Some things are worth getting rained on for

First, I retrieved my winter blanket from the upper shelf of my closet. I inhaled deliriously the faint smell of lavender which quite miraculously survived through the long and humid summer season. This blanket, which I've had for the last 10 years, guarantees delicious warmth and ultimate comfort.

Then I surrounded my bed with: Two quartered apples for health and half a bar of dark chocolate for indulgence. I placed two new bestsellers on my night table, for general education. I also placed my cell phone nearby because should it ring on my table, I would hate to leave my comfy bed to answer it.

Furthermore, I placed a couple of my favorite CDs on the night table, and a book of German crosswords, just in case there was nothing good on the TV. I finally climbed into bed with a sigh of contentment. I listened to the steady rain outside and felt utterly cozy and comfortable. I may not enjoy rainy weather forever, but there is something magic about that first day of rain and an early evening in bed. I had just settled to a feeling of complete bliss, and had started to munch on my apple, leaving the chocolate for later enjoyment. That's when the in-house telephone rang.

Three days in Jerusalem

It was quite good that our bus driver couldn't find the way to our hotel. We were riding through the exciting narrow and traffic-plagued streets of Jerusalem while everybody shouted instructions to our driver: "Take it to the right!," "you can't go in here, it's a one way street," "let me guide you, I've been to this hotel before!" or "go back to where you were before, and then take a turn to the left!"

While the poor driver was sweating, we enjoyed sightseeing in urban Jerusalem, majestic new buildings side by side with small, picturesque shops badly neglected now but still retaining their character and charm.

Jerusalem is a jewel and Nizza is a very talented organizer. We had marvelous three days in our capital, but I don't intend to sound like a tourist's guide book. I'm sure that by now everybody has heard of or seen the magnificent Sound and Light Performance in the King David's Tower. Thousands of years of Jerusalem's history compressed into 45 minutes of great technical achievement. We all sat there wrapped in sweaters and even rain coats because we had been warned of Jerusalem's cold, cold nights, but God decided to send us mild weather, which pleased us. We were less pleased with the terrible daytime heat during our three days in Jerusalem.

One morning we rode to Ein Gedi. Stark, barren plains and mountains in every shade of grey, beige and brown. Here and there a rebellious lonely plant, bush or small tree raising its defiant head as if saying:

"OK, this is desert land, but I insist on living and surviving in spite of hostile surroundings!"

Sounds somehow familiar, doesn't it?

Allergies

 I was invited to the hospital for an allergy test. A nice nurse stuck many tapes on my bare back, and I felt sticky all over. Then I sat opposite her and we chatted a bit. After a while I said to her:

"These labels on my back probably have done their job already. So aren't you going to take them off?"

She was stunned for a moment, then she said:

"What do you mean take them off? You go home with them, you keep them for the next two days, and... you don't take a shower. Or, if you must, you can take a shower from your waist down! Also try not to perspire! [that's a good one] ... Then you come back here and we'll see!"

"Wait a moment, I protested, you mean I have to sleep with all that stuff on my back? I feel like a knight in not exactly shining armor!"

I walked out of the hospital into the sweltering heat and I tried to disregard the itch which started to bother me beneath whatever she had stuck on my back. I arrived home and stood before a mirror. I turned to the left and to the right trying to see what's going on there on my back, but I am not enough of a contortionist. Here and there I caught a glimpse of some hieroglyphics, some mysterious marks which the good nurse had made on those band aids, or whatever it was. I called a friend and asked her to come to my home and take a look at my back.

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"The nurse wrote some things there, and I want you to read them!"

"What exactly are you talking about? What nurse?"

"It's my allergy. It's being researched. I can't see myself in the mirror!"

"What do you mean? Everybody sees himself in the mirror, except ghosts. Do you remember that old movie with a man, I think his name was Edwin? He was a ghost and he cried bitterly because he couldn't see himself in a mirror. But you are not a ghost, at least not yet, and you have a very large mirror! Why would anybody write on your back? Is it your itch? Did I tell you that I have one too? On my belly! Who is your nurse? Maybe I can ask her...."

"OK, forget it," I told her.

I knew from experience that this was getting me nowhere fast.

Why me?

I like Ludlum's books, so when I saw that "Bourne's Ultimatum" was showing on  TV, I decided to watch it. It started with a guy running. Other guys were after him. The guy runs and runs and the other guys are after him. Twenty minutes later, the guy is still running, the chase gets more dramatic, here and there they catch him but he manages to hit them and escape. He runs again, and they are still after him, and I'm still wondering why. And then I decide to stop wondering and switch off the TV. Ludlum, you shouldn't let them make your books into movies, even if they pay you a whole bunch!

I have a friend whose name is Bella. She lives near Tel-Aviv and she calls me rather often on the phone. I rarely call her back because her calls are one endless recitation  on her failing health, her bad moods, her misbehaving children. I often thought to myself that if she put some drama into her speech, I might pay more attention, but she goes on and on in the same monotonous tone, disregarding the opportunity for the smallest pause, or even a  full stop. My mind wanders and my eyelids start to droop, I find myself getting more tired and sleepy by the minute, with just enough energy to insert here and there a "really?" or "that bad?" or "unbelievable!" My comments may not always fit the situation, but Bella hardly notices. She drones on and on. At a certain point I think it may be time to say something emphatic, so I ask her:

"And what does the doctor say?"

"What doctor, which doctor?" she protests, "I'm telling you that my daughter is getting her third divorce, she is not sick, she is crazy... now I'll tell you all about lawyers' fees!"

Yesterday I met our common friend Pnina on the street and she tells me:

"You know about my insomnia problem, don't you? So every evening I try relaxation exercises, I drink hot milk with honey, I read the most boring books I can find, but nothing helps. However, lately I found the perfect remedy. I call Bella on the phone, I let her speak for a while, and I sleep through the night like a baby!"

What a great idea! One is never too old to learn!

Jet lag to the rescue

Back home, I went through a week of being light-headed and confused. Of course my jet lag was worse than ever. I suddenly enjoy big breakfasts at two in the morning. I lie down for what I think will be a short afternoon nap at five in the afternoon, then wake up at 11, look at my watch in a panic, and realize that I've missed the piano recital, which started at six. But like everything bad, jet lag has its good sides - it serves as a wonderful excuse to put things off:

"How can I go to the gym when I'm so sleepy?" Or, "I can do my shopping next week, when I'm finally back on my feet."

"Yes, I know I should rearrange my closet for autumn, but do I really need my jackets now, or can it wait for next week?" is a good one.

But then phone calls start coming, most of them welcome but some of them just annoying:

How was your flight, how was the weather, what did you do those three weeks, isn't it good to be home again, etc. It gets repetitive and monotonous - until I remember my lifesaver, the jet lag, and I finally say:

"I'm still jetlagged, you know, can I call you back next week?"

And I add the name of the caller to a list which has become impressive.

Yes, it's quite wonderful to be home again, but all that reorganization ... how does everything accumulate so? My phone is out of order and I have to take it down to the lab, I need a haircut urgently, and I stand there and think to myself:

What first, the phone or the haircut?

And then I go to bed!

Rosh Hashana dinner

Preparing for the Rosh Hashana dinner, my daughter wanted each of her guests to have his own traditional round sweetroll. I was quite amazed watching her prepare the dough, divide it into equal little amounts and roll them out into strands. Then she rolled up each strand like a seashell, leaving a hole in the middle through which she inserted the outer end of the strand.

"Now you do one," she suggested, "you roll one out!"

I looked helplessly at the small mound of dough she had placed before me and remembered my childhood, when I used to make pretty little things out of plastiline, now called playdough. That was such a long time ago! My daughter criticially watched me work with the dough.

"Too short," she said, or "too long," or "not even enough!" She had already modeled 16 cute rolls while I still worked on my first one. She finally took pity on me and took mine away, remodeling it into perfect shape.

Watching my daughter in her kitchen is like watching the ball during a tennis match. She flits around from one end to the other, quicker than I can turn my head. She makes me dizzy. In my best years I was never that fast, and lately I move around my kitchen like a turtle with a headache. This child of mine obviously hasn't inherited my genes!

Well, that's not true... she does have some of my genes. Two days ago when she told me she had to run to the store because she forgot to buy honey. She returns with some full shopping bags and announces: "You know... I forgot the honey!"

Those are definitely my genes!

Ex-boyfriends, martinis and Murphy's Law

Last week, after a long and strenuous session at the gym, I suddenly remembered that I  urgently need some items from the supermarket. I was pressed for time and decided to postpone my shower. So what if I perspired a bit, it's summer and everybody perspires. So I hitched a ride at the last moment with our shuttle service wearing an old t-shirt, gym pants and my Nikes.

Somehow it seems to me that I am haunted by Murphy's Law much more than other people are. I often go to the supermarket well-groomed and reasonably well-dressed.

But trust an unkind fate that, looking messed up after the gym, I met everybody I would have preferred not to.

You don't need a visa to visit the land of dreams

My friend Rebecca came to call and spotted my open suitcase.

"I don't understand," she said, "you're leaving sometime in September and you packed already? I always pack a suitcase one day before my trip, or even a few hours before my trip…why all that hurry?"

"Well," I replied, "It's what my mother taught me. She discovered early in my life that I'm a born procrastinator and she told me, 'To make your life easier, do whatever you don't like first. Don't postpone - the knowledge that you have an unpleasant task waiting for you adds stress to your life. So get it over with!'"

Talking about stress, last week wasn't easy. In sweltering heat my daughter and I traveled to Tel-Aviv to get my visa at the American Consulate. The Kafka-esque situation started already at the entrance of the Consulate. The guard said:

"It's only you who goes in!" He pointed at my daughter, saying, "The young lady remains outside!"

"I'm an American citizen, protested my daughter, I'm going in there with my mother. What do you expect me to do? Wait outside in the car? This may take hours!"

The man ignored her protest and told me, "You go in there carrying nothing but your papers, your passport, some change, and definitely no cellular phone."

I walked into a nightmare. One heavy door after the other closed behind me, I walked down long corridors, and for a panicky moment I thought that I had died and was on my way to hell! And then I saw a long, long line of waiting people and I thought to myself that I might not get out of there before midnight.

Life's a journey - pack lightly

I brought my suitcase up from the storage room and started the - for me - painful procedure of packing. I stand there with a blouse in my hand trying to decide: will I need this one on this trip? It's kind of light and in another month San Diego may become cool, so, no! I put it back into the closet and pick up another one with longer sleeves!

Many years ago when I traveled with my late husband, packing used to be such an exciting game! Strangely enough it was he who always wanted to take the whole house along while I always wanted to travel light.

So he used to put things into our two suitcases, and as soon as he wasn't around I used to take them out.

It became a stealthy and silent war.

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Keep your eye on the ball By Lucca

My youngest grandson, my little sunshine (who is no longer very little), and his big brother, the future anthropologist, are here for their yearly vacation in Israel. On Tuesday evening both disappeared happily to watch a live soccer game. Soccer in Israel is more exciting than soccer in the US, I suppose.

Although I like and appreciate most kinds of sports, my brain seems to be locked against everything that has to do with a ball. However, since my 3 grandsons have this inborn passion for soccer, I am trying my best to get involved. It seems that my best isn't good enough.

Many years ago in California, when we were all on our way to a soccer game where one of my grandsons was supposed to excel, I asked Omri to finally explain the rules to me. He did so, and in great detail. But he must have seen that glazed look in my eyes which is a sure sign that means the listener has moved to another planet. He gave a great sigh and said, "Grandma, never mind. If you hear people cheer, just cheer along!"