and became her friend and helper and guardian angel until the her last days...When my mother in law passed away, Agy was there and not her son, and she made the funeral arrangements and now she is the one that goes to the cemetery and lights a candle on her grave...
Twice a year, on Easter and Christmas she sends us presents, each summer when we travel to Romania, she is there and takes care of everything for me, gives me one of her mobile phones, brings me flyers for take-aways and does my washing, take us fishing and spends hours entertaining Maya, which adores her.
And she is like this with everyone around her...
She is a simple woman, no higher education, no fancy life...just a simple, hard-working woman, and believe me, she works hard...but every person that knows her loves and respects her. Because she is honest, above all, and has a heart the size of a continent.
I consider myself lucky and I thank God for the day when our paths crossed because I know that He sent Agy to watch over me. She is an angel. And I love her.
The words are too poor to describe the depth of my thankfulness, to tell you more about the woman that touched our lives and made them better.
I am just telling this: Thank you Agy, from the bottom of my heart. I love you.

I thought I would get used to people being assholes by now. But I'm not. I cannot, for the love of God, understand my fellow humas. Does anybody fucking care in this entire world? And, no, no, don't get tricked by the illusion of "caring" that hides behind it all kind of interests. It is hard to believe, but people will "care" for everything if they are paid enough, if it is fashionable and trendy. 

Real care? Not so much.

And it extends from the general to the personal.

The world is filled with people suffering - disease, famine, war, hate, crimes. You name it, it is here. And yet, most of the time, we choose to look away. And something more. People that really do something, they don't shout about it, they do it quietly, without fanfare, without waiting to be praised. and because of that, nobody knows about them, acknowledge their deeds, because it is silent, because it doesn't want praise.

On a more personal level, I see it all the time, in the small reality where I live. Nobody really cares, either. I know I sound like a broken record, I know I said it so many times. But I care and it destroys me. 

My husband always says that I have to higher expectations from people. Maybe. But I judge them according to my moral compass, and because I have high expectations from myself, I guess I expect it in others. Formula for disappointment, my wise husband would say. Strangely enough, I repeat the same words to my daughter, when she comes to me with the the same complaint - that people don't care, don't do their job or do it badly. Don't expect people to be like yourself, don't expect anything from them.

Our building, for example. It was such a nice place to be. But, as years have passed, new tenants appeared, noisy, dirty, rude, in a word- assholes. They double park, throw their garbage everywhere apart from the bins and by doing so, smear everything with their leaky trash bags. They smoke in the stairwell and they put out their cigarettes on the window sills or better, they throw them on the grass while still burning. They get too many in the elevator so they get stuck and then the elevator doesn't work for three days. And you have to take the stairs to the 6th floor with the shopping. And their dog poops on your doormat and they just leave it there for you to step in it. Careless, indifferent douchebags. But, whenever there is something to be done in the building, repairs and such, they all disappear. But when there are problems, they are all very busy. 

And I have many more examples. But only thinking about them makes me sick. I don't want to write them down, do make them visible, permanent. 

So, yes, people are assholes. Nothing has changed and unfortunately, nothing will. 

 

The Village's Idiot

 

Sometimes I feel like the village's idiot. As if I am not able to think for myself, to do things without being patronized. Everyone seems to know what's best for me. From politicians that want me to believe I am free, to my husband that scolds me whenever I want to buy something -"You have enough plants, we don't have the space"- or even clean the house -You are cleaning again?! Didn't you clean last week?"- to my daughter, who rolls her eyes at me whenever I tell her something she doesn't agree with.

Yes, I know - I don't have a doctorate, nor am I a successful business woman .I fought tooth and nail to finish my degree, to built something for myself. But, as things in life don't go exactly as planned, I had to leave everything and become what people like to label a "stay- at- home mom", a "homemaker", whatever term is acceptable now. 

And yes, I did it on my own volition, nobody forced me to do it. At the time, I felt I was the one who could give my daughter the best start in life, the best education. Why pay somebody else to do it? And be dissatisfied about that, later. I had seen, from the inside, how the system works. I am not sorry for my decision. My daughter is living proof I did it right.

But, that decision had cost me a lot. My financial independence. My independence - full stop. I became always the one that was available, no matter what. The one who did everything, all the time. And usually, I didn't complain. I told myself I had made my peace with it. But, sometimes - God - sometimes I feel I am going to explode!

As I get older I realize that, by nurturing everyone else, I set myself aside. And by setting myself aside, I taught others to do the same. 

So, I rebel from time to time, in small ways. I go on buying sprees. I write poems. I stay up all night reading. Small things - but they feed the illusion that I am the master of my own life. 

Which I am not.

 

A Bag of Mixed Feelings

Yesterday I had these overwhelming feelings... I was sad and angry and lonely, all of them at once. When this happens, I usually take deep breaths and try to figure out what happened, why it happened. It isn't always an easy process, but I try. 

So, I pick up one feeling. Sadness. I am sad because I have been writing some stories from communist Romania and while writing, all those other feelings, of powerlessness, of being caged in an absurd reality, together with the nostalgia of a lost youth came rushing , drowning me. Sometimes, when I write, I actually transport myself to that time, and it hurts.

Anger. Well, this one is something that many of us carry in our souls. We live in an imperfect world and as long as we don't act on that feeling, we are all right. Anger is easier to manage. Punch something, break jars, shout , it all helps. And even if the world continues to make you angry at least you found an escape route, a valve that lets the pressure out. I usually cry.

Loneliness. This is the most difficult one for me. Sometimes, I think, for me, loneliness as a general state of mind. I am lonely. I exist in this state. I don't have a social life, mainly because, as an expat it is hard to find others like yourself. On top of that, I don't share the same beliefs as most of the population here, hence the added layer of loneliness. Of course, I gave friends, I am not a savage. But people, especially at my age have their own plethora of problems, especially health ones. Old age, unfortunately, comes with a plethora of ailments and disorders and pain and doctors and hospitals. my family? Here, me, my husband and my daughter. The rest of them? Hmmm...you can read about it here: https://aloneinholyland.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-disfunctional-family.html

It is difficult to be in my skin, sometimes. I am glad I can write about it, though. At least, for a few minutes, the burden is not here, on my shoulders.

 

Who Am I?

Did you ever ask yourself this question? And more - Who am I? What defines me? What is my role in this world? Did I fulfill it?

When we are young we don't question ourselves like this. When we are young, we have dreams and aspirations and we think life is just this straight highway, no bumps, no crossroads no should I turn left or right? But life is not that simple, life has ups and downs and dangerous curves and crossroads and accidents and stop and go back. Stuff like that. And somewhere along the road, we begin doubting ourselves. Am I on the right track? Did I take the right decision? When I look in the mirror, do I see the person I wanted, I dreamt to see?

Oh, when I was young, I had so many dreams, small ones and big ones and I was so naive. I thought that if I wish something hard enough it is going to become real. And I wished and I fought for my dreams for a long time. At one moment, I thought I had it, that even it was so hard and so difficult I could do it, I could see it to the end. But, at least for me, it wasn't meant to be. 

Then, again, after a while, I thought I found the answer, one more dream to fulfill. And again. It ended. Heartbreakingly. How many times did I fall and rise again? I don't recall exactly. Many times. Did I learn anything from past experiences? 

I was a laborer, a student, a journalist. A writer. A mother. A wife. A teacher.

Small victories, big fuck-ups. Many tears, deception. Sometimes, sunny times and then a huge storm.

So, what do I see when I look into a mirror? Am I the person I imagined myself to be? I am not sure. I don't think so. Maybe I am too critical of myself. Maybe this is the best I could ever be. 

Or maybe, who knows, I have one more dream in me...

 Living in the Past

As the title says, I find myself lately musing about the past. 

It all started when I had a discussion with my husband about the summer camps of our childhood in communist Romania. I remembered so clearly and vividly my first summer camp in Navodari, at the Black Sea, as if it was yesterday...And then, the memories just kept coming...and coming. Am I really getting old? As my husband says, I can't remember what I did yesterday, but I remember clearly what I did on the 1st of September 1972...well, I exaggerate, but you get the gist of it. The truth is, I am glad I am (still ) able to remember so many things. 

The memories of living in communist Romania are the most powerful, now. Maybe because they were triggered by the God awful summer camp in Navodari. I searched the net about that period and I was surprised to find very little information. As if that period didn't really exist, or that it had to be erased from the collective memory. I looked, for example, for my former high school, the infamous Industrial Nr. 6 and I didn't find anything. Not even a picture. I mean, why do we want to forget about those times? I think that if we will forget them we will definitely repeat the mistakes we made then. 

What I found speaks more about nostalgic times like we all lived happily in a commune where, yes, it was difficult to live but all we got by...And it is not true at all. The communist years in Romania were bad, bad times. And with the rise of Ceausescu, we got it even worse. No food, no liberty, no heating, long hours without electricity, the Securitate watching us all the time...You tell me, what was good about that. Maybe the fact we were young and detached from our parents' daily struggles. 

One of my friends said "We had dreams back then". True, I agree. We had. But we were also naive and ignorant of the true reality. I read somewhere that we were living in a jar with a lid on top. We knew only what we were told. And when all the newspapers and tv programs were censored, we weren't told much. Ignorance is bliss, right? Just it wasn't like that. We wouldn't have listened to Radio Europa Liber - Free Europe if we were Ok with the situation.

Just my thoughts, really.

And I'm off to the past. I have some memories to sort through.

 For me, writing is life. Writing is breathing. Writing is waking up in the morning. Putting one foot in front of the other. Surviving. Since I remember I used to cope with life by putting it on paper. Words helped me through some very dark periods of my life.

So, I'll carry on writing.

I don't know if anybody draws anything out from my ramblings, and, in a sense, I don't think I care. Not anymore. Sorry, I don't. I used to. It was like, oh my God, I am writing and people are going to read it and oh my God what are doing to say? Are they going to be interested at all in what I am writing?

Maybe it is the journalist in me, always writing with a purpose in mind, like making the world a better place. Kafkian, I know, and oh so pointless.

So, I'll be here, writing away. 

If you want to be part of this, I don't know, journey, circus, whatever, you are welcome.

If not, that's Ok , too.

Me? I have to write in order to survive.

 

If you love poetry and even if you don't but you are a bit curious now, please visit 

https://wherethewordsdwell.blogspot.com/

come back ,and tell me what you think.

 

What about us lefties?

In communist Romania I wasn't allowed to write with my left hand. They tied it back during lessons because I kept changing hands while writing or drawing. It was hell. At calligraphy my marks were the lowest in my entire career as a student because my hand writing was atrocious. It took me a long time to be able to write eligibly. At family dinners my relatives were displeased because I was eating with my left hand. It wasn't "acceptable". I couldn't play the guitar properly because guitars were for right handed people. 

I was good at sports though. Fencing, mainly and volleyball, too. Being different was an advantage, even if it wasn't in line with the communist party ideology - we were all supposed to be the same. 

I have forgotten about this up until today, after buying (on-line, my only excuse) a very sweet mug. I like quirky mugs, I have lots of them. But, surprise, surprise! I won't be able to drink from it. Because it was made for right-handed people! Only for them. You can see it in the picture. I am bit disappointed, to be honest. I didn't think when I bought it, though. I am going to gift it to my husband and maybe ask Next (it was their on-line shop I got it from) a question or two.

Where have all the nice people gone?

When we moved in this neighborhood some 22 years ago, it was such a quiet and nice place. Most of the people living here were older than us and in general quiet ones. With one tiny exception. The couple that lived above us. But that's another story and I'm not sure I want to tell it because they're dead now. 

With the passing of time, more and more people died and their family or children sold or rent their places. And the nice street became a noisy one, with late, very late parties, music and shouting and whatnot. Almost every week, a different party, event, whatever. If during holidays I say, ok, people don't work, they have fun, what about the rest of the year? Don't they work? Don't their children go to school? Why, tell me why do people feel the need to have very loud parties, outside if possible, with karaoke and DJ? Until late at night or very early in the morning? You cannot go and tell them anything because they won't listen, they don't care. That's the best scenario. The worst one is they beat you up or slash the tires of your car.

What can I do? I'll go and listen to my audiobook or stuff my ears with earplugs and try to read. Because now, with all the racket outside, I cannot hear myself thinking.

Rant over. Thank you for listening.

I'll resume my usual posts tomorrow.

 Ah, About Me...

(part one)

I am sure you all want to know what really happened to me, what did I do all these years...Well, I have to disappoint you, because I didn't do much. On a personal level, that is. I grew old and (maybe) that made me wiser, or maybe not, maybe I am still that naive and gullible person I was. The main difference, is, as I say, that I am Ok with it. I think. Maybe.

Nevertheless, I have to tell you, there had been some tumultuous years...My main focal point was, of course, my daughter, what else? I remember I stopped blogging when she was six. It was like a premonition of things to come, because if we had a difficult time in kindergarten, well, school was a lot, a lot worse. Those first years were a nightmare, Maya had troubles adjusting to school, she was way too advanced in everything to be able to fit in. Fortunately, in third grade she had a great teacher that saw the potential in her and also she was accepted in a program for gifted kids. It was truly a Godsend. She continued with the program until sixth grade. After that she took exams and continued studying in a class for gifted pupils where she stayed until she finished high school. It wasn't easy, but is was rewarding and one the best things that came out of it is the friends that she acquired along the way, kids like her, special. She studied at Weismann Institute for Science in a program, for two years, then another program, Nir School for the Heart, she took swimming and fencing, she was a happy kid even though life was tough for her sometimes. And I was there for her. Every step of the way. I was there when kids bullied her, when she had difficulties coping with stupid teachers and stupid subjects and stupid rules. I was there while she grew up and I made sure that she didn't loose that beautiful smile of hers. I taught her about life and people and I always, always listened to her and we tried to make sense of this crazy world together. And yes, it was hard and frustrating and time consuming and I lost myself so many times, but , in a sense, she was my anchor, too. I would get lost and then I would return to her. My port. My home. My everything.   

A Hopeful Easter...

 

I had an entirely different post planned for today, but then I remembered...God, today is Easter! As you may know, or if you don't I'm telling you now, I  am Christian. And for me, keeping my faith and its holidays is very important...But gosh, with what is happening today in my life, I forgot about Easter...shame on me, yeah...

Well, what can I say...I have reasons... apart from the war that has got me suffering from terrible insomnia and anxiety, my husband's disease has made its grand return and it's back with a vengeance... so, at the moment I have difficulties thinking straight...It is the third relapse and until we know exactly what it is and what can be done my head is a carousel of ideas and bad thoughts...

So, yep, I forgot...In the end I managed to dye a few eggs because there is no Easter without dyed eggs but I am going to leave you with one of my posts from the 15th of April 2012...same vibe, in a sense...

"Memories of Easters Past

As here in Israel today is a working, normal day, after I took Maya to the kindy (and I regret it now, I should’ve keep her at home with me, maybe I would've felt better), I ate alone my Easter brunch and remembered the ones from my childhood – the only nice memories that I have about holidays. I recall our Easter breakfasts, our small kitchen and us, the four kids, around it, and the table heavy with food: dyed eggs, ham, spring onions, radishes, Romanian ricotta – "urda", the best ricotta there is, and "kash" – hard, unsalted cheese made from sheep’s milk and the home-made bread with a thick, crunchy crust. And the lunches, even better, sorrel soup with lamb and rice, stuffed lamb with new potatoes and lettuce. Then, the pound cakes, sweet and filled with nuts and sugar... 

After I grew up and left home Easter was never the same and now I’ve lost hope that it would ever be.

My husband, desperate to see me so sad and depressed every major Christian holiday keeps asking me what would really made me happy…And the truth is, I don’t know… I am aware that I cannot move back time and re-live the good times. I am stuck here, in limbo, between the past that haunts me and the present that doesn’t suit me at all.

But, enough of this, today is Easter and I going to wait until Maya gets home from the kindy and then we'll clink and knock Easter eggs until their shells break and we'll say "Christos a Inviat" - "Christ has risen" and I'm sure Maya will want to draw a picture of us...And we'll invent our own traditions, because I want Maya to have happy childhood memories too..."

That is, really...I have some red eggs and no food on the table this Easter, but I have to remain hopeful that, the same as Christ has risen this day, we will rise from our own misfortunes...Yes, it is one of my most miserable Easters ever, but I have to keep going, for my family's sake, as I have been doing for some time now.

 As I said in my previous post, I am not here to reminiscence about the past. If you want to know what I've been up to between approximately 2009-2012 you won't need to read all the posts I'd written then, because I gathered them and I hope soon I'll have them nice and cozy in a book.

I am here now because, as it did then, I feel I need the words to help me. Because, in a sense, things didn't change. I am still alone here. The difference is now I am used to it to this loneliness, I accepted it as a part of myself... 

A lot of things have happened between 2012 and the present day...For one, my daughter is all grown up now, almost 20 years old !!! My son left Israel some years ago and we don't really keep in touch. It breaks my heart over and over again, but I can't do anything about it, just pray that someday he'll find what he is looking for...

My marriage is still holding on, my husband is now retired. Unfortunately, he has a chronic condition that returns every five or so years since 2013 so we had our good times and our not so good ones. Covid, ah, Covid was a bad bad one, it hook its claws into my husband and we almost lost him. Fortunately, God and a very good doctor and an experimental treatment brought him back from the brink of the precipice.

That is, in short, about my family.

About me...well, you'll have to come back because in my next post I am going to tell you all about it. Well, not "all" all, but some.

A Return, Not to the Past

It is said that spring is a time of renewal, of new beginnings…

So, here I am, my long-lost and newly found friends, finding myself on this page, again, after such a long time…

I left the blogosphere almost 14 years ago because… I don’t know exactly, I guess life simply interfered. So many things happened at once and somewhere along the way I got lost. I couldn’t find the strength or the motivation to keep writing.

And then, one day, I felt it - the call. Don’t ask me how or why …I opened my blog and started reading my old posts, and a wave of nostalgia hit me straight in the chest, in my soul. So many memories…

I recognized myself in some of the posts and not so much in others. I’ve changed, in a way and I’ve also stayed the same…Does it make sense?

I’ve been gathering those old blog posts in a book, as a way to relive those years and maybe understand myself better - maybe understand who I became because of who I was. It is almost finished. When it’s done, I’ll close those chapters and put them aside. For me to revisit, maybe. For you, if you wish, to see who I was.

And now I am here. Again.

Me -who got lost somewhere in this jungle we call life, and found my way back. To myself.

The person who I am today, built on the foundation of who I was then, some 17 years ago…