When your sixty-four

 Flags for Independence Day

We got back yesterday from a long weekend in northern Israel. It was Memorial Day on Thursday and Independence Day on Friday so Mr. Rosen and the kids had a few days off. Memorial Day here is very different than it is in America. There are no door-buster sales, for one. Nor does it mark the season for wearing white pants. It's kind of a serious day. None of the cable television stations broadcast and network TV is all either interviews with high up veterans or patriotic performances. There's even a nationwide moment of silence for two minutes in the morning. An air-raid siren goes off and everyone stops what they're doing. Even cars stop in the middle of traffic (though that's an everyday occurrence also). And then at sundown, the Independence Day fireworks begin and the country is happy once more.

Anyway, we headed up north and spent a few days based in Tiberius exploring the upper Galil and Golan Heights. We hiked up to the top of the Arbel, a beautiful cliff above the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee). We had lunch in a banana grove above a cave with open tombs and bats (for real!). We found a great little restaurant at Yehudia junction that's open 24 hours, 365 days a year, even Yom Kipur and serves a tasty roast beef sandwich. We hiked up a stream to a very old water milling station and the kids got soaked. We visited a friend of the family and spent the day swimming at her community pool. The next day we drove home along the eastern border with Jordan and watched the green fields of the North fade to the crispy tan of arid land. We made one final stop for lunch in Abu Ghosh, an Arab town outside of Jerusalem, and enjoyed some grilled chicken skewers and middle eastern salads.

To be honest, when we got home I was wrecked. For the obvious reasons - kids fighting in the car, baby up at 5:00 am, packing and unpacking and daypacking and repacking. But also I think my brain is just completely saturated. It's so much to absorb! And more than just the sites. It's the constant juxtaposition of old and new. Glittery and gritty. Orchards and desert. New construction and demolition. Poverty and wealth. Sea and sand. It's one minute we're mourning and then next we're celebrating. It's our own brand of extremism and it's exhausting.

But never mind all that. Happy 64th birthday Israel, you crazy spring chicken. I hope I'm as feisty as you are when I'm your age. Something tells me you won't be retiring next year...


 Memorial Day wreaths


 View of Lower Galilee from the Arbel


 Banana blossom


 Secret cave under banana grove with tombs and bats


 Water mill hike in the Golan


 Pretty weeds in the Golan


 Garden gnomes near the Dead Sea


 Camel in finery

 
Graffiti in Abu Ghosh

A day in Tel Aviv

Fabric store on Nachalat Binyamin, Tel Aviv
 
Grandma flew home early Wednesday morning and the family is in a funk. Even with the rain and snow and leaky guest room we managed to have a pretty great time. I'll try to get some pics up from our travels over the next few days.  I don't know if it's because I'm new here but I just find I can't get enough of the view. The gritty cities. The rugged hills. The markets. The cafes. The graffiti. The museums. The shops. (The museum shops). I just find it all overwhelmingly inspiring. On Tuesday last week my mother-in-law babysat for the kids in the afternoon allowing us to spend the whole day in Tel Aviv (with the baby). We started out at Nachalat Binyamin, an open-air craft market downtown. Then we had lunch at HaMitbachon (the little kitchen) which specializes in home-cooking. We had the beef cous cous and eggplant spread on fresh baked bread. Yum. Then we walked a few blocks to a particularly charming neighborhood called Neve Tzedek, one of the first neighborhoods in Tel Aviv which is currently enjoying a renaissance. Boutiques, cafes and restaurants o'plenty. And the buildings, home to the rich and famous of Israel in many cases, have all been beautifully rennovated. And since it was the day before Purim, many locals were out in their scary/silly/skanky best. Here are a few of my favorite corners. I'll be back soon with some shots of Jerusalem too.


Purim party posters
 

Merav Danny, Nachalat Binyamin


Daniela Dori, Nachalat Binyamin


Osnat Shavit, Nachalat Binyamin


Ribbon store, Tel Aviv


Hamsas, Neve Tzedek


Ginger, Neve Tzedek


Gritty corner of Tel Aviv


Ayala Bar Shop, Neve Tzedek

Big in Japan

Photo and art credits: Bella Sinclair
 
Today's guest is the one and only Bella Sinclair, a favorite illustrator of mine and a generally delightful person, beloved by many. She's an Illustration Friday enthusiast and her work is pure magic. I'm especially enamored by Bella's rendition of Hayao Miyazaki's large monster bunny, Totoro. I knew that Bella had spent some time living with her family in Japan and since her own blog is focused mostly on her illustrations, I crossed my fingers she'd agree to be in the Strangers in a Strange Land series so that I could learn more about her. And about smart toilets. Who knew?

1. How did you come to land in Japan?
My husband's company transferred him to develop new business in Asia.  Manhattan was wearing him down, and I could tell he was itching to fly across oceans.  So when an opportunity came up in Tokyo, we took it.  I was reluctant at first.  Okay, I'll admit it.  I cried a little.  We had a house I loved in the suburbs that we had just finished renovating.  Most of my friends were there, and I felt rooted.  But I eventually got over my initial shock and fear and absolutely loved it in the end.

2. Do you speak Japanese or did you take any language courses before you arrived?
I took a year of Japanese in college, but that had been eons ago.  Once I got to Japan, I started taking lessons again.  Unfortunately, the area where we lived was full of expats, so it was easy to get by without using much Japanese at all.

3. If you are not a native speaker, do you have any funny stories about language errors?
Actually, I learned not to speak Japanese to people because they would assume I was fluent and speak back to me at a million words a minute.  So I didn't have any language errors that I can remember, but I do have an amusing story.  My Japanese teacher and I would often make small talk during our lessons, and one time she was describing dishes that she likes to cook.  She kept saying, "sea chicken." 
Huh?  "Sea chicken?"  I was completely  baffled. Yes, sea chicken."  And then I realized that she was talking about tuna!  Chicken of the Sea! 

4. Tell me about one of your lowest moments?
Our time in Tokyo was a fantastic adventure, perhaps being some of the best years of our lives.  The only low point was when my husband suddenly passed away.  It would be a difficult time for anyone, but having to deal with the hospital and police and funeral parlor in a foreign language made me feel even more isolated.  Luckily, I had a friend who was fluent in Japanese who helped me through it all.

5. What was the best part about living in Japan?
The Japanese are a wonderfully refined, polite, and honest people.  And they take pride in keeping things clean and orderly.  People smiled and nodded hello.  I felt very safe and hyper civilized.

6. Did you ever feel totally at home?
Oh, yes!  We had our routines and frequent haunts.  And between work and the international school, there was no shortage of English speakers.

7. What did you miss most about the United States?
Definitely mobility!  We didn't have a car in Tokyo, nor would I have trusted myself on the roads.  So every time one of my kids had a playdate at a friend's house, I'd have to carefully map out the subway route to get there and back.  And sometimes, their friends lived in places unreachable by subway, which meant we had to jump in a cab.  A playdate could easily cost me $40.  It almost made me wish my kids had no friends.

8. What are some of the things you didn't know how you lived without before you moved to Japan? (i.e. foods, customs, culture...)
Did I tell you about the smart toilet that stays perpetually warm, automatically opens and closes and auto flushes?  Aaaaah, pure heaven!  And Japanese pastries, oh my goodness!  They make bread that is so incredibly light and fluffy. 

9. How did the kids adjust to the move?
Kids are mighty resilient.  My girls were in the fourth grade and kindergarten when we first got to Tokyo.  Being that we went to an all-girl international school where lots of kids come and go after a year or so, they did not feel singled out or unusual.  They made the transition quite easily.  There were a lot of British and Aussie teachers at the school, and my little one actually started to pick up a British accent.

10. Was there any chance of "blending in" or did you always feel like "the American"? Did it matter?
Blending in was easy where we lived.  We were in an area affectionately (or not) known as gaizin ghetto.  The neighborhood was crawling with foreigners and you could practically hop from one embassy rooftop to another without touching ground.  We lived next to the French Embassy, and down the street was the German Embassy, and a little further away was Finland and Qatar and China and so on.  So many different people, so many different languages.  As long as we stayed where the embassies were, we blended in just fine.

11. Can you reflect on any cultural differences that were challenging to navigate or led to a funny situation or misunderstandings?
My Japanese teacher would come to my apartment on Tuesday mornings.  I remember one time, my husband was still there because he had decided to go to work late that morning. My husband and I were very informal about comings and goings.  "Bye."  "Bye."  "Hi, I'm back."  "Hey."  But I guess in Japanese culture, the man is king of his domain.  My Japanese teacher was very apologetic and embarrassed to be there, feeling that she had invaded his territory.  And she physically made me get up to give him a proper, ceremonial send off.  What did she want me to do, fluff up his jacket and lay out his shoes?  I had no idea.  So my husband and I just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other for a moment.  Then he said, "Bye."  And I said, "Okay, bye."

12. Did life there have any impact on your illustration style?
Definitely.  You cannot live in Japan and not absorb all the kawaii or cuteness.

13. What lessons can you draw from the whole experience?
You know what?  I've learned that I'm a lot tougher and more resilient than I thought.  Life can change in a blink, and everything you know can be gone tomorrow.  But new adventures await, and I will go on.

***************
Thank you Bella! Your mad skills and sense of humor shine in every illustration. Get a taste of the kawaii that I'm talking about over at Bella Sinclair's Doodlespot. Tell Totoro I sent you.

The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly in San Sebastian

all photo credits: Jane Green

It's time for our second installment of Strangers in a Strange Land. I came to find Jane Green and her beautiful blog Spain Daily through another blogging friend when she was hosting a weekly photography prompt called Corner View.  I still look to Jane for photography inspiration. She has a way of sneaking in on people's lives and capturing the exact moment that tells their whole story. That goes for her incredible pictures of architecture and scenery too, of which there is no shortage in beautiful Spain. She also has a knack for shots of tight little matador tushies. And who doesn't love a little eye candy now and then, am I right?

But for all of her candid shots and explorations of daily life, she's not one to write at length about herself. So I'm honored that she was willing to participate in this series. As usual, her humor shines through. Enjoy!

1. How did you come to land in Spain?
Love

2. Did you plan to stay as long as you have?
My first trip to Spain was to San Sebastian for just three weeks to see “how I would like living there.” The sun shone every day, I met wonderful people, and the food was amazing! (And there were palm trees!!!) I went back to the states, packed up my life, and moved there two weeks later.

It turned out to be a freakish warm winter where I went to the beach every day. The following year things were back to normal where it rains for 9 months a year. But, by then I was hooked. I still think Jorge had something to do with it ;)

3. How was your language acquisition? Did you learn Spanish when you arrived or did you already speak the language?
When I got to Spain I considered myself almost “fluent” in Spanish.  I had taken it at school for 7 years and got straight As. The first day of my visit I ordered a café con leche. The waiter handed me a pack of cigarettes, I paid, walked outside, and cried...

4. If you are not a native speaker, do you have any funny stories about language errors?
One of the funnier ones. (There are many.) I wanted to start working as soon as I got here. One day I saw an add in the newspaper for chicas (girls) wanted for Bar Americano (American bar.) Here I was picturing a “Friends” type bar where everyone knows your name kind of a place. Turns out- “chicas” are prostitutes and Bar Americano is a brothel. I think Jorge laughed for a month!

5. Tell me about one of your lowest moments?
See number 4 ;)

6. What is the best part about living where you do?
I love that my kids get to grow up here. We have beaches, mountains, and cities (plus France, Portugal, Italy) at (or almost at)  our front door. Add to that art, history, and inexpensive haute cuisine ... I think it has made them much more open minded. At least that´s what I tell myself when I´m craving a walk up Walnut Street and strawberry pancakes. 


7. When did you realize where you are home? Or are you not there yet?
Nope, still not there. I don´t think I´ll ever be. But what´s strange is that I don´t feel like I´m home when I´m in the States either. I´m away for such long periods of time that I always feel a little out of the loop when I´m there too. I think it´s a really common feeling for people living abroad- and one you get used to.

8. What do you miss most about the United States?
Don´t get me started...Besides the obvious, I miss big bookstores, my favorite coffee shops, breakfasts out, diversity, creativity, even the guy that does the voice overs on TV...

9. What are some of the things you don't know how you lived without before you moved to Spain? (i.e. foods, customs, culture, shoes...)
Tortilla de patatas... soooo good!


10. Did you raise your kids bilingual? How's was that?
 Yes, definitely! From day one, Jorge spoke to them in Spanish and I spoke to them in English. And from the day they spoke their first word- it was in Spanish to Jorge and in English to me. We really didn´t give it much thought. And the kids just knew. (It´s my gift to them.)

11. Are you still "the American" or do you blend in at this point?
 I´ll always be “the American”  If you heard my accent, you´d understand. ;)

12. Can you reflect on any cultural differences that were challenging to navigate or led to a funny situation or misunderstanding?
 There are, I just can´t think of any at the moment. The Spaniards eat every part of the pig, cow, fish, shrimp.... I´m sure they have to do with food... :) That, and I´ve had some funny situations trying to figure out how to flush a toilet.

13. How has your experience colored your photography?
I think life is slower here, so it´s easier to live in the moment. Plus the fact that I´m surrounded by beauty.... but then again, beauty is everywhere, if you are looking.

14. What lessons can you draw from the whole experience?
 I´m the first to laugh at myself.... and never underestimate the power of diplomacy...

*************

Gracias Jane! Clearly a sense of humor is a must for any expat. Note to self. Head over to Spain Daily to get a glimpse of daily life in Spain. Jane even has an ETSY shop where she sells a selection of her beautiful prints.

A Studio with a View of Munich

I don't remember where I first discovered Stephanie's artwork - she's been featured all over the blogosphere and published in several books and magazines - but her signature style drew me to her blog where I found a kindred spirit. In fact her responses to my interview questions completely resonated with me down to the tiny details - like missing cranberry juice! (Seriously, Rest of the World, how are we Americans supposed to treat our urinary tract infections without cranberry juice!) She's been living in Germany for the last 15 years and now with her German artist husband and her two beautiful girls she juggles her studio work, her ETSY shop, her 12 countries in 12 months project and her teaching schedule. Her upcoming e-course Creative Courage is a practical guide that will help you clarify your own unique path and give you the tools you need to start making your goals real. It starts January 9 and you can sign up here.


1. How did you come to land in Germany/Munich?

I came and stayed for love :) Way back when, while I was studying Art back in the US, I met a German physics student who was working on his Ph.D. We fell in love, got married, and moved to Germany. We started out in Berlin, then moved to Heidelberg because of his job, then moved back to Berlin so that I could complete my Master's degree. After several years, that relationship ended - although we are still friends - and I met my husband Florian, who is also German and an artist. In 2005, we both completed our studies in Berlin and moved to his hometown of Munich.

2. Did you plan to stay as long as you have?

I had no idea. When I came over, I was 24 years old, fresh out of university, and I had two suitcases full of my belongings. Completely naive, but ready for adventure. I remember thinking that the food tasted more intensely in Europe, everything seemed richer and more exciting.

3. How was your language acquisition? Did you learn German when you arrived or did you already speak the language?

I spoke about 10 words of German when I arrived. After one month of living in former East Berlin (where at that time most people didn't speak any English in the shops), I realized that I HAD to learn German if I was going to be able to communicate with others in any kind of coherent way. Even with friends who spoke some English, at dinners and parties they would tire fairly quickly and start speaking German again. I tend to talk a lot, so I had a strong motivation to learn German quickly.

I went to a private language school where I took daily intensive, immersion classes in German - about 3 hours per day plus homework. We didn't have much money, so I think my language school was one of the cheapest in Berlin. This meant that the classes were really huge - about 25 students - and full of people from literally all over the world. From Russia, Turkey, the Philippines, Iraq, Brazil, Malaysia, Bosnia, Iceland, and so on. I think I was one of the only Americans, but it was good because I was forced to speak German with the other students even in the breaks.

4. If you are not a native speaker, do you have any funny stories about language errors?

I learned German such a long time ago, so I can't remember any really funny stories about specific errors at the moment... But what was difficult for me (and sometimes still is) - was getting used to the extreme German directness. I remember being at a dinner party and one woman said very loudly proclaimed in German, "Well I don't like Americans because they are always fake and you never know what they think about you." This woman knew that I was an American and her comment was somewhat directed at me, but I was so flabbergasted that I had no idea even how to respond, especially in German!

I'm from Tennessee, and with my Southern upbringing, I was completely unprepared for situations like this. In the meantime, I have learned how to be more direct - and to take things people say about the US or American culture less personally. Sometimes I agree with them too! My German is fluent these days, so I can get involved in a discussion, rather than just helplessly sitting there not knowing what to say.

5. Tell me about one of your lowest moments?

When we made the first move from Berlin to Heidelberg, I didn't have any friends, it was the coldest winter in years, and I had to wait a couple of months before any language classes were starting. I spent some hard weeks there when I wondered what on earth I was doing. We still had very little money, no real furniture in the apartment... just an old black and white TV that played German movies in the afternoon. It was kind of depressing. But finally spring arrived, and I enrolled at the University in Heidelberg to take more German classes, I met lots of fellow international students, and life improved dramatically.

6. When did you realize where you are home? Or are you not there yet?

I think being an ex-pat you are always somewhere in between. I still identify myself as an American because I grew up in the American culture for the first 25 years of my life. The way I talk, the way I think is still very American. However, I do like having the perspective of viewing my home culture from abroad. It puts many things in perspective. And the longer I am here, I feel more "Europeanized"  at least partly. In 10 years, I will have lived for equal amounts of time in both cultures. We'll see how I feel then!

In the end, it feels to me like things are becoming more and more global and international. I see and hear many, many Americans in Europe, and so many Europeans have visited the States. International travel has become very commonplace, and now with the speed of the Internet and other media to communicate - I feel like we are all very connected these days, more than ever before.

7. What do you miss most about the United States?

Cranberry juice! Well, actually you can get that here now, but it is expensive. I miss going out for huge, decadent American breakfasts at diners for an occasional indulgence. I miss the relaxed way that people communicate and make small talk in an easy manner, even in shops and with strangers. And of course I miss family and friends.

I love New York, San Francisco, the beautiful national parks, and there are still so many gorgeous places I've never visited in the States. I'd love to travel with my husband and kids through the US on a monumental road trip.
 
8. What are some of the things you don't know how you lived without before you moved to Germany?

I truly love being able to walk everywhere to do my shopping, to bring my kids to school, and so on. The bread and pastries here are amazing (although I know we're all supposed to be eating healthy, low carb, and gluten-free these days...)

9. Are you raising your kids bilingual? How's that going?

Yes, I speak English to my kids - but they usually answer me in German. We try to read lots of English books and have English videos, but it is difficult to offset the German kindergarten and German-speaking environment. So we are working on it, and I hope as they get older, they will understand and value the importance of English. I also hope that they will go on a school or university exchange in an English speaking country one day.

10. Are you still "the American" or do you blend in at this point?

I will probably always be "the American" among my German friends, but I also feel that I blend in pretty well too. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, so maybe I am just used to always making new friends and being a little bit of an outsider. I think it also helps that I have always lived in larger, multi-cultural cities in Germany where most people come from somewhere else too.

11. Can you reflect on any cultural differences that was challenging to navigate or led to a funny situation or misunderstanding?

One thing that drives me crazy in Germany is that you usually have to install your own kitchen and light fixtures when you move into a new apartment. The Germans defend this practice as "everyone has their own taste" and you can be much more individual in your apartment style this way... which is perhaps true, but it is kind of a pain, especially right at the beginning when you are just moving into a new place.

12. How has your experience colored your work?

My travels - especially my travel project this year 12 Countries in 12 Months  - are most certainly a big influence on my artwork right now. All of my latest collages are a result of this project, and I have lots of ideas for new collages based on materials and sketches I've gathered so far. I can't wait to get started on these new mixed media collages too.

13. What lessons can you draw from the whole experience?

Adventure is good, mind-expanding, and if you ever have the chance to live abroad for a time, you should go for it! Despite the challenges and a few hard times at the beginning, I wouldn't change a thing and I definitely do not regret my decision to move to Germany. At the moment, I'm happy in Europe and I appreciate all of the different cultures and travel opportunities here!

*********

Thank you Stephanie! Make sure you spend some time on her blog and ETSY site. And for the love of strudel treat yourself to her seven week e-course Creative Courage.

Strangers in a Strange Land

Well a friend of mine (I'm not naming names but he's a charming Scotsman) said some of my earlier Welcome to Israel posts were a wee bit melancholic. Moi? He's probably right although a little slack from the readers! This move was major upheaval wrapped in crazy and piled high with distress. And we didn't move to New Zealand, you know. Where all you have to contend with is sheep in the road (although from the looks of this picture taken about half a mile from my house it would seem we are contending with goats on top of everything else). This is Israel after all. Maybe you've heard we're experiencing some wee conflicts.

So while I'm working on adjusting my perspective, which feels like an everyday exercise, I thought it would be fun to reach out to other transplants and get their stories of transition for a weekly blog series.

We'll get started tomorrow with the talented and delightful Stephanie Levy - an American artist living in Munich. Hope you'll join us.

Same old story

Back in the day.

It turns out that having a lot to write about makes me not want to write anything. The stories pile up in my brain and then there's like a bottleneck in there. I have storytelling constipation. I happen to have the regular kind of constipation too but that's from all the moving around. So where are we these days? We're with family in New York. And we fly to Israel on Tuesday.

Our last week in the Bay Area was ridiculous. Even after sending all of our stuff on the container we still had a house full of odds and ends. We decided to have a goodbye/u-pick party as in, come say goodbye and take a can of tuna for the road. Or a toaster to remember us by. Lots of teary goodbyes. My sister-in-law and I had a sob fest that I think caught us both by surprise.

And then, without much ado, we got in our rental minivan and left Northern California. Eleven years earlier, to the day in fact, Mr. Rosen and I left Israel to embark on a new adventure together. We were only two of us back then. Now we're five. Back then we each had a backpack. Now we have eight suitcases and a twenty foot container. Back then we had palm pilots. Now we have iPhones. The cast has grown and a few of the props have changed but it's basically our same old story unfolding again. Can't wait to see how things turn out this time around.

Ten Years Ago Today - Buddha Day

Ten years ago today my husband and I were sitting in an internet cafe in Katmandu sending out some emails and planning our trek in the Himalayas. At the end of that trek we would be engaged. I will have also lost my inhaler and gotten kicked by a horse and Mr. Rosen will have thrown up more than a dozen times from altitude sickness. Pussy. But on this day we were still reeling from our three weeks in Thailand and happy to be in the cooler, dryer climate of Nepal. Here's a snippet from the email I wrote on May 31, 2001.

We took the night train back to Bangkok where we saw the golden Buddha - a huge, five ton, solid gold Buddha. Just about the shiniest thing I have ever seen. As it was our last day in the the city we attempted to see the 49 meter lounging Buddha too but when we arrived we were told it was Buddha Day and that there was a ceremony so we couldn't go in. Buddha Day? Then a guy told us that could take a tuk tuk ride and see the sitting Buddha and the lucky Buddha and the standing Buddha and then the export shop for only 20 baht. Unusually cheap. Why? Buddha Day. Good for Tourists. Buy jewelry.
We figured we were being set up for a scam and that Mr. Rosen might end up dressed as a woman in a tranny show if things got ugly. Bangkok has a scary underbelly. So we left. Then we asked another guy who also said it was Buddha Day and offered to drive us around. The export shop was having a promotion for tourists to buy things tax free. You buy, okay. You no buy, okay. So we figured what the hell and jumped in the tuk tuk.

We see one Buddha and then another and then another and then the guy takes us to this jewelry shop. We walk in looking like big sweaty shlumps having just inhaled five kilometers worth of exhaust from the vehicle in front of us exhaust while everyone else appears refined in their suits and bad toupees. They must have taken cars. It's obvious we're not going to buy anything so we find our way to the exit. The driver is annoyed and says we have to stay longer than ten minutes so that he can get his petrol coupon. Stupid foreigners. We understand. Buddha Day.

So we go to another place and Mr. Rosen and I start trying on rings like idiots and the owner is annoyed because his masterful powers of deduction have led him to believe we have no intention of buying anything and that we're just there for the coupon. But we hang out for ten minutes and the driver gets his coupon. What a funny day. Buddhas, coupons, toupees, precious stones. Time to cool down with a banana shake.
Namaste.

Anyone remember what you were doing ten years ago today? Celebrating Buddha Day in Thailand? Do share.

Life is Elsewhere

I'm a little bit stuck on this subject.

I was chatting with a mom from my son's kindergarten class and she was telling me how before they had kids she and her husband had lived in Alice Springs, Australia, for three years.  And then they lived in England for two years where both kids were born.  And then they moved here to be closer to family. I told her how I'd lived abroad for almost five years too and we lamented the end of those days since now we are both fully embroiled in motherhood and elementary school and suburban splendor all the while wondering what the hell happened? When did we turn into these other people? 

Not that I used to live such a wild and crazy life. Let's be clear. In college I always took language classes at 8am so I went to bed at 10:00. Sometimes earlier. I sang in an a Capella group so that's about as nerdy as it gets. I never drank. My friends had to beg me to order a beer on my 21st birthday. In high school I only broke curfew once and that's because I didn't know Dances With Wolves was a three hour movie.

But when I was sixteen I went to London by myself to visit a friend and since then I've had the bug. The next year I went to Israel for five months. After college I went to Chile for five months with side trips to Peru and Argentina. Then I went to Israel for what I thought would be a year which turned into four+. During that time I traveled all over Europe. Always with a backpack, a Lonely Planet and not much money. But often with the address of a local friend or cousin or friend of a cousin whose couch was free. And then we took our big trip which brought me to places I'd never dreamed I would visit. Even in business school I managed to find an internship that had me living in a charming apartment in northern Belgium.

Those were my twenties. Running around the world, meeting wonderful people, learning languages. It was a ten year Eat Pray Love fest. And then I turned 30, got a job, bought a house, had babies and here I am looking down the barrel at the next thirty years feeling kind of hollow about the whole thing. And it's not just the kids. Lately I am bursting with love for these kids. But they have a funny way of making me feel tethered. Or maybe I'm the one doing the tethering.

Either way I can't figure out how to stop feeling like life is elsewhere. Because even when I was living my life elsewhere, I was still thinking about the next place. I even remember reading the book Life is Elsewhere by Milan Kundera, whose many books I have quickly devoured and just as quickly forgotten entirely, while staying at a guest house in Cuzco, Peru and wishing I was somewhere else. BESIDES CUZCO! Epically beautiful, spiritual and charming, "turn alpaca wool into just about anything" Cuzco. But for me life was elsewhere.

So where does that leave me? Us! Almost everyone I know around my age feels this to some degree. Bankers who wish they could open a deli. Lawyers who want to be chefs. Engineers who want to be bee keepers. I think that's why life coaching has taken off in the last ten years. We're a whole generation of people who have bought into this idea of having it all (work, family, love, adventure, passion, happiness, balance, inner peace) which, for me anyway, comes with a constant feeling like I've come up short.

To fill a gap, insert the thing that caused it.
Fill if up with other and twill yawn the more.
You cannot solder an abyss
With air. 
-Emily Dickinson

I feel the gap. Sometimes I feel like I might have found what will close the gap. I thought painting would do that. Sometimes I feel swallowed by the gap. Sometimes I'm at The Gap and nothing fits right and there's a long line and I'm wondering what am I doing here?

Seriously, what am I doing here?

And yet, of one thing I am absolutely certain. Ten years from now, thirty years from now, I will look back on this time in my life with an aching fondness and remember how simple it was when the kids were small and relied on us for everything. How squishy they were. How a kiss fixed anything. How they ran to greet us at the front door. And I'll wish I could go back. Or hopefully by then I'll have learned to live in the present.

The Back Page

Do you ever mean to just look at a few pages of your old journal and end up rereading the whole thing and then forget to pick up your kids from school? This always happens when I'm trying to purge some old stuff and I come across my journals and then I am completely derailed from the purging project. I don't have that many journals because I could never be bothered to write regularly. I have one, two actually, from when I was 17 and went to Israel to live on a farm for five months. I wrote every day. It's a thrilling account of a scared shitless teenager living halfway around the world wanting her mommy but instead waking up at 3am to clean incubators. Good times. And I have another journal from college that's mostly sporadic declarations of my unrequited love for some new pony-tailed, guiltar playing, pre-med goon that had the least bit of interest in yours truly. Sad but true. That journal also has some stuff from when I moved to Israel after college and met my husband. But then I mostly ever wrote in it when I was mad at him and wondering why on earth I was living in a place where you paid your bills at the post office for a guy whose idea of fun was reenacting Exodus by hiking in our underwear through the desert. It was like dating Moses.

When we left Israel I started a new journal. We had bought tickets to fly around the world for the 8 months we had before I started business school in the States. It was a fantastic trip full of adventure and turmoil and diarrhea and sand flies and hitchhiking and purple coral and Himalayan views and lost inhalers (mine - which sort of sucked at 14,000 feet), and 16 hour bus rides and yoga and His Holiness the Dalai Lama. We even got engaged on that trip.

This list is on the back page of that journal. I wrote it while we were in Northern India, spending time in Dharamsala, the home in exile of the Dalai Lama. We arrived after a harrowing journey from Delhi, the armpit of earth, and even though I had a 103 fever and was hallucinating, we schlepped ourselves up to the temple where His Holiness was giving audience. And he blessed us and gave us little red strings. This was super awesome but had no affect on my Dengue fever. We decided we should stay put for a few weeks because the mere thought of another long bus ride was making me bleed from my ears. So every morning I'd wake up and listen to the rats run diagonally across the roof of our guest house accommodations. Then I'd go get a mango lassi at the cafe down the road and then do Yoga for four hours with a yogi named Akhilesh. Then I'd come home and read and eat and play card games with other travelers. And then I'd park myself at the Internet cafe and figure out where we would stay in Copenhagen, our last stop before London and then California. And who had the cheapest one way ticket from London to LAX.  And how we were getting from California to North Carolina. And how much money we still had left. And when I had to sign up for pre-MBA math camp. And who killed John F. Kennedy. And where was Al Capone's money if not in the secret vaults. And is there life elsewhere in the universe. And do they eat pita with Nutella.

Here I was living in a beautiful, albeit rustic, little village in Northern India with the Dalai Lama as my neighbor practicing yoga daily and eating as much chana masala and mango lassi as I could, all for $10 a day and yet completely consumed by the details of wrapping up our trip and starting business school another world away. Once again trying to control the ambiguity in my life.

How I would love to go back there now, and maybe stay in a place for $5 a night instead of $3 to avoid the rats, and just enjoy each day and each mango lassi and each yoga pose. And let all of my anxiety about the future waft away on a Tibetan monk's robes. I'd leave the back page of my journal for poetry or sketches. Or emergency toilet paper.

I'm getting the tiniest bit better at this actually. The living with ambiguity. We have a lot up in the air right now and while I still make lists and do research, I'm mostly letting it all simmer and thicken while I try to just enjoy where I am and trust the path. Maybe this comes with age? Our trip was already ten years ago. And here I am in the same breath that I write about enjoying the present, wishing I was traveling the world again. Sigh.

This Tuesday list was brought to you by the letter A.

Bead Therapy

I have a favorite necklace that kind of looks like this one except it's very, very long and the glass beads are smaller. I bought it for a dollar in Manikaran, India, a small town in the Parvati Valley (far north), well known for it's geothermal activity and a sacred spot for the Sikh population. We were there in 2001 and my clearest memory is going to the public bathhouse where I stood out like, well, a naked white girl in an Indian bathhouse. So when I left the bathhouse I went to the marketplace and found a few things to help me fit in better - about thirty glass bangles and the necklace. It might have worked if I could have stacked the glass bangles all the way up my arms, around my neck and up both legs, so that no one could see my casper white skin. Alas, I still received many stares. And I sounded like a wind chime.

In Santa Fe, at my favorite store, they had a bin with glass beads for $3 a scoop. I got three scoops with the idea that I would maybe make a similar necklace or several (three scoops is a lot), even though I'd never done any bead or wire work in my life. Except for once when I was 16.  I feel a tangent coming on...

Friendship pins (safety pins with beads on them) were big back in 1989 and my friend Andrea and I made a lot of them. So many that we started stringing them through elastic and making them into bracelets. And then we started selling them at the children's bookstore where I worked part time. And one day a lady came in and wanted to buy thirty of them for her daughter's birthday party! So we made thirty and it took forever and our fingers bled and she only paid us $120 which, at the time, we thought was a TON of money even though it was essentially about $2 an hour but then we didn't talk to each other for like two months and it was kind of a disaster. Soon after, Macy's started selling similar items for about $40 each. Let this be a lesson to you readers. ALWAYS PATENT YOUR IDEAS. Our company was called Cheesy Beads. I promise this will tie together in a second...

Lately I have been in a creative rut, feeling a little strangled by my watercolors.  So today, I went to the bead store two blocks from my house with my India necklace and my pile of Santa Fe glass beads and high hopes that a little wire and bead work might kickstart my creativity. The guy at the store sold me a round nose pliers, a bunch of eye wires and a clasp and sent me home to look at You Tube for instructions. Which is what I did. And here is my necklace which, on me, is more of a choker, ironically, but in the bigger picture, might just be what I needed to open up the flood gates.

This little piggy needed some love

On Friday I decided to get a pedicure. I very rarely do this. But there is no pumice stone rough enough to get the half inch dermal layer off my heels. My husband had given me a gift certificate to a place downtown for my birthday (nine months ago) and I figured I'd better use it before my next birthday. I mean what the hell was I waiting for anyway? The messiah? My appearance on Oprah? It's just a damned pedicure. But now that I work for myself I start to have anxiety about using any of my time for anything besides my work. Not that I don't waste plenty of it sitting in front of this very computer but at least it looks like I'm working. Nothing about sitting in a massage chair reading People magazine having someone dunk your feet in paraffin wax looks like work.

So Friday was the day. I wanted something with a little punch so I picked out The Tasmanian Devil Made Me Do It red. The last time I had my toes painted was on a trip to the US when I'd been living in Israel (twelve years ago). I went with an old friend to get our nails done and I picked out bubble gum pink. The next day I flew back to Israel and then quickly drove with my boyfriend to the Egyptian border because I had an assignment to edit and rewrite the Sinai chapters of the Fodors Israel and Egypt guidebooks. If I was going to be traipsing around the Ritz Carlton at Sharm El Sheikh, I wanted some pretty toenails. You know, in case Bill Clinton showed up.

Three days into the trip I had a raging fight with my boyfriend and it turns out that he was now second guessing our relationship because I had paid $9 to have a Vietnamese woman in California paint my toenails on a whim. For him, those pink toes called into question all of my values and stood for everything he despised about the world - wealth, bourgeois society, appearances, western entitlement. Seriously. And this is not a cultural thing. Plenty of Israeli women paint their toes. It was his own thing. Eventually I helped him to understand he was acting like a jackass and twelve years later we are married and have two kids and own a house mortgage in Silicon Valley. But my nails have remained nude ever since.

So after twelve years The Tasmanian Devil Made Me Do It and these piggies got the royal treatment. And my husband didn't give a rat's ass and we enjoyed a lovely weekend in Lake Tahoe where my red toes looked especially AWESOME against the alpine blue lake.

Corner View - Front Door

My husband and I customarily take a day to explore Jerusalem whenever we come to visit. Saba and Savta watch the kids and we spend the day walking around, eating, watching. It's always great. We usually spend our time in the Old City but on this visit we concentrated on the area called Machane Yehuda. It's a giant fruit, vegetable, candy, plastic container, appliance, broom, spice, fake Levis, pastry and cheap sandals market. It's where I used to shop every Friday morning when I lived in Jerusalem. It is total chaos. We love this place.

So we spent a few hours strolling around. We had a shwarma at a place called Moshiko's, which was next to a barber and across from a mini-synagogue. You know, in case you need to pray while buying your groceries. I guess it's more for the sellers to pop over and do their thing morning, noon and night ritual. I wish I had a picture of the five old guys hanging out at the barber. They were adorable. Especially when they halted conversation to stare at a beautiful, big-boobed, Scandinavian tourist walk by. Classic!

Corner View - Street Photography

We're in the midst of preparations to leave for Israel on Monday so instead of a Corner View of where we're at, here's a Corner View of where we're going. This is a typical street scene from the Arab Market in Jerusalem's Old City where my husband and I always go to have fresh squeezed orange or carrot juice, a delicious meal of pita, ful, hummus and salad chopped up as tiny as possible and plenty of local olive oil. It's right next to the Armenian guy who sells old photos of Jerusalem so we always stop by to admire. Sometimes have tea. Although he'll talk your ear off. Don't say I didn't warn you.

And then we get kenafe (cheese, pistachio and honey) for dessert at Jabar's which is a little closer to Damascus Gate and in the quarter where we're not super welcome, politically anyway. It's been two years since our last visit. I'm hoping to gather inspiration for some new work. In fact, a friend there just told me she's taking me to a restaurant in the Jaffa flea market where everything's for sale. Even the table you're eating off of! They just add it to the bill. Genius! I feel inspired already.

So I may not post for a while. We'll see how it goes. Or maybe I'll post a bunch at 4am as we muddle through a 10 hour time difference with our kids. Oy.

Now head over to Spain for more street photography.

Fully Formed

I am so up to my eyeballs in paperwork these days that I can't even see straight. I have a new callous on my right middle finger where my pen rests. The kind I used to get during final exams in college. I have forms coming out of my forms.

It started last weekend when my husband and I decided to buy tickets to visit his family in Israel. In March. That's tomorrow basically. But it's actually our favorite time of year and it's been raining a TON over there so that means by mid March there will be entire fields teaming with red poppies and wild irises. Which totally makes up for the hideously long plane trip and the week of jetlag. Plus we get to see all the people that we are otherwise missing so that's good too.

Anyway, what we failed to realize was that our son's passports had expired. Both of them. And my Israeli passport had also expired. Oops. That's six forms right there. Our covert secret ops mission to the unmarked Israeli consulate in San Francsico is a story for another time. But there I had to fill out another form because apparently when we got married and registered our auspicious union at the Ministry of the Interior, someone wrote down that I took my husband's last name, which I didn't. Please fill out this form.

And before we leave on our trip I have to sign up my son for kindergarten. Twenty more forms. And though the private school application is in, the financial aid application is not.  More forms. And then there's summer camps. Yes. Most of the United States is still a frozen wasteland but over here in California we're signing up for summer camp. Because we are LUNATICS. So not only do I need to figure out when my kids are going to what camps but also what we're doing in between and how on earth will I get anything done this summer and should I just keep my son at the place where he goes to school or can we venture to some other, more interesting camps, like one that focuses entirely on ELECTRICITY for a whole week, but where he doesn't know anyone and will likely be miserable. And what does it all mean? Nothing. Except more forms. And with every over priced summer camp, comes financial aid. Surprise. More forms.

I'm just waiting for the sanitarium forms to show up so I can sign on the dotted line.

The Other Happiest Place on Earth

Before we got married my husband and I traveled around the world for nine months. I would send very long emails to my people every couple of weeks. Once, while we were in Kathmandu, I wrote the mother of all emails about our journey through Thailand and then the power went out. Bye bye email. So me and the Welsh guy at the next terminal spent a few minutes cursing Nepal and the fucking ox that probably just tripped over the city's main electrical power line. And then we met my husband for a drink and I wrote an even better email the next day.

So let's just say that a lumbering ox named Blogger just deleted the blog entry I'd been writing for the last 45 minutes. Somehow the whole thing got erased just as it was auto-saving. Thanks for nothing auto-save. But let's assume that this version will be even better than what I just wrote. And I'll be able to write it in only ten minutes. Blind typing.

And let's also assume that my New Year's resolution was not to write in my blog every day. Obviously. Or even once a week at this rate. But I've been away visiting family in New Mexico. And I have a million stories to tell from the trip which is why I haven't been able to write because there's too much to write and isn't that always how it goes? So I will get through the stories slowly and probably not chronologically because that would feel like work. And I'm lazy.

I will tell you that on this trip I discovered heaven. Until now I've only really had a clear vision of hell. It's muggy in a way that leaves my hair permanently frizzy; there are thousands of two year olds  having tantrums; it is very dusty and full of state employees; I can only wear polyester; I always have my period and there are many, many cats. But, until now, I did not have as clear an image of heaven. My happy place, if you will. The place where I could go when I needed to shut out everything. There have been contenders. A lake by a mountain. Too many mosquitoes. A tranquil beach. Sand in my tushy.

But on this trip I found it. It's called Jackalope. Feast your eyes on this treasure of trove of handmade. Handsewn. Handcut. Handcarved. Handpainted. Handed over from an assembly line in China. This is a giant warehouse of chingaderas (little fucking things). Paper cut flags, oil cloth by the yard, lanterns, pottery, blown glass, worry dolls, day glow skulls, Frida magnets, baskets, furniture, embroidered everything, anything you could possibly need for a Dia de los Muertos celebration, carvings, lucha libre lunch boxes and sombreros.

 

And you bet your culo I bought my daughter one of these little embroidered dresses which I, against my better judgment, let her wear to preschool her first day back and which came home in a baggy smeared with paint. But I washed it out and she is ready to reprise her role as Frida for Halloween 2010.

And lucky me, I got to share heaven with two favorite women, my mommy and my sister in law. We left our husbands at home with our kids and spent the afternoon patrolling the plaza, drinking Mexican hot chocolate and finally arriving at this marvelous retreat. And as we are admiring a stack of woven carpets, I hear a faint cry. Mommy. That must be in my head.

 

But behold! It was not in my head. It was my kids! And my niece and nephew! In a wagon! Apparently their fathers, not knowing where we had ended up, had taken all the kids to see Alvin and the Chipmunks but it was sold out and in an act of desperation they came to Jackalope because not only does this place have every tchotchke known to man, it also has a petting zoo where you can feed donkeys. And a glass blower. Well you don't feed the glass blower. Just the donkeys.

And I thought, huh. Who invited my kids to my happy place? But there they were. Jumping around, screaming with glee and nearly bowling over a row of three foot St. Francis de Asisis. But I was very happy to share my happy place with them. And happier still when their father took them home in a separate car.