Latest installment

Click on the title for the latest installment in the Israel story.

See, I did get something accomplished today. I also went through the mail, watched tv, and ordered groceries online (free delivery!).

I still have to do laundry. Sigh.

I'm sick!

Oh joy. I get to stay home today, sick. Sick! I'm not surprised. I felt it coming on, but all the traveling and sleepiness disguised the symptoms. Everyone I saw in Israel was sick--my nephew, his bride, several small children and Spesh. It's not the end of the world. I don't have a fever, but I am stumbling around the house slightly off balance. I have a sore throat, headache and runny nose. I'm tired too, but that's hardly a symptom.

So, if anyone wants to bring me some ginger ale, I wouldn’t say no. I already have plenty of saltines and cans of soup, though, so I won't starve. I expect to be back to normal by Monday.

Let's see if I can get any writing/laundry/organizing done around the house today.

Anything's possible.

Grateful for: a day to relax.

Jetlag

I feel kind of dumb. Instead of telling you how I did my nails yesterday, I should have mentioned that I got home safe and sound. Then again, that was perfectly obvious.

I'm suffering quite a bit from jetlag and my thinking is foggy. When I have to talk to someone, my words come slowly. It's rather unpleasant.

I'm also putting up all the Israel posts in a new more chronology-friendly blog. As I get the rest of my adventures and observations written down, which is going to take longer than I thought, I will post them over there. Which is here: My trip to Israel.

If anything interesting happens in DC in the next few days, I can write it here and I can keep the Israel story going over there, with pictures and everything.

I did tell Mom that she should read the blog while I was gone so she could get the story. Now, perhaps, she should refrain. But maybe it's ok. Let's just play that by ear, shall we?

Now, I have to go and do something, but I'm not quite sure what.

Oh, and I did my taxes this morning and I unpacked and paid bills. Yay me! And I bit off that same thumb nail. Weird. The other nine are still safe and sound. Tomorrow, laundry.

Grateful for: home.

Nails

What did I do today?

My nails. No, really. When I was in Israel, I had a manicure--I wrote about it. That led to me not biting my nails for the entire time I was there. Ok, I bit one thumb nail, but nine out of ten ain't bad. I've managed to not bite my nails before, but it's been years since I've gone this long without a bite.

In case you didn't figure it out yet, I bite my nails. It's not because they taste good--it's a nervous habit. Half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it.

So, my first day back, I fished out all the nail care supplies. I have everything, files, polishes, cuticle cutter, nail polish remover. I got to work and removed the old polish, moisturized, filed, etc.

I did not go to work. I did go to the movies (nothing special). Sitting in the movies put me at high risk for nail biting. I'll often come out of a movie completely shorn of any nail length.

Guess what? I still have all my nails! Go team.

I'm working on more Israel stories and getting photos uploaded. In the meantime, take a look here, there is lots to see.

Grateful for: self-control.

Ben-Gurion Airport

I'm on my way home today and it's going to be a long one. The sweet part is that this airport, at least in Terminal 3, has WiFi. Lord love it. Now, if I were good and had been writing but not posting, I'd have something ready to go and pop it up for you. Instead, I've been in a writing free zone since Friday afternoon.

I know I've gotten the chronology of the story all mixed up and I have a whole bunch of observations and pictures I want to share when I get home and get my act together.

But we're boarding now, so I'll have to get back to you from London (my three and a half hour layover). See you soon.

Grateful for: free WiFi.

Computer fiasco

The computer fiasco of March 2006 occurred on Tuesday. I was trying to sleep and Dad work me up. I'd snapped at him a couple of times already, mostly due to unconstrained grumpiness. I couldn't get to the computer until late that day, so I wrote in a longhand instead.

Some of my Tuesday thoughts:

I guess I must fit in around here because everyone starts speaking to me in Hebrew. But why shouldn't they? I would be more remarkable if they didn't. What is remarkable is that when I answer in English, "sorry," they repeat the question in English! "Where is number 1 Hanania Street?" "How much time can you put on this meter?" "Can I have your phone number?"

When I grumped out of the house on Tuesday, Dad asked, "Where are you going?"

I said, "For a walk."

"We're doing [this and that]. When will you be back?"

I said, "I don't know."

"Did your laundry dry yet?" I'd done a load the night before and hung things up on the drying rack provided in the unit. There is a washer but no dryer.

"No, not yet."

"So, we'll see you back here mid-afternoon?" Dad asked.

"Ok."

I went and walked. I bought a frozen coffee drink--like a frapuccino, it cost about the same too.

The highlight of the day: a dude on a scooter tried to pick me up. He pulled on to the sidewalk (a shockingly unremarkable event here), and asked me something in Hebrew--presumably directions (it was the second time so far). I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I said, in English, "I'm sorry." I walked past him, but he started talking to me. I could have ignored him, but I engaged--not sure why. Maybe because he was cute. He said, in English, "You speak English?"

"Yes."

"You're a tourist."

"I'm here for my nephew's wedding. My brother lives here."

"For how long?" He asked.

"More than 20 years."

"You are from New York--your accent..."

"Yes--I live in Washington DC." I said.

"But you are from New York?"

"I was born there."

"Ok. I have more questions..." He smiled. So did I.

"You do?"

"Yes. I can have your telephone number?"

"I don't know. I'm pretty busy."

"But I can call."

"They have plans--parties for me to go to every night."

"But maybe one night, later this week--Thursday."

"I don't know."

"You won't even let me try?"

I smiled, laughed, shrugged.

He looked at me. I walked away. If I weren't thousands of miles from home, I might have given him my number.

I got back from coffee, after talking to scooter dude, and Dad and Susan were gone--my computer locked in their place. I lay down and tried to rest. I watched some tv. When I decided to go out again, around 2:30 pm, I found a note and a cell phone outside my door. Dad and Susan were at B2's house and would be there for a while. I needed to be ready to go to the party that night by 7:30pm. Fine. I went for a long walk.

I called Spesh on the cell phone and told him about my encounter. He said, "What kind of scooter? Don't be so impressed."

"It wasn't a Vespa or anything. Just a scooter."

Spesh said, "He tried pretty hard already. You didn't need to let him try anymore." I said, "Yes, I give him credit for a good effort."

I wandered around residential Jerusalem neighborhoods. I found a UN vehicle and loads of feral cats--some where very cute. I am taking pictures of the Jerusalem cats.

On my walk, I wondered if I would get lost. I didn't have a map. But, somehow, I kept my bearings and found my way home. When I told Dad he said, "I never had any doubt you would get home. You have such a good sense of direction." I do, don't I?

In the last post, I said I was grateful for time and stories. What I'm really grateful for is a place to put these stories. I'm grateful that I can share them with you--that I have a place to express myself. Thanks for reading.

Grateful for: this space.

The parties

Monday, I was exhausted and didn't do much. I couldn't sleep late and went out for a short walk and coffee with Dad. I can't remember much more about what we did, but it certainly involved watching movies on tv.

That evening, we attended the first of several late dinner parties given in honor of the newlyweds. These parties are like work. The Hebrew name for them is "Shevas Bruchas" which, to my ear, translates as "Seven Blessings." I might be right because there are seven blessings said for the couple as part of the wedding ceremony. (Please enlighten me in the comments.)

The dinners are held by friends of the family. The party on Monday night was held by a couple who are good friends of my brother's and his wife's. I actually met them both, and remembered them, from my first visit to Israel. They now have a married daughter (or two?) and a grandchild. They are about 40 years old. Yowsa. About 20-30 people attended this dinner.

The Tuesday night party was held by a daughter of the family Tikvah (my sister-in-law) lived with after her adoptive parents could no longer take care of her. It's a large family and many of the siblings attended. There were about 40 people there.

On Wednesday night, the party was held by the women who work with Tikvah. About 30 people attended. Susan and I went, Dad skipped.

The party on Thursday night was held by the men in the "Kollel" (Talmudic graduate school--not exactly, that's my description of it) that my brother runs with a partner. All of us Americans skipped.

The men and women sit in the same room but at separate tables. The men occasionally give speeches praising the groom and bride and including some kind of Talmudic or religious interpretation. Most of these speeches were in Hebrew, but I would sometimes get a translation. The men would also break into song or prayer and the woman would be hushed. Women were also hushed during the speeches. The men would always stand up and hold hands at some point and dance/walk around their table.

The women did not make speeches or sing. They are not allowed to sing in front of unrelated men. Men are not allowed to hear women sing.

The meals do not start until late--maybe 9pm or later--because the men have to go to evening prayers first.

When you arrive, the tables are set with plastic plates and plastic utensils, paper napkins and plastic cups and plastic tablecloths. It's the way to do it if you are having 40 people to dinner. Usually, the hosting family does not do all the cooking. Family and friends bring some of the food.

The meals have a certain sameness to them. The table is set and a first course or communal salads are set out. Someone arrives with fresh rolls and people sit down and start to eat. There is a blessing, but it is not communal. Each person says a blessing over their roll in their own time and start eating any time they like after that. For those of us who don't pray (me) we just watch and eat when we see others eating. After the salads, some kind of vegetable, stewed, is served. Then soup. Then a main course, chicken and chicken or pot roast and cold cuts--we've had all of these. More salads--tomato and cucumber, hummus, roasted vegetables, pickled cabbage, coleslaw, carrot salad--may be served, or are continually refreshed. After the meat course, there is a dessert. And, of course, bottles of water, regular soda, diet soda, soda water and fruit drink are placed on the tables. Plenty of food is available, but it is possible to limit oneself. I try most everything, but don't have seconds of anything. I haven't felt stuffed yet.

That accounts for all of my evenings except Thursday (tonight). Thursday, I did a lot of walking, had lunch with Dad and Susan, walked some more and came home, uploaded photos and wrote. Dad and Susan returned around 6pm and Susan apologized for being late--she'd said they'd be back around 5pm. I didn't care. Dad asked if I minded eating in and watching a DVD. Not at all. We walked out and got falafel and schwarma to eat at "home." It's been a good relaxing night--and great for the blog too. No one really watched the DVD. Susan went to sleep at 9pm, after dinner. Dad snoozed as the movie started and I was writing, but it was fine. We needed a t good non-religious night.

And, yes, there are many more stories to tell. It's just a question of finding the time to tell them.

Grateful for: time.
Drop me a line.

My nephew's wedding (Part III)

The end of the wedding story, finally.

The appetizers were placed precisely as the first guests arrived. I noticed immediately a difference between the Ashkenazi and the Yemeni women--the Ashkenazi women wear wigs (sheitals) to cover their hair. Almost all of the Yemeni women wore turbans (small ones) or head scarves.

Why head scarves? Orthodox Judaism requires that married women cover their hair. It is acceptable to cover one's hair either with a scarf, hat or wig.

Since I'm not married, so I don't have to bother. I'm still trying to attract a man so I get to show off my hair. Susan didn't cover her hair either--no one cared.

The front of the hall with the appetizers was divided with the partitions. All the good (fried) food was on the men's side--and so were the plates and flatware. The women did not hesitate to go to the men's side and load up their plates with kifte and other fried yummies.

By 7:30pm, Dad and Yehuda (my nephew, the groom) had not returned. My brother, B2, was getting a little frantic. My sister-in-law, Tikvah, was occupied guarding Dad's rental car because it was parked in a forbidden zone. The parking attendant insisted they would have to tow it.

At 7:40, the groom and his grandfather (Dad) finally showed up. Where were they? I found out from Dad while the men were off praying. Oddly, the Ashkenazi and the Yemin men did not pray together.

Yehuda needed coffee. They found a little café behind a gas station. The staff figured out, or Yehuda told them, that they were serving a groom. They brought him some cake and ice cream and stuck a sparkler in it. Yehuda wanted to order a pizza and that's where Dad drew the line. He said, "We have to GO." And dragged him back to the hall.

And we had a bridegroom.

The ceremony itself was unintelligible--all in Hebrew--even though some of it was miced. A videographer was camped directly in front of the couple making it impossible to see anything. Dad did get a few good pictures, though. This part of the event was the only time men and women were mixed together --all straining to catch a glimpse of the couple under the hupa.

I heard the glass break--the groom steps on a glass as part of the ceremony--but there were still seven blessings to go.

The ceremony wrapped up in about thirty minutes and we headed back to the hall.

The dancing commenced. There was food on the tables but few people were sitting.

The bride was the center of most of the circle dances. She would dance with a friend, who would fling her rather violently about, then a circle would form around them and the women would dance holding hands. It got hot and sweaty quickly.

The bride smiled for the cameras and her friends but she also looked like she was about to pass out a few times. They would sit her down in a chair so she could catch her breath and someone would bring her water. She probably did not get to eat. Later, I realized she was wearing a corset under her dress. Yikes.

After the first round of dancing, more food was brought out and Susan and I took a moment to sit and eat. A couple of nieces at a time joined us but they just took a few bites of food and a few sips of soda before they went back to dancing.

There was a goodly amount of food. And bottles of soda and water on the tables. Actually, the bottles, plastic, of drinks on the table is how we have been served drinks in all of the Orthodox households we've visited. Some of the food included "salads": hummus, roasted eggplant, cucumber and tomato. There was also bread. Later, there was a chicken, beef or chicken main course and dessert. All dishes were kept full.

I felt bad for Dad, all alone on the men's side. I doubt B2 had much time for him. And everyone was speaking Hebrew. Dad doesn't know a word. He's a very smart man, but he does not have a facility for languages. He's tried and tried for years to learn several different foreign languages and he's never been successful.

I stood on the edge of the dances and observed. I didn't know the footwork, but that wasn't really a problem. The Ashkenazi women were doing a modified version of the grapevine step, which is what you use to dance to the hora. The hora is a Jewish wedding dance--and it was pretty much what the women (and men) were dancing. However, I never heard "Hava Nagila" played, which is the only song at a Reform Jewish wedding to which a circle dance is done (at least in my experience).

After I had a bite to eat, I ventured back to the dance floor. I was watching the dancing (again) and a young woman who I'd met earlier that day at Tikvah's shop (she works there) took my hand and insisted I dance. She would find me when ever I wasn't dancing and include me. What a sweet thing.

My nieces did a line dance just for the bride--cute and odd. The whole group did a line dance later on and I joined in. I impressed the oldest niece with my ability to pick up the steps.

I was able to fake the steps for some of the circle dances, but the Yemeni women were doing footwork that was rather complicated. It reminded me of the circle dances I saw at the Moroccan restaurant I went to for New Year's Eve. The other Ashkenazi women were also studying the footwork for the Yemeni dance and most didn't join in. The Yemeni women did not offer to teach, nor did most Ashkenazi women ask to learn. They could have, since they had the common language of Hebrew. But most of the Yemenis did not speak English so I had a hard time communicating with them. Attempts were made, by them, but mostly all we could do was smile and nod. Ah well.

Actually, this is also an issue with the bride. She does not speak English (or only a few words--she seems to understand a little). So, when I've been asked, "What is she like?" it's hard to answer. Still, I have a good impression of her. She is a good sport. She understands her role in all of the events surrounding the wedding. She is fashionable. She has a great laugh and a lovely smile. She is beautiful. I don't know that we would have the deepest conversations even if she spoke English, but I think we would get along just fine.

[Jump to the present: last night. Susan and I drove Yehuda and Avital (the new wife), home after a party. (Dad stayed home; we all stayed home tonight. Did I mention that there have been dinner parties every night this week in honor of the new couple?) As soon as we got away from the house, Avital pulled of her sheital (wig) that she's been wearing since the day after the wedding. She revealed a full head of long, gorgeous deep brown hair. She said, in Hebrew, that it was itchy. I was shocked. I have never seen a religious woman do something like that. I've known Tikvah (my sister-in-law) for over 20 years and I have NEVER seen her without her head covered. Not once. I was delighted. When I dorpped them off, Avital actually walked from the car to their building without the sheital on. You have no idea how unconventional it was. I think this is a good match because Yehuda is not down with all the crazy rules.]

Back to the wedding....

The dance area abutted the partitions, but there was no mixed dancing at all. Avital, the bride, did get to offically cross the barrier at least once. However, the women would peek through the cracks in the "wall" to see what the men were up to. Sometimes, women would stand on chairs and look over the partitions. I did this later in the evening and Tikvah joined me, briefly. I caught Yehuda's eye and he waved at me. You should have seen the way the men were dancing--just as vigorously as the women. They were also moving rather sensuously and holding hands. Too sexy for me, I tell ya.

Other notable dance moves--the groom tossed on a blanket and hoisted into the air atop a piece of plywood. The bride was also held aloft on a piece of plywood and she tossed little bags of candy to the crowd. I was too busy taking her picture so I wasn't able to catch any candy.

Speaking of pictures, I have tons but can't upload them to blogger from Israel. My flicker account is all full for the month too. I'll get the rest up when I get home, but you can take a look at a few here in the meantime.

Everything wrapped up--dancing and food--by about midnight. The buses--did I mention the buses?--were gone by then. Each side of the family rented a bus to bring their friends and neighbors to the wedding hall. Many people drove themselves, all of the family did, but since many folks don't have cars, the buses are a standard practice. The expected attendance was 400 people; 200 from each side--at least that many people were there. The location of the hall, just outside of Tel Aviv was a compromise--about halfway between the bride's and groom's home towns (hers is Haifa, his is, as you know, Jerusalem). The couple is living in Jerusalem, at least for the time being, just a couple of miles from my family.

After the guests left, some family remained. We sat on the men's side, at separate tables, while the men sang and prayed. When they finally finished, more offical pictures were taken.

The bride and groom went back to their new apartment in a taxi.

Cars were loaded with presents and food.

Fighting over the checks and cash commenced.

Around 2am, I got in a car with Dad, Susan and my two youngest nieces to drive back to Jerusalem. We got lost on the way back, missing the turnoff to Jerusalem, passing Tel Aviv. We finally found our way back home and dropped the girls off after 3am. The rest of the family was still not home! We got back and fell into bed.

And the parties began....more later!

Grateful for: the end of this damn story.
Drop me a line.

My nephew's wedding (part II)

Poland meets Yemen

It's about 6:45pm on the day of the wedding. The "Barab" family were at the hall and the first guests were yet to arrive. Dad took Yehuda on a walk and was to return by 7:10pm. I hung around the hall, took a few pictures and checked out the scene.

At an Orthodox wedding, the men and women do not sit together , dine together or dance together. The hall was divided by 8-foot partitions. They created a path that skirted the men's seating area and where the band was located. The partitions took a right turn and marked off the women's seating area--which was smaller than the men's even though the number of female guests was to be about equal to the men.

One wrinkle in this Orthodox wedding was that it was a compromise or a blending of two Jewish traditions. My brother and his community (and all of my family and most American Jews--but not all) are "Ashkenazi" as opposed to "Sephardic." The bride's family is Sephardic. Except not really. Really, they are from Yemen--her parents are the first Israeli generation. The Yemeni Jewish community is very old and their traditions are closer to biblical, some say, than the ways of the Ashkenazi. The Ashkenazi are generally people who came from Eastern Europe. They have certain customs, which are independent of how observant one is. For example, traditionally, Ashkenazi's don't name their children "in honor" of living relatives, but only "in memory" of dead ones. The Sephardi name their children "in honor." Some Hebrew pronunciations are different. And the Yemeni have their own customs--some of which are similar to Sephardic customs.

The differences between the Yemeni and the Ashkenazi really come to light in an Orthodox setting. Most of the Yemeni customs were accepted without too much trouble by my brother. A few things he insisted on. Most things they agreed on--like the separate seating and the videographer. My brother insisted on having the hupa (the canopy under which the wedding ceremony is performed) outdoors. This is a matter of no importance to the Yemenis (and the Sephardi, probably), but the Ashkenazi must have the ceremony outdoors, rain, shine, sleet or snow.

Here's an interesting difference that turning into a big problem--the wedding presents. The Yemeni's dropped off checks and cash in envelopes made available at the door. Ashkenazis gave gifts--but there is no such thing as a wedding registry. This was a bit of a problem because at the end of the wedding my sister-in-law, Tikvah, wanted to take the checks and cash home to the kids. The other mother-in-law wanted to take it with her back to Haifa. They were at loggerheads and stayed at the hall until 3am counting the take. (Actually, my two oldest nieces did the counting. Tikvah sat by the front door to the hall and waited.) I said, inappropriately, to Dad and Susan that they had a Mexican stand-off. Hey, at least I got a laugh. It was resolved, but no one seems to like the bride's mother.

Off to take a walk now. More later.

Grateful for: not caring about the details.
Drop me a line.

Where have I been?

So sorry for leaving you in suspense.

I have not been lazy, taking long walks, trying to get lost and watching Turner Classic Movies on the digital cable. Ok, I have, but I also did not have access to my computer all day yesterday--it was locked in Dad and Susan's place. (My own fault--it was mostly due to grumpiness--full story later. And Susan brought her laptop but it's not working so I did say they could use my machine.)

I got it back last night, but it was nearly 1am when we arrived home and I had to go straight to sleep. I woke up around 10am and got ready. At 10:45am Dad asked to borrow the computer to check his email. He was so slow that I decided to go get coffee and post when I got back. I returned at 11:15am and Susan was on the computer. I asked to use it as soon as she was finished. I'd mentioned to Dad before that I needed to use the computer when he was done. But Susan stayed on until right before we had to get in the car to drive to Tel Aviv for lunch with some old friends of theirs. I should have skipped the Tel Aviv trip.

But, really, what part of, "I need to use the computer?" do they not understand? It's not like I carried the damn thing here for my health. I need to write! Don't they understand? Maybe not, since they don't know about the blog. Should I tell them? Sigh.

We just got back from Tel Aviv and I have exactly 35 minutes before we have to leave for the next event. And I'm driving. Hooray.

I'm writing madly while here, but the part two of the wedding story may not make it up today. It's outlined in longhand (I haven't been completely lazy!), but the extra step of typing what I've written (and adding more details) makes things that much slower.

I know you will forgive me, but it's frustrating.

Grateful for: driving (so much more efficient when I do it).
Drop me a line.

More pre-wedding

The day of the wedding, Dad and I left the house around 8:45am. Before that, I'd roused myself and walked out to find a cup of coffee. Ever since the first time I went abroad, I like to get up early in the morning and go find coffee by myself. I did it the first time I went to Florence (which was to visit Dad when he lived there for a year), and I did it here in Israel now that I had the chance. I walked down the main street in our neighborhood and passed two or three cafés before stopping at one. I ordered a cappuccino that turned out not to really be a cappuccino, but it was acceptable. I walked home, carrying it, and was way ahead of Dad and ready to go when he was.

Where were we going so early in the morning? I was going to meet my sister-in-law, (let's just give her a name, shall we?) Tikvah, and my nieces, so we could get pretty. They were planning to get rather prettier than I, getting hair, nails and faces thoroughly done. My plan was to have a manicure and do my own, very minimal, make up later on.

Dad was going to pick up B2 and the groom, Yehuda, to make a visit to the cemetery. Actually to two cemeteries--that of his grandmother, my father's first wife, and to the burial place of his mother's parents. Apparently that is the custom on the day of the wedding.

A side note--every wedding I've ever attended where there was a dead parent, that person was almost tangibly present. I can understand this practice.

Back to the frivolity--I'm not much of one for manicures, but I've had a few in my life. The last one was for a friend's wedding at least five years ago. It was a painful experiences because the lady cut my cuticles too close and made three fingers bleed. I haven't been back since. I bite my nails, which are soft to begin with, so a manicure is not a high priority.

But, for purposes of family bonding and vanity, I said sure. Susan (stepmother) almost said yes, but she'd just had her nails done back in the States, so what was the point?

It was ok--only one cuticle bled. The horrifying part was the extremely unhygienic conditions under which the manicure was performed. Things were re-used that should not have been, the nail debris was not contained, the clippers were not sterilized. I'm telling you, we don't know how clean we have it in America.

Niece #2, who is the sweetest, kindest girl in the world, asked if I was having my hair done. I said I'd do something but I wasn't sure what. She said, "Maybe my mother will do something for you." You know the end to the that story!

I watched Niece #3 (incorrectly labeled in that post) have her hair turned into a frothy, Barbie-like confection. Tikvah could tell it wasn't the right thing for me. She asked if I wanted her to do something. I said, "Maybe." Then I said, "I'd love it if you could do something for me." And I sat myself down in her chair.

And what did she do? Something special that didn't hurt and was totally "me." Fancy but not ostentatious. She used a couple dozen bobby pins, a lot of hair spray and her imagination--and knowledge of my tastes--and in about 15 minutes she fixed me up just right. She worked very hard that daty--fixing my hair and that of her four daughters--but she remained calm and cheerful through it all.

After they finished up with the polishings, waxings and blow-dryings we all headed to our respective homes.

I took a cab back to the apartment. The cab driver spoke no English and did not understand my pronunciation of the street where I'm staying. I still can't say it correctly. I did convey the name of the main street that insects my street, so we got going. It was a situation where I understood most of what he was saying--not he actual words but what he would have been saying in that situation. For example, "On which end of the main street is your street located?" I couldn't have answered that one anyway. Or, "Will you know it when we get there?" The answer to that was, "yes, " but when did he ask it? I said, "lo" (no) and "kin" (yes) and "beseder" (all right) a lot. And "todah" (thanks). And somehow we got there, when he finally correctly interpreted my mispronunciation.

The plan was to meet Dad and Susan back at the apartment and be ready to go by 4:00pm. We left around 4:15pm.

We arrived at B2's place to pick him for the drive to the wedding. My dress is sleeveless, which is why I have the white cardigan draped over it in the picture, so I would be properly covered. When B2 sees me he says, "You're going to be covered?"

I said, "Yes, that's why I have this sweater." It had been a little warm in the car on the way to his place, so I wasn't fully buttoned up. I started buttoning.

B2 said, "I can loan you a shirt if you need it." He smirked a little and walked into the hallway.

I said, "But that would be man's clothing--and it would be improper to wear men's clothing!"

From the other room, B2 said, "Oh, you remember--very good!"

I muttered, "Hoisted on his own petard." The triumphs with B2 are small and one must savor them.

He did approve of my outfit when it was fully buttoned up. Not as attractive as the dress without the sweater, but not bad. It wasn't like I was going to meet any boys that night.

On the drive to the hall, B2 made a joke about passing a Coke-a-Cola bottling plant. "When you start to feel thirsty, you'll know it's coming up." I said it wasn't subliminal if you could see it. Then B2 told a story about reading one of the Curious George books to the kids when they were little, "I didn't remember the story but all of a sudden I got the taste of spaghetti in my mouth. Then I turned the page...and there was Curious George in a bowl of spaghetti!" We all laughed. B2 is very sweet.

When we arrived at the hall at 6:30pm, the groom, Yehuda, didn't want to go straight in. Perhaps first I should tell you the plan for the wedding:

7:00pm--Official start time. Appetizers available, guests start to arrive.
7:45pm--Rabbi arrives.
8:00pm--Wedding ceremony under the Hupa.
8:30pm--Dancing, eating, dancing, eating--until midnight or so.

My sister-in-law and nieces planned to arrive early, around 6pm, to take some pictures. The groom wanted to arrive no earlier than 7pm.

B2's plan was for Dad (aka Grandpa) to take Yehuda off somewhere to hang out until he was ready to be officially present. He said he didn't want to be there until 7pm.

That is pretty much what happened.

Part II tomorrow....

Grateful for: infection-free maincures.
Drop me a line.

Longest first day ever

As you know by now, I arrived in Israel safe and sound. Made it off the plane, though passport control and baggage claim. I came through the meeting point, but where was Spesh? I walked to the right...I walked to the left. Nope. There were a variety of tall young men with dark brown hair, but no Spesh. I wondered if I should get some money. I wandered far to the left and there he was, sitting down with a friend. I waved, he saw me and jumped up, surprised.

"When did you come out?"

"Just now."

"I didn't see you."

"Well, you wouldn't have, sitting way over here."

"Don't you have a black jacket? I thought you would be wearing a black jacket."

I glanced at my blue and white fleece, "No."

"Could you go back and get it?"

"Sure...just hang on!"

"I'm sorry, there was no excuse for that." He introduced me to the friend and she took my bags. I asked Spesh if I should get some money and he said I wouldn't need any for a while. Then I told him he needed to buy me a soda and he did.

We drove into Tel Aviv proper and dropped off the friend. Then we headed to the kibbutz.

The drive went in a blur though I tried to pay attention to the landscape. When we stopped for gas I demanded more money so I could buy water and a chocolate bar.

The family home was very 1970's. Small, neat and full of Danish modern furniture--reminding me of a few pieces that I have. The parents were extremely kind and welcoming and happy to meet me. There was a sister--who I didn't know much about, but who I liked right off. Over dinner, Spesh became completely silent. Except to complain about the potatoes, which were too salty.

After dinner, we went to a Purim party at the dining hall. Yes, it was a couple of days after Purim and it wasn't much of a party, but it was hoot. There was a light supper (of which we did not partake), some tasty cookies and a copious amount of alcohol. I had one drink and I was ready to go home.

By the time we got home, I could barely keep my eyes open. I think we watched part of a movie on tv with his dad and then I trundled myself off to bed around 10pm Israel time. As expected, I woke up around 6:45am. A very good sleep.

Spesh and I decided, vaguely, what to do that day. First, I talked to him about the bath. The bathroom, while small, was perfectly adequate--but it was of the type I've encountered in Holland where the whole bathroom is the shower. I'm scared of baths like that--how do you keep the whole room from getting soaked? The answer? You don't. You just minimize. And there is a mop right there to swoosh everything towards a drain in the center of the floor.

Oh, another thing about Israel--all floors in all houses are made of stone. I'd forgotten. I should have packed slippers. They're not optional around here.

After a quite enormous and tasty breakfast provided by Spesh's parents, he took me out to pick avocados. It was just a short walk from the house--but we could not find a single avocado. Spesh told me over and over that he had seen tons of them just the day before. But we were out of luck.

Instead, we took a long walk, through the fields, past some scary, alien looking trees that are grown for lumber (to make pressboard). We passed through a locked gate and finally, it was time to turn back. Spesh didn't want to retrace our steps, so we took a route a few yards up the hill, along a line of trees. Unfortunately, where this route met the fence, there wasn't a gate--we walked along the fence and then found ourselves on the side of a highway. I was not pleased and grumped at Spesh about it after about 15 minutes of highway walking.

We cut back towards the kibbutz and ended up at the dairy. The cows and calves mooed at us, but only the youngest ones weren't skittish of us. Spesh said, "The babies will suck your finger." Sure enough, it was true, and I walked around with some cow slobber on my hand for a while. Very cute, though.

After a visit to a nature preserve with a tiny spring--it also involved skirting a locked gate--and hanging out with some of Spesh's kibbutz friends--we plotted the rest of the day.

It was decided to drive to Nazareth and eat, then to Jerusalem. Before dropping me at the apartment Dad had rented for me, we would stop by and see Spesh's girlfriend, A, at her parents' house.

On the drive to Nazareth-- Spesh: When DrJ was here, I made up a story about Jesus jumping off that mountain. Then when we got to the top of the mountain--it was true!

I laughed and laughed.

We ran into hoards of Japanese tourists. Spesh said, "Do you think they know they're in a tourist area?"

I said, "Probably, but there are tons of locals around so they may not get it."

After we ate, we took a very long drive to Jerusalem.

We found our way to A's place. Very nice people. They fed us some kugel. While we were there, Dad called on Spesh's cell phone wondering where we were. We said we were on the way. A came with us to make sure we wouldn't get lost.

Spesh and A came in to meet Dad and Susan (stepmother). Handshakes all around! The place was big, new and very pleasant. Dan and Susan have a one bedroom; I have a studio. Smaller than the studios I've lived in, but much nice than your average hotel room.

Almost as soon as I arrived, after Spesh and A left, it was time to head over to B2's. We go there just in time for Havdalah.

It was great to see them. They were happy to see us too. There were hugs all around (except between the adult men and women--it's not permitted). It's another world but family is family. They're all so big and grown. Yowsa.

I finally had the thought that oldest nephew will potentially have babies soon. Scary. He is just much too young for that. Hopefully they will wait.

Grateful for: good friends and my long lost family.
Drop me a line.

Preparation

I'm too tired to write more, but I'll leave you with this...

My fabulous wedding hair, courtesy of my sister-in-law: Niece #2's astonishing wedding hair: My wedding outfit:

Yep, we're just that pretty. Maybe I'll get a picture of the wedding hair in the wedding dresses later. The girls, my nieces, are wearing formal gowns. I feel slightly déclassé in comparison, but they confirmed that only the close family is supposed to be that dressed up. Well, they're stuck with me and they don't seem to mind.

I'm putting on my make up in a few minutes; then it's off to the races.

Full updates later....

(The place Dad rented for me is VERY nice and there is free WiFi--but of course!)

Grateful for: a gracious sister-in-law.
Drop me a line.

The best laid plans...

Washington Dulles Airport

I had hoped to carry on my luggage. I have a small rolling bag and a medium-size backpack. But, no luck; they are a bit more strict on international flights.

The flight is also overbooked, so I'm getting a middle seat. In fact, I could have volunteered to fly tomorrow and they would have paid for a hotel and given me $600. I know, I should have volunteered. But I hate changing plans. I'd miss a night with Spesh. I would get there Saturday, not Friday. The wedding is Sunday. That extra day is going to make difference between feeling slightly human and felling like an alien being. So, I didn't volunteer. And I get a middle seat. And I had to check a bag. Blah.

When I got to the airport, I had a tremendous headache. I took a Dramamine for the bus ride, which was smart because I would have suffered otherwise. Not sure if the headache is a side effect of that ride or not.

Despite the drug cornucopia I'm bringing, I failed to get any headache medicine from the rolling bag before I checked it. Doh.

Near the gate there is a sparsely stocked shop with magazines, candy and soda. And a few tiny sized travel items. There was aspirin for sale. I comparison shopped--4 extra strength for $1.49 or 4 regular strength for $1.69. What's up with that? I bought the extra strength. I can add them to the air sickness kit.

There is also a fancy wine shop near the gate. How odd.

This wing of the international terminal at Dulles is tremendously crowded. The use has outgrown the space. There is a Wendy's nearby and I almost bought a Frosty but I decided the line was too long. Next time? I'm sure they'll have ice cream in Israel. I've been craving ice cream recently.

On the plane

I forgot how smooth the ride is on the wide body jets. Love me some 747. And the food--so much food! I defeated the good intentions of my steward when he served me the snack first and I passed it to the fellow to my right. But I learned my lesson and graciously gave him my requests first whenever he came back to my row. The stewardesses simply served us in order. I can't recall a single time being served first on an airplane because I'm a woman.

Frankfurt Airport

The flight arrived about an hour late because of strong headwinds, which are very unusual when traveling from west to east, as we were. My 2.5 hour layover became a very good thing.

They bussed us from the plane to the terminal where all the signs pointing to the "C" gates (what I needed) were hidden. I found one sign and headed up an escalator. I looked longingly at the shops and restaurants I couldn't patronize due to lack of Euros. And that's really stupid because I have 60 Euros at home which I never exchanged from my trip to Holland a year and a half ago. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Not that I had time to stop, but maybe I would have any way at the "Coffee and Milk" bar.

When I got to the top of the escalator, I couldn't spot any signs for the "C" gates. Again. I asked someone at the information counter, "Where is C?"

"It's there." He answered in a tone that indicated that he thought I was an idiot for not seeing the ONE sign that said "C" on that level. There were easily 5-10 signs saying "B" and "D" and only ONE for C. I muttered, "Fuck you." Yep, I was just that pissed. Remember, it was 3am my time and I didn't really sleep. I sort of slept and some German dude was giving me attitude. Grumble.

I wended my way to the gate and had to pass through not one, but two, security check points. These functioned rather differently than those in the US. Though I've found that the rules are slightly different in different US airports. Here, I had to take the computer out of the backpack, but not out of it's thin case. I could put my purse and coat in the same bin with the computer. I could not hold on to my boarding pass. Both times I was given a thorough, arms aloft pat down with a wand. There were equal numbers of men and women working at each check point so the pat downs were administered by someone of the same gender. At the second checkpoint, after my bags had gone through the x-ray, but before I could retrieve them, and after the pat down, I was asked to sit down and take off my shoes. I complied and a lady (not the pat down lady) rubbed my feet (checking for bombs in my socks?) and took my shoes and passed them through the x-ray machine. She brought them back to me, I put them on and retrieved my luggage.

Now I'm in the waiting area for the last leg of the journey. A soda machine and a snack machine that only accept Euros are taunting me. The restrooms are outside of the gate area so I have to wait. And, according to the computer clock it's 3:42am. It's 9:42am Frankfurt time. I have another 3 hours and 45 minutes of flying before I'm in Israel. This is a tiring experience, to say the least.

Grateful for: a safe journey.
Drop me a line.

What did I do?

I didn't pack last night. I packed this morning. Yes, I am that crazy. After dropping Tabitha off with all of her stuff (bed, blankie, food, scratching post, toys, brushes—anyone notice what is missing?) and hanging out for a while, I was completely exhausted. I got home and I just could not pack. I knew I'd wake up around 6am (I always wake then, I just don't get out of bed) and I figured I'd have a few hours to pack in the morning.

And that is what I did. I even made it to the office before 10am. Extraordinary.

---

Amusing pre-trip exchange #1 with Spesh (my friend who lives in Israel):
Spesh: The night you arrive is the Purim party at the kibbutz. Sleep on the plane and wear a costume.
Jamy: Is it ok if I come as a sleepy American?

Amusing pre-trip exchange #2:
Jamy: I should probably bring you something—what do you want?
Spesh: I want you to bring me cash. I hate that I have to pay a fee to have it transferred. Can you bring a couple of thousand dollars?
Jamy: Are you crazy? That's not a good idea. You want me to carry thousands of dollars of cash?
Spesh: You're right. I don't want you to do that. You'd probably spend it.

---

What did I pack?

In the small rolling bag:
Sleeveless black linen dress with white embroidery (for wedding)
White cotton light-weight cardigan sweater (to wear with dress to make it "decent")
Black skirt
Black pants

Three short sleeve shirts (1 white, 2 black)
Long sleeve black cotton cardigan
Two light weight long sleeve shirts for layering (pink and green)
Three-quarter length sleeve black & white stripped shirt (had to bring something with stripes!)

Short black silk scarf (to wear with dress)
Large black & beige patterned silk scarf (to dress things up)

Swim suit
Small ultra absorbant towel

Loads of socks
Loads of underwear
Three pairs of tights (2 black, 1 grey)
Three bras
Pajamas

One pair black shoes (mary janes with small heel, to wear with dress, skirt or pants)

Make-up (a tiny bit, just in case)

A virtual drug store: , Benedryl, Imodium, Tylenol, Aspirin, Ibuprofin, anti-biotic ointment, band-aids, hand sanitizer, elastic laundry line, gauze, ziplock bags, tissues

Computer
Variety of cords and chargers

In the backpack:
Toiletry kit (everything is travel-sized; I decant): shampoo, soap, lotions, potions, etc.
Waterproof anorak, stuffed into its own pouch
Black capri-length pants

Sunglasses
Eyeglass case
Camera
DVDs

One book
Four New Yorkers
Two notepads

The everyday kit: gum, tissues, folding brush, pen, lip balm, large hair clip, rubber band (no pull kind), lip gloss, toothpick, hand lotion, eyeglass cleaning cloth

In a small bag that fits into the backpack:
Ipod
Two sets of earphones
Wallet
Passport
Plane ticket (an actual paper ticket)
Itinerary

The airsickness kit: Dramamine, Valerian, Gum, Earplugs, Saltines

Wearing:
Black pants
Long sleeve cotton shirt (blue) over short sleeve cotton shirt (red)
Light fleece jacket
Ugly red shoes (so incredibly comfortable)

Grateful for: packing light (sort of).
Drop me a line.

Moving on and moving in

Finally, finally, I have some "Dear Jamy" questions and answers for you. Please feel free to add your thoughts in the comments.

Also, for anyone contemplating sending in a question, here are a few guidelines:

• Let me know if it is ok for me to publish your letter. If you have a question for me and don't wanted it printed in the blog, I will answer you directly (if I have time)—just state that upfront.
• If you haven't "anonymized" it sufficiently, I can make changes. Some tips: don't use real names, don't list your city and don't give details about where you work. (It's ok to give these details, but it will make you less anonymous.)
• If I know you and you use your real name sending the question, give me your preferred pseudonym or tell me to make one up for you.
• If you have a blog, I will link back to you in the post if you like. Make it clear if you want that, though, as it will compromise your anonymity.
• I reserve the right not to answer your question. However, the volume of questions is low, so you have a good shot at getting an answer.

Now on to the questions…

Hi Jamy,
What is your definition of a rebound relationship? Are all rebound relationships unhealthy? How do you know when you are ready to date again after a break-up? I have recently broken up with someone who is proving very hard to get over. We broke up because we found that we are not compatible, even though we care about each other a lot. We tried for 7 months to make things work, but were unsuccessful. We have talked a few times since the break-up (1 month ago) and will be friends (we belong to the same social group, so will inevitably see each other). I am trying to keep myself busy with friends and hobbies, but I miss him a lot and think about him a lot. I feel that the only way I will fully get over him is to find someone else. So I plan to start dating again soon. Please tell me that this is not a horrible idea. I don't know what else to do. I feel that I have processed the break-up to the extent that I understand why we didn't work, I know there is no chance of us getting back together, I know what I want out of a relationship, and I'm content being alone, but naturally I want a partner to share my life with.
Thanks,
Eleanor

Dear Eleanor,
I don't have a definition of a "rebound relationship." I'm not sure such things exist. And if they do, we find ourselves in them by accident, not by design.

I think it is legitimate to ask, though, when one is ready to date again after a break up. There is no set answer. I have friends who have given me formulas (half the time the relationship lasted) but that's baloney. The answer is—you are ready when you are ready. Some shorter relationships may take longer to get over than some longer ones. The time it takes is the amount of time you need. Listen to yourself and give yourself time to grieve and process the loss. It sounds like you've done this, but might still need to give it more time.

Sometimes dating other people helps. It can wake you up to things that were missing or made you unhappy in the old relationship. Sometimes dating new people just makes you sad.

You really won't know until you try. So, try and see how you feel. You'll know soon enough if it was a bad idea.

You might also consider taking a little time away from the group of friends that includes your ex. The only sure way to get over someone is time and distance, which you are not allowing yourself by staying in that situation.
Take care,
Jamy

---

Hey, Jamy,
Here's a question for you and your loyal blog readers.

My boyfriend and I are **thinking** about moving in together in late June. I have a new adult cat, Katie, who I inherited from my sister. The boyfriend has two adult kitties-loves of his life.

Problem One: My sister tells me that Katie has never accepted or gotten along with another animal. Any suggestions on how we should make the introductions before he moves in. What if they never get along?

Problem Two: Katie is no trouble to me. But, I am less than thrilled with the thought of having three cats in my new home. If I want to allow the boyfriend in to my life in this significant way, I know I'm going to have to get over it. Still, I dread the reality of having three cats. Any ideas on making the transition a little easier for me?
Diane Mandy

Dear Diane,

How I love the cat questions! I would like to point out that the MAN in this scenario is the long time cat owner.

As to your question—I am not an expert on introducing new cats to each other, but there are ways to do it. There are many books written on the subject. The first thing to do is go to the pet store or the regular book store (or the library) and pick up a few of these books. They will give you techniques on how to introduce the cats to each other in ways that may ease the transition for Katie.

The basic idea is that the resident cat is confined to a part of the house where she is comfortable, possibly the bedroom. The new cats gets to explore. Then, slowly, they are all introduced. Because you won't move in together until late June, you have time to bring the new cats over and introduce them, gradually, to Katie. It could take years for them to get along. They may never really be friends. But they should be able to peacefully coexist. Do let them do their cat thing, though. They may need to scrap it up a LITTLE in order to get along. They definitely should be allowed to sniff each other extensively.

This will all be much harder if you are moving yourselves to a new house. Then ALL the cats will freak out. Cats are not big fans of change. In that case, you can stake out territories for the pair of cats who know each other and a separate area for Katie. Let them get comfy there for a while before allowing them to wander the house at will.

I have never lived with three cats. I did spend time with my mother's two cats, though, and I can assure you that it is nothing to be worried about. The worst part is the cat hair. And, I admit, it is not a pleasant aspect of life with cats. But you will get used to it and learn to ignore it. You may vacuum more frequently. You should keep a lint roller brush by the door for last minute hair removal (the tape-like kind works best, not the brush type). You should cease buying polyester fleece-type clothing as cat hair has a way of thoroughly ingratiating itself in this fabric. Stick with wool for your sporty clothing needs and you'll be much happier.

These are not kittens, which means they won't be demanding attention all the time. If they are bothering you or misbehaving, a squirt from a water bottle will discourage them. Good behavior should be rewarded too, as most cats do better with positive reinforcement.

I find that having the litter box in the bathroom and cleaning it frequently will keep the cats happy and your house smelling cat-free. You may need more than one box, though, with three cats. It is much easier to clean up any messes if they know the place for that behavior is in the bathroom.

Just as you were surprised at how easy it was to get along with Katie, I think you'll find that living with three cats is not much different.

Good luck with the new man and his cats!

Jamy

Grateful for: good questions.
Drop me a line.

Well kitty

No time for screwing around today. I've put myself on a blog time limit: one hour to write, edit and publish. May be broken into smaller 15 minute chunks. May get time extension if I finish EVERYTHING on my list for today. Please forgive the possibly stream-of-consciousness nature of this post.

1:03pm

Tabitha is feeling much better. Thanks for all your well wishes. As you might imagine, she looooves the baby food. But it's back to normal tonight, though I think she will get a mostly wet-food diet while I'm away.

And, yes, some very nice folks volunteered to board Miss T. Friends of Damian. An extremely smart, friendly and interesting couple who I've met a few times. Mr. C writes here. Mrs. C doesn't have a blog (that I know of), but I'm sure it would be interesting if she did.

Yesterday I was in Chicago. For ONE day. And, yes, it thoroughly sucked. You may recall that I don't like to fly. I had a bad experience and since then I've been building back my confidence. Today I can fly almost fear-free. That is, unless we are battered around like a toy boat on the high seas. The landing in Chicago was so hair-raising that I almost got sick. The whole plane was white-knuckling it. When I staggered off, I could only walk very slowly. I tried to get some saltines, but was instead ridiculed by the lady selling soup, "I could tell you were going to ask for crackers! You need to bring those from home!" she cackled. I settled for a diet coke and some chewing gum, but it took hours before I felt normal and could walk at my regular brisk pace.

I could have avoided the problem if I'd simply followed my usual practice of taking a Dramamine before the flight. I didn't take one this time because I wanted to be clear headed for my meeting. I mean, if you fly all the way to Chicago for a stupid meeting, you want to at least be alert for it. I've learned my lesson. ALWAYS take the Dramamine. Worst case, I'll be a little groggy. A good dosing with caffeine would resolve that.

1: 18pm

That's the first 15 minutes. I have to go run around the building for a while now.

3:57pm

Since I last wrote I have:

• Picked up my transit subsidy for the next three months.
• Gone to the bank.
• Talked to someone about something (in person was necessary because she did not respond to my email or phone message).
• Sent and receive a variety of work and non-work emails.
• Prepared form letters for signature.
• Prepare envelopes for form letters.
• Sent two faxes.
• Talked to my boss.
• Eaten yogurt.
• Drunk water.
• Called a guy about using his office's scanner and had perplexing conversation of many pauses with a woman until I'm informed that I'm speaking to a sign language interpreter. No scanning until tomorrow.
• Read some blogs, left one or two comments.

What's left for today:

• Prepare expense report for Chicago trip.
• Read and comment on a final report (boring!).
• Call the contractor who makes me want to cry tears of frustration.
• Write more in blog!!
• Gym.

For tomorrow:

• Clear out email inbox.
• File the piles of folders that have grown around my desk.
• Gym.

4:04pm

Boy, I'm tired. Stupid one-day Chicago trip.

When I get home, which won't be until after 10pm, I have to:

• Make sure Tabby is ok.
• Do laundry.
• Clean up the kitchen a little.

4:05pm I'm calling the contractor now.

4:13pm

That was painless! He's taking my absence as an excuse not to do anything for the next two weeks. That's fine, actually. They are working (they will do something), we are moving forward on the project and I'm content. He did manage to irritate me with his condescending tone, but I took a deep breath and didn't react. Good Jamy!

All I have left is to proof that stupid report that's been hanging around my desk for weeks. Sigh. Oh, and the expense thing. I'll do that first....

5:21pm

Expenses done! Much blog reading done!

No progress made on reading that damn report. Too boring.

What else did I want to tell you?

On Sunday, I did everything on my list. I went to book group, even though I hadn't read the book. (I read it, years ago. What I didn't do was re-read it). We picked a book for next month that I read when I was a teenager (yes, another one! I have read a lot of books), The Good Soldier by Ford Maddox Ford. I loved it then and I hope I love it now. I own a copy and it will go with me to Israel.

After book group, I biked home, fed Tabby more baby food and fed myself lunch. Then I biked to my first Ultimate Frisbee game. Guess who my captain was? None other than fellow blogger Travis! I had an inkling it was him—and I was right. What a pleasant surprise. I had to explain to him that I was on his team since I didn't use the name "Jamy" in our correspondence. He was puzzled at first, but seemed happy to see me. He said, "I didn't get the memo on this whole fake names thing." He is a good (co) captain and this team is going to be a lot of fun. The game kicked my ass—it's very physical and tiring—but that's exactly what I need. I'm going to have to pick up the pace at the gym so I can keep up on the field. I was exhausted after the game, but biked home (2 miles?) without incident. I think I can handle it.

Oh, and a woman from my Spanish class last year was also on the team AND a good friend of Travis' AND she recognized me. She was even friendly! It really is a good group.

Our team was a mix of complete novices and experienced players, but most of the experienced folks were helpful and not annoyed with the novices. There was this one guy who kept coaching the other men in a really irritating way, but he left me alone. Hmm…maybe he didn't think it was worth bothering with the women at all. But every one of the other experienced players found a kind and encouraging word to say to me, even though I didn't play very well. My only real snafu was that the woman I was covering caught a scoring pass. She was completely open because I could not run as fast as she did. There's nothing to be done about that. I am a quick study, though, and I have the rules down and I'm starting to learn the strategy.

Unfortunately, I will miss the next two games due to the Israel trip. But I'll rejoin the team for week four. When, apparently, everything changes. We go to zone defense instead of man-to-man. That will be better for not-exactly-speedy me, actually, so I'll just say my timing is perfect.

Oh, and you know what else I will miss because of my trip? The ENTIRE NCAA tournament. I'm trying not be bitter about that.

I will wrap this up now and go to the gym.

I promise to read that darn report tomorrow.

5:34pm

Oh, I forgot. I got three great "Dear Jamy" questions in the last week. I will try and answer them tomorrow. Yes, I can do it all!

Grateful for: a productive day.

Sick kitty

Today was supposed to be 100% shopping, but instead I spent half the day taking a sick kitty to the vet.

Last week, Tabitha threw up a couple of times. I thought that she was better, but when I woke up this morning there was a trail of vomit leading to the bathroom. Yikes.

So, I took my kitty to the vet. The vet said that she was fine but that I should feed her chicken or turkey baby food (like the kind you feed to human babies) for the next few days.

I took poor, very pissed-off Tabitha home. I got back in the Flexcar and drove to Arlington. I had to buy an adapter thingy for the computer. That accomplished, I walked across the street to Crate and Barrel and finally picked out a new set of stainless steel flatware. About damn time. The store was overflowing with couples setting up their wedding registries.

Whole Foods is across the street from Crate and Barrel. I had time on the meter, so I snuck in to pick up the baby food. But no. At Whole Foods there is only VEGETARIAN baby food.

Who the fuck are they to decide that babies won't eat meat? The smugness of it is astonishing. It's not like the store doesn't sell meat. Or baby food. Or processed food. But no baby food with chicken, turkey or beef. Screw you, Whole Foods and your shitty anti-union labor practices.

I called Pele and she gave me directions to a nearby Giant. I heart Giant.

There I purchased: 10 tiny glass jars of baby food (half chicken, half turkey); four frozen lunches; and a tiny amount of ground coffee. It was one of the more embarrassing shops of my life. In front of me was a young woman who spent $85 on very healthy food and salad fixings. Behind me was an extremely thin young woman who was buying a pint of strawberries, a box of breakfast bars and soup-sized pack of saltines. The woman in front of me made me feel like a loser, but the lady behind me seemed to be having a crisis shop of her own.

Now it's off to the next event....

Grateful for: Giant.

Fun!

Can you believe I went a WHOLE (week)day with no post? Shocking! Unfortunately, it will probably happen again, and soon, because the next few days leading up to my trip to Israel are crazy-packed-full. For example:

Friday

• Work
• Gym
• Work
• Call "little sister" (not my actual sister) to make plans for Saturday (I called her twice last night; no answer)
• Goodbye happy hour for work friend
• Make fruit salad
• Drive to Sterling, VA for potluck (What, am I stupid? Don't answer.)

Saturday

• Housework
• See little sister? Take her on my shopping trip?
• Acquire various necessities for trip:
• Wedding outfit (perhaps something I already own will do)
• Computer adaptor plug thingy
• Presents for 4 nieces (Will probably fail; I'm not even attempting a wedding present)
• Buy cat food, possibly other groceries
• Meet in-town and out-of-town friends to watch ACC basketball

Sunday

• Bookgroup
• Ultimate Frisbee
• Laundry
• Worry about packing
• Go to bed early

Monday

• Go to Chicago for ONE DAY work trip
• Try to enjoy trip

Tuesday

• Work
• Gym
• Work
• Meet out of town friends for evening fun
• Worry about packing
• Prepare cat for boarding experience:
• Clip nails
• Clean litter box
• Gather toys

Wednesday

• Work
• Gym
• Work
• Skip blogger meetup (sad face)
• Take Tabitha to the friends who are boarding her
• Pack all night

Thursday

• Work
• Gym (ha, ha, just kidding)
• Take bus to airport
• Get on plane to Israel

Grateful for: a good and busy life.

Breaking up is hard to remember

Last night, on my way to meet Pele for another exciting round of pub trivia (lord, did we suck), I called Tom (aka vip-ex, grad school boyfriend, etc.).

Tom was on my mind because I've been writing about him and thinking about writing about him. Have I been writing about him because I've been thinking about him?

He was, as always, surprised and happy to hear from me. I said, "I'm just calling to say hi. I don't have an agenda."

He said, "Ok." We proceeded to have our usual wide-ranging, fun and interesting conversation.

I love talking to Tom. I'm a big talker (who knew?) and most of my friendships are grounded in good conversation. My rapport with Tom is fantastic. From our first meeting, we could chat easily for hours. Very early on, I got in the habit of talking to him about everything. He was my sounding board for many the emotional crisis and complaints about Mom. He was one of the first people to say to me, "You really had a hard time as a kid." I denied that because I thought Tom had a much harder time, but he would say, "We all had a hard time, but it was really tough on you."

He could see behind my bluster and self-assurance. Maybe because he recognized it—Tom is one of the most blustery, bombastic people I know. But I've always loved a clown and Tom sure could perform—which meant I could relax. As my "friend in Iowa" and I have discussed, Tom is the kind of person who takes up a lot of space. It's not because he's physically imposing (he's moderately imposing), it's more because he has a huge personality and it fills up a room.

I also had some of the great intellectual debates of my graduate school career with Tom. I learned things from talking to him—and maybe he learned things from me too, though he'd be loathe to admit it. Once he told me that he thought I was smarter than him, but he took it back after we had a big fight. I always thought we were about on par.

When I called him last night, I didn't have an agenda, even though I usually do. I usually want some kind of reassuring something from him. And maybe I sort of wanted that last night, but I'm finally in touch with the fact that I won't get it.

I just wanted to have great conversation. And we did. It went on for about an hour, about twice as long as I'd planned. We could have talked for much longer.

He asked what I was doing and I told him about pub trivia. He'd recently played and won. He said I would probably be good at it. I said I was the star of my team (too bad it's mixed in with a lethal dose of grumpiness). I told him that the first time I played, "…one of the questions was, who wrote 'My Funny Valentine'?"

Tom said, "Rodgers and Hart."

I said, "Exactly right!" And I thought, no wonder I like him.

We discussed my trip to Israel, but not for long. He told me about his trip Israel in '91 and we both thought it was strange that he'd never mentioned it before. He'd gone to visit the girlfriend before me, the one he was in the open relationship with, so we figured that's why he hadn't told me about it. I said, "After all these years, I thought I knew everything and you're still keeping secrets."

"It wasn't a secret, there just wasn't any reason to tell you."

"I suppose not."

He asked about my last ex (Tim, the separated-but-not-divorced guy). We actually spent a lot of time talking about Tim, much more than I'd anticipated. (Yes, I know I made a fatal error by having a "Tim" and a "Tom." Dammit. Their real life names don't sound anything alike.) This lead to a discussion of how it's good to take time off from dating after breaking up with someone.

I said, "Oh, I think you're right, but not taking a break worked out ok for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you started dating the woman you are now married to before we broke up."

[Note: Tom and I broke up about a month after he moved to New York, NY. He transferred to a graduate school in NY because his advisor took a job there.]

Tom said, "We were broken up."

"No, absolutely not. We broke up because you started dating her." I said.

"No..."

"Yes. Don't you remember that visit to Chapel Hill…"

"Yes, we were broken up. And you came to New York first." Tom said.

"No, there were three visits. You came to Chapel Hill in September or something and then I went to New York in October, after we broke up, and then you came to Chapel Hill a third time, in January."

"Oh. I don't remember the details."

"On that first visit, in September, I asked you if you'd been out on any dates. And you were like, 'well, a couple.' And I said, 'Ok, we're broken up now. Dating other people is against the rules.' And you said, 'Oh, so should I go stay at Paul's?' And I was like, 'What, are you crazy?'"

"Really? You were saucy."

"Saucy? I guess. Saucy. Heh."

Tom said, "But I thought we broke up in August, before the conference [our professional conference was in NY that year, where we reunited after a summer apart]."

"No!! No, no, no. We did NOT break up then. We almost broke up then, but I said no. Don't you remember how I helped you move and pack and we went to all those beginning of the year parties together in Chapel Hill?"

"I do remember, but I thought that was just you being especially gracious."

"No. Not especially. Don't you remember all that fighting we did when I was on the way to New York in August? We were fighting while I was in transit. I was calling you from airport payphones. I wanted you to pick me up at the airport."

"Pick you up? I didn't have a car."

"You could have borrowed a car."

Tom said, "And you were staying at your brother's. Why did I need to give you a ride?"

"Look, it was symbolic. But that's what we were fighting about and we almost broke up."

"Really?"

"Really. And you said, 'I'll meet you in Grand Central Station.' And I said, 'maybe I'll be there,' but of course I was. I was late, on purpose, but you were there. And we walked into Central Park and we sat on a bench and I said, 'So you're really moving here?' And you said, 'Yes, are we going to break up?' And I said, 'No, we are not breaking up, that's not what I want.' So we didn't break up. Not then."

He said, "I don't remember all that fighting and bad stuff."

"How nice for you."

And somewhere in there, these words came out of my mouth, "You know what I wish? That you hadn't started dating someone so that we had to break up."

Um, did I just tell Tom that I wish we were still together? What is wrong with me?

Despite that little nightmare summary I gave of our past the other day, I still like Tom. Since I stopped expecting anything from him, I find that I enjoy talking to him three or four times a year. And seeing him maybe once a year, when I'm in Seattle. Our interactions leave me feeling more happy than sad.

But, would I want to be with him? No. It's easy to say that because the issue is moot. He's happily married and the last thing in the world I want is to get in the middle of that. And all those problems we had? I have no reason to think we wouldn't have them again. He says he's changed. Anything is possible. But we were always better as friends, which is why interactions with him are more satisfying when friendship is the only option.

I'm not stupid. I know that if we were around each other, and both single, and that feeling flared up then...something would probably happen. I think that if I were to move back to Seattle, I'd have rather less contact with him than I do now. An ongoing flirtatious relationship with Tom while he is married to someone else has zero appeal. I will never, ever do that again.

Still, I know he has regrets about his behavior. He's actually apologized a few times and reminisced about our happier times. Clearly, he's forgotten a lot and perhaps he has a rosier memory of the past than is warranted. But what he does remember is that we had something special, something unusual, something that doesn't come along very often. He can remember fondly what we had and what, in fact, we will always have. While deciding to never act on it again.

I hope he knows that I was just expressing regret at how things ended and how, even though I've long reconciled myself to the end of our relationship, there is still a part of me that wishes that we could have seen it through. That our ambition, competitiveness and fighting hadn't gotten the best of us.

So that's why I was late to trivia. Sorry.

Grateful for: good recall.

P.S. I think I could write a book about this guy. In fact, a friend of mine suggested just that recently. Maybe it would be one of those books that would gently lull people to sleep, in the way my very long and rambling stories are wont to do.

Magical shadows

I'm supposed to be reading "Unhooked Generation" and reporting back to you, dear readers, but I stalled on it this weekend. I was busy cleaning the house, doing laundry, going shopping, meeting friends, cooking, etc. I didn’t have it in me to curl up with the book.

Still, it's been on my mind a little. One of the things covered in the book are the dangers of having a checklist. In my casual and partial summary of the book to CK, I referred to this as a "magical checklist." Straus is saying that some of us are walking around with a magical checklist in our heads and no one can ever compare to it.

Now, there is quite a bit of discussion around the dating blogosphere about making lists of "must haves" and "deal breakers." Actually, it's not just on the blogosphere. That eHarmony dude wrote a book and one of the exercises he recommends is to make these lists.

And, you know what I did many weeks ago? I wrote a list of must haves and a list of deal breakers. The never published post is titled, "The Goddamn Lists." I didn't want to make a list because:

Making a list seems like commodification.

Making a list may close you off more than it opens you up.

Making a list turns you outwards instead of focusing on internal issues.

(These objections are all raised in the book, but I believe I've covered them many times before.)

Also, sometimes people put really stupid things on their lists like, "must have similar musical tastes." That makes me want to scream. "Likes music" is fine. "Same taste in music" is far from essential. What's next? Good taste in clothing? Speaks French? Likes mayonnaise?

When I wrote my lists, I figured it couldn't hurt. I might learn something and I wouldn't be bound by them. I did learn a couple of things. I don't like to fight and he damn well better be able to cook (or willing to learn).

But what about the magical checklist? Am I carrying one around in my head? Not a list of qualities or tastes or preferences, but an image of my ideal man, my ideal life, my hope for the future?

And I'll be damned if I'm not. I have my own goddamn magical checklist.

How did that happen?

I don't do all of these things the book says my generation does. I'm not looking for a soulmate, I don't commodify people, I don't have unrealistic expectations.

But I do seem to compare my dates to a shadow man.

It's not a list. It's more like a mirror and every man I meet gets held up to the mirror so I can check and see if he's a vampire. No, no, that's not right. He gets compared to my fantasy image to see if he fits in the mold. If he does, I jump forward a million steps and start to be disappointed.

And I notice everything. Every detail, every flaw, every bad habit. I notice too much.

And my fantasy image is not a fun, happy guy. He's more a troubled, brooding silent lost soul. I claim over and over not to have a type and my dating history supports this claim. However, the truth is that I do have a type. I like the offbeat, the wounded birds, the troubled souls. I love a hopeless romance.

I said to my friend Audrey, back in college, "I am a true romantic. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because a real romantic expects things to end unhappily."

That's me, forever in search of unhappily ever after.

Is there a solution? Try and live more in the moment. Appreciate what I have and don't anticipate. Take time to know someone before jumping far down the relationship road.

Pete, the best boyfriend ever, didn't fit perfectly into my "mold." Or maybe I knew him before I had a mold. I left him to go to grad school.

Years later, I saw Pete and he said, "You could have stayed." Staying never crossed my mind. I had to go. And that was the end of us.

For years, and sometimes even to this day, I compare potential boyfriends to Pete.

Is that wrong? I don't know. I like to think not.

I like to think that I was happy with Pete so I look for someone with similar qualities, a similar temperament. Someone with whom I could have a similarly happy, calm relationship.

It hasn't been going all that well.

I think it's time to break the mold.

Grateful for: new ideas.
Drop me a line.

Meaningful

Since I recently told a story about my important grad school boyfriend, Tom, that made many of you think he was a freak, I thought I might say something positive about him.

I know I've mentioned this before, but Tom and I had a long and tumultuous relationship. I met him during my first semester in grad school and we were friends right off. My crush was born the first time I heard him talk in class, though I already thought he was cute. I remember filing away some of his less appealing physical characteristics into the, "I could live with that category." It was, more or less, instant attraction on my part. I had a long distance boyfriend, though, and by the end of that semester, I had an in-town boyfriend (and an ex-long distance boyfriend). This was a complicated situation and I discussed it, in detail, many times with Tom and his friend, Kenneth.

Tom never asked me out, even casually, and I couldn't figure out why since he seemed to like me too. It turned out he was living with his girlfriend. Something he neglected to mention.

We both went away for the summer. Right after I got back, Kenneth invited me over for dinner and Tom called while I was there. He asked to talk to me and we were on the phone for a long time (wow, was I rude or what?). He let me know that his girlfriend had moved back to NY. I knew it was on because I was 100% single. We started hanging out a lot more and he put on the full-court press. I resisted for what felt like a long time. If I were dropping him off at his house at the end of the evening, I wouldn't get out of the car no matter how much he asked. Or if he dropped me off at my house and I let him come in, I'd push him out the door when things started getting intense.

That silliness went on for at least a month after our first kiss. Eventually, I gave in. I genuinely liked him and I was frustrated.

The problem was, he had that girlfriend in NY. They were in an open relationship, but I didn't like it. It wasn't what I wanted. I wanted 100% of Tom. I wanted to be his only girlfriend, not just his everyday girlfriend.

We fought about it a lot. And for that entire year, I would never say I was his girlfriend, even though he thought of me that way. We were friends. Sometimes we were sleeping together. Once we had a huge fight and didn't speak for a couple of weeks. I never expected to see him, we never made long term plans and I never assumed anything. I was very unhappy.

At the end of the year, we both went away for the summer. Nothing was resolved. He sent me a couple of postcards and I was surprised to hear from him at all.

The next year, I started dating someone new, but it didn't last long. Tom was around, but things were even more amorphous than ever. We were still friends and generally saw each other on the weekends, but there were never plans. There was still fighting. I knew I should let go of the relationship, but I couldn't. It was mostly not fun and I wasn't very happy with myself. We only slept together twice and maybe fooled around half a dozen times.

That year ended with a big blow-up, a longer period of not speaking to each other and a resolution on my part that I was done, done, done. I thought, "He's going to marry that NY girlfriend and I have to let it go." I thought I had.

The summer came and went and when I got back to Chapel Hill, I was seeing someone new. Tom and I were not hanging out, but he did ask me about my boyfriend once and seemed happy that I was happy.

Then for some stupid reason, I asked Tom if he were driving to NY for Thanksgiving. I was planning to go see my brother. Tom's roommate was also from NY and I figured they were driving together, which I thought made it safe. Tom hemmed and hawed and said that somebody might not like it if I drove up with them and he'd have to check. I said, "You need to get permission? It's your life and just say no if you don't think it's a good idea."

He said he'd get back to me and I remained pissed.

I broke up with the boyfriend at the end of October. I showed up at a party and Tom was outside, he said, "How's that boyfriend?"

"There is no boyfriend. We broke up."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Then Tom got drunk and followed me around the rest of the night, apologizing for everything that had come before. It pissed me off that he was saying all the right things but had to be drunk to do it.

A few days later, I was in the computer lab and so was Tom. He said, "Hey, Jamy, do you still want a ride to New York?"

I said, "Sure, maybe."

"Well, you know I said it might be a problem? Well, it's not a problem anymore."

I said, "It's not?"

He said, "No, there's no issue anymore."

"What?" I moved my chair closer to where he was sitting. I said, "It's not an issue? Why not?"

"It's not because we broke up."

The room started spinning. I was disoriented. Broken up? No, they were getting married. I was reconciled. There was no hope. We were never going to be a "real" couple. If we were lucky, we could make it as friends. I said, "No. No you didn't. When?"

"Yes. We did. About six weeks ago." That meant at the party, he was single and hadn't told me.

"No. Really? Really? I thought you were going to get married." I laughed.

"What? No. It's over."

"Ok."

"So do you still want that ride to New York?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, that would be great."

My next thought was, "What does this mean? Does this mean he is coming after me now?" In fact, that's exactly what it meant. Before I knew it, we were in negotiations. I asked advice all over the place. I didn't know what to do. Should I give him a chance?

Finally, after all that time, the thing I'd been waiting for, hoping for, longing for, was coming true.

But I didn't want it anymore. At least not the way I'd wanted it before.

I kept thinking. And Tom kept pursuing. And I finally told him that, ok, we could date again, but there had to be some ground rules, some conditions:

• No regular contact with the ex.
• Take things slow.

I think that was it. After Thanksgiving, we were a couple. He broke all the conditions early on. He pushed me until I gave in and I got cozy as his girlfriend. I caught him emailing with the ex after a month or two. I wasn't jealous, but I didn't like him lying to me about it. I didn't break up with him. This was our "going steady" phase. It lasted not quite a year, but the ending was ambiguous and drawn out, so saying "a year" is fair enough.

You know, when I started writing this, I wanted to share a sweet story about a surprise birthday party Tom threw for me when we were going steady. Instead, I dumped out a short history of our relationship. I am having a focus problem these days.

When I looked back at all the craziness we went through, mostly in the off and on period, but not entirely, it's hard for me to understand what I was thinking. Why I put up with his crap and why I kept going back to him. Why it was so hard for me to move on. But he was wrapped up in too, though maybe not as much as I was. It's funny, when I talk to him now, he seems to agree with my interpretation of events. But back in the day, he was always telling me things that I knew weren't true: like, that I couldn't trust him because I was jealous. No. I couldn't trust him because he lied. I never thought he'd get back together with the ex, in large part because I was sure she'd dumped him (it was the only explanation), but also because I could tell he was over her. I'd "overreact" because we had a weak foundation for trust because of his history of bad behavior.

But if he were so bad, why was I with him? Maybe because he seemed to understand me better than anyone else I knew. Usually, he treated me well. He cooked for me, took care of me when I was sick and adored me. We could talk about anything. We enjoyed each other's company. He was fun to be around.

That is, when we weren't arguing in public, I wasn't feeling excluded and he wasn't telling me to stop overreacting. Other than that, things were great.

Ah well. Maybe I'll tell that sweet story another time.

Some of you readers remember when Tom and I were together. Anything to add? Were we the worst couple ever or merely annoying? Sometimes I wonder.

Grateful for: the happy memories.
Drop me a line.

Dancing fool

Last night, I went salsa dancing with CK. I was going to attend the lesson, but skipped it in favor of dinner with CK first. We had a great time dissecting the book I'm reading (page 82, y'all, it'll be wrapped up by next week) and formulating some ideas of our own. Namely, this "marriage delay" that everyone's making a big deal about? It's not new. If you go back to pre-WWII, age at first marriage was similar to what it is now. It dropped after WWII, and I can explain why, but I won't bore you with that now. Suffice it to say, we are both skeptical of the book's basic contentions.

However, while I think the book is pretty junky, it is making me think an awful lot about these issues in my own life. It's causing my mind to jump out of its normal ruts, which is the value I thought it might have. So even though I don't think there's a lot of truth there, it is food for thought, which is always good.

Back to salsa. It was great. I tried to keep track of how many guys I danced with—it was at least 10, but I think more like 11 or 12. Easily double the number of people I danced with last time. It might even be an all time high. I danced two songs with a couple of them, so it was more than 12 dances total (I am tired today). And there was not a single terrible dancer among them! Several were "basic dancers." They have good rhythm and mastery of the steps, but they don't do any fancy moves. That's fine. Basic dancers are not bad dancers. I wasn't on my best form last night, so sticking with simple moves suited me just fine.

Part of my problem was that the music was deafening. CK dug some earplugs out of her bag and my dancing worsened markedly after I put them in. The first guy I danced with post-earplugs was a good dancer, but after he spun me, I crashed into him. More than once. Very embarrassing. I couldn't get my timing right. I kept laughing and I only hope he knew I wasn't laughing at him. I had problems with the next couple of guys I danced with too and I thought, "I need to do an experiment. I need to dance with that first guy again without the earplugs. Or dance with someone who I danced with before I put them in."

I resolved the problem by dancing with Edward.

Edward is a tall drink of water who knows CK from—where? I'm not sure. But when we went dancing back in January, I was introduced to him and now we say hello, chat a little, and dance a few dances when we see each other. He is a doll. So cute. I love Edward. He is a white guy, tall and slim, dark hair and blue (?) eyes. And a thousand watt smile (CK's description). He's always wearing a white shirt and a tie. He's adorable and, oh, probably 10 years younger than me.

I danced the first dance with him last night. He said, "Would you like to dance? Are you willing to risk it?" But of course, Edward, more than willing. It was good. He always takes the lesson and I tell him I'm thinking about going back. I really should.

I lost track of Edward after our dance, but I decided that I was going to ask him dance (and I don't ask guys to dance). The next time I saw him, I marched right up to him and said, "Hi!" He said, "Want to dance?" Well, there you go. I didn't even have to ask. I had the earplugs in and I started have the same timing problems as before. Problems I hadn't had the first time we danced. So one of the earplugs came out right then. I kept the other one in and that worked fine. I was back to something like regular form by the end of the night.

When I dragged CK out at 11:15pm, she remarked that Edward seemed surprised that a cute young thing was pursuing him (yes, I'd noticed it). I said, "Really? But he's so cute! Why aren't more women chasing him?"

"I don't know."

"The thing is, I love him. But it's silly. It's just based on his looks."

"What wrong with that? That's how things start—you have to be attracted." CK said.

"You're right. But he makes me nervous. I'm too shy to chase him down."

CK just gave me a look.

"And he's probably too young for me anyway."

CK said, "If he's old enough to buy you a drink, that's all that matters." Ah, well, maybe she's right.

We said goodnight and I jumped in a cab. This time the driver actually charged me the right amount. What a good night.

Grateful for: dancing.
Drop me a line.

I can't spell

I'm not a bad speller. I'm a terrible speller.

There are many words that I rarely get right the first time. For example:

• Receive (this is only right because spell check helped me out. I always spell it "recieve")
• Immediately (Again, thank you spell check. I prefer "imediately")
• Their (It's a crap shoot. About 50% of the time I spell it "thier.")
• Friend also often poses a problem, but I got it right on the first try today.

Clearly, I have issues with "i before e."

My other problem is doubling of consonants.

Dissappear? Disappear?

Occasion? Occassion?

It's all the same to me.

Before spell check, I made more mistakes, but not too many. I've always worked with a pocket dictionary next to where I write. I still do. It's sitting on my computer desk. It's one I picked up at a yard sale when I was 8 or 9.

New
Compact
Webster
Dictionary

Compiled by
Leading Authorities

Newly Revised

Containing Many of the Most
Modern Terms and Definitions

Copyright © 1965

It has an oxblood faux leather cover and very little spine left. I wrote my name on the inside cover in my best grown-up style print. Middle initial and all. There is a black swirly line where I either crossed out the original owner's name or covered up my first attempt at a grown-up hand.

Oddly, if someone asks me to spell a word, I usually get it right. If I look at a word, I can tell you if it's spelled incorrectly.

I also can't write a "b" or a "d" to save my life. I always print and when I go to write a lower case b or d, it's a 50/50 proposition which one is going to come out. I guess I should do what my dad does and write in all small caps. Of course, his writing is almost completely illegible. You have to skim quickly and not try to focus on any one word to have a chance at making it out.

My handwriting is rather easy to decipher, but it's not pretty. I've been told that it looks that of a disturbed small child.

I'm only mildly disturbed.

Grateful for: spell check.
Drop me a line.