Thursday, March 29, 2007


Nice entry written by Bry

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

i'm a filipino

If one cannot balance their sadness with a spoonful of happiness... well, then we wouldn't need night to have day. Black to have white.
If you can't appreciate this song with enthusiasm. Then, well- you're probably not Flip!

Tuesday, March 27, 2007


I walk very slowly concentrating on the bags of groceries i am carrying. There are eggshells all around me and I fear if I make my presence known- the fragile ball of sadness in the center of my body will break open and infect my insides.I am secretly searching for kind people- those who might know how to keep the ball of sadness contained. I think of cotton sheets and fluffy beds and soft sunlight and soft pillows. I imagine soft kisses from conditioned lips and the smell of Nivea Soft on our skin.
Depression is a state of mind don't like to accept. I prefer the term deflated. Exhausted- out of breath, achy. My knee aches, a different part- as if it's going raw, behind, inside, out- i feel old. Fair enough, it needs to be fixed. Oh but it all aches.
It's that time of year isn't it? Two years, Pesach time- I am reminded of my father when I hear melodies flowing from open windows. A piano, a lone violinist practicing his solo. Windows are open all around Tel Aviv and on a serene night, one can stroll block to block to a different melody. Last year, I went to the Wailing Wall to think of my father during his Jahrzeit. I remember there was an eclipse and I was relieved to know there was a moment where nature corresponded with Dad. When I go to the wall tomorrow, I will wonder the same thought; and search for some sort of symbol where I can smile with my fragile ball, protected from my insides. Or not.
I know time will pass once again and all these memorials will fade into the past,but with conversion only weeks away, and all these thoughts of huh's and whaa's, my mind is a web of thoughts that I cannot be sure are body is trying to hold it all together and I am tired. I think the way I feel at this moment I realize the capacity of things I've faced and continue to face. A time where the trauma of loss is reflected in the season, during a season where so many families are together and my two families are mourning once again. Loss is a sad, lonely story. I suppose that's why I am trying to create a different one. The fact of the matter is: it takes every ounce of my body and soul to do it. I just need a soft bed and a back rub at the moment.

My most favorite song in the entire world. No Lie.

A story

In a remote village in Western Africa, a young girl, age 6, is involved as a passenger in a near-fatal motorcycle accident. She is slowly fading from the large amount of blood she is losing from her open wound. A Peace Corps volunteer carries her small frame into the modest building that serves as a local hospital. It was already discussed that there is not enough time to drive her to the regional hospital a few hours a way, and an emergency blood transfusion must happen, immediately.
The girls' classmates have been curiously peering in the building. Their small hands holding onto the wooden door frame that protects them from the unstable structure. The volunteer looks at their files inside the building and asks the ones with a universal blood type to come inside the makeshift office. He explains to the children that the girl needs blood in order to live, that is the only option to keep her in the village. That without their help, she may not make it. He asks someone to volunteer to donate blood . The children look up at the skinny, white man in front of them, some bite their lips, some haven't really registered what he's asked. Some look away cowardly.
A boy of 8 halfway raises his hand and then pulls it back down. The skinny, white man patiently waits. Within seconds, he weakly holds his hand up again to volunteer himself. The skinny, white man sighs with relief and they prepare the child for the transfusion.
The nurse cleans the area, tools are brought in, the room prepared. As they begin the procedure, the 8-year-old boy lies there and sighs heavily as he looks at the cracked ceiling above. A tear rolls down his cheek. "Does it hurt?" the nurse asks him. He nods in disagreement, from left to right. The girl is a few feet away, her small body slowly rising and falling with every slow breath she takes.
The boy sighs heavily again, intent on staring at the cracks on the ceiling as tears begin roll off his round cheeks, soaking the old sweatshirt that has been made into a pillow.
"Are you in pain?" The nurse gently asks him. The boy nods once again in disagreement as he stares at the ceiling. Tears streaming down his cheeks. "Tell me what it is..." the nurse gently urges him.
"I gonna miss the village" he replies. "I'm gonna miss my brothers. My mom, my dad."
"Why, where are you going?" the nurse curiously asks.
"I'm giving her my blood, there won't be any left. I am sad that I have to die."
The nurse smiles softly at the boy of 8 and explains what a transfusion entails. The boy relaxes, but still doesn't trust the explanation.
After the procedure, the two young children are resting in the dilapidated building. The boy of 8 is nursing a paper cup of juice. The skinny, white man pulls a chair next to him and asks "When you started the procedure, you thought you were giving your blood so she could live..even if it meant you dying. Why did you decide to do that?"
"Because she's my friend" the boy innocently answers.

Monday, March 26, 2007


I know having the entire package is wrong.
I've never had it before and what started as a fling relaxed in the last months.
I don't do it often, it's wrong- maybe it's my upbringing- mostly because it's so salty. I would have it once week, and then another..and then a break. Unintentional on my part, timing- the weather, my cholesterol level. It was just a special thing that would make my taste buds tremble but I never needed it.
I needed it today. For whatever reason, I went to the grocery store- grabbed a simple salad and a package of beef prosciutto.
My fingers tear apart the slightly dry meat. The slices are stuck together. I find myself only eating the bits in my bowl and ignoring the ripe tomatoes next to them. I tear apart more and more. This can't be healthy, I think to myself. But it's soo good, I rationalize. I hurt! My belly says, I ignore my belly like I do many things right now.
Some people love playing wheel of fortune. When I say love, I am implying that some people take it very very seriously.
I am fortunate. I have come to the realization that my stomach will not allow me to eat the rest of the package. My taste buds are fighting for it. My tongue likes the texture. My belly is firm and will punish me later. just... a little, more. but soo good.
Toddlers have been frequenting the office today. I hear them in the distance as I tear pieces of Prosciutto and place them into my mouth. I feed them cakes and chase them around to prevent them from placing their fingers in an electrical outlet. I don't like being selfish- it doesn't make me feel good, looking at the toddlers, I think how nice it would be to think of someone else for a moment and what's best for them.
If i eat small bits just for the taste, I'll be OK-I think as I tear fish sized pieces. The salad will digest it. I remember my dream: A boat is about to dock and I fall off of it. I'm swimming in the water around it, not bothered- I'm used to it. I am playing peek-a-cubicle-boo with the toddler, Flinging the beef prosciutto strips around for flare. Flaring beef strips. Proscuitto strips. Flares. TGIF flare- TGIF artichoke dip. ugh, my stomach may never forgive me.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Let's all get freakin' married ya'll.

3,200 Limey's are roaming the streets of Tel Aviv. they are pastier than the pastiest of my friends. You can see their red skin a mile away and boy, are they ugly. My English friends are quite pretty people to me, I find it hard to think they came from the same country these lizards do.
Although the sky was a blinding white, I still managed to give myself the illusion that I ,too was on vacation and having coffee at the beach. We managed a pre-shabbat beer and I made a new friend.
dinner was at Jean's who in fact, is "John" but his accent made me think it was Jean, until I heard his Australian wife call him "Johnny". Given that they are an eldery couple, my lateness did not reflect positively on them. "I thought because you were German you would be on time Susan" he tells me. "Yeah, but Shul and my half Filipino side made me late" I reply.
There is something balancing about spending quality time with those more experienced than you in life.. in the trials of life and who come out to be pleasant and successful people. "How did you two meet?" is the question that dictates the entire conversation for the rest of the evening. "You kids are too spoiled, you watch too many movies- don't you know a marriage is work and a challenge. A couple makes it work." States John's wife. "ahh yes, makes sense- I'll tell that to the next man that wants to marry me." I sarcastically reply.
And all I can think about is how right they are. I, we, us- the people around me, we all once again- take ourselves too seriously when it comes to love. Instead of trying to make it work, we focus all our energy in excuses why it can't.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Another Fallen Hero

Kelly was the first alumni from the girlfriends group I met when Tsiki fell. Two days after I arrived in Israel, she accompanied Rina, the head of the group. I didn't really remember her, more so, I didn't really register her. She was just another person sitting next to me with the look of sadness in her eyes. I couldn't really look at her either- she seemed quite strong, I felt like a broken vase, shattered in every direction.
Months later, we formed a friendship. Was it convenience? I lived in Maskeret Batya, she in Modiin. Was it because we both shared a loss of a Fiancee? Was it because her father was Anglo? Did it matter?
upon a meeting she shared with me her father was sick with an incurable cancer. My dark humor seeped in. "Well,since you helped me through my grief of losing Tsiki, I can only return the favor of knowing what it's like to lose a father... for future reference." The only type of humor another person in grief can understand & why we have to make light of such heavy situations.
Shabbats with her family here and there- Anglo jokes around the table. We spoke of archery, politics, adjustment in Israel. I went to one of their family BBQ's once. I stood there, with her father, with the same question I always ask: "how you feeling?" "Eh, Susi"- he answers in his English accent. "I have my good and bad days, what can I expect?" he replies as we stand there, staring at his family running around us. "Are you scared?" I cautiously ask him. "I'm not gonna lie Susi, you don't grow up imagining your going to die young. what you and Kelly went through was tragic. I'm lucky- I have time to say goodbye".
I learned that time is never good enough. That it's like heroine, you always want more of it and you want to change the past- or the present, or make it some beautiful memory as if it would ease the pain of losing someone dear. ...
It doesn't.
Dropping by the house, her mother had the all too familiar exhausted-by- grief look. Kelly had that wall behind her eyes, still caught up on being rational while her emotions are being filtered inside her heart. Drip Drip. It was all too heavy for me, and too strong a reminder of what it's like to lose my father and what was like to sit Sheva for Tsiki.
I could feel it all over again, so I decided that I should leave. And so I did. The saddest thing about someone passing is noticing how empty a house and heart can be when they leave us. You can't fill that space with a new vase or cover it up with a new tablecloth. And I will never fully feel the magnitude that my dear friend Kelly and her family felt. And sadly enough- i am grateful.

Dance with me?

I became ill with the homesick flu. For a few hours, my heart swelled up with a temperature and my soul became sour and congested. My mouth, it was dry and my throat ached.
All is not lost. My mother called to tell me she has convinced her youngest sister to jump on the plane with her. I don't know if I have ever been so excited and proud that they're actually coming. My aunt is a survivor, I am convinced to this day she has the secret of life in a oak chest in the back of her closet. She hid it under the bed when we were roommates, I saw it once, but she smiled and hid it from me. And my mother! ah! more dancing videos. Summer can't come quick enough for me.
Now, I just wish Passover passed over so I can get through it all and see the mom. This whole holiday with every one's family in town and then the whole coping thing has already started to wash over me. Every time a date approaches, I don't believe I can get through it. I told my brother yesterday "Well, at least it's not as painful as a couple years ago" and we both let out an uncomfortable laugh. We both know it's the worst. I have this innate desire to run and hide, to not attend any of the memorials and not acknowledge anything. "Can't I pretend it's someone else's story?" I think to myself. I feel guilty that Passover makes my body ache.

In the name of keeping my spirits up. I am listing all the dances I have done in the last 5 days. I'll probably create a Passover dance as well.


  • Bixby High school Cheerleading fight song dance

  • Tinikling

  • E-tick E-tick

  • Fawn Thai dance

  • "Hey!! I'm cold" Dance

  • "Hey look!! I'm on my co-workers crutches and it's a good time for Broadway" Dance

  • "I can shake it on a bike too!" Dance

Stop. You know it's good for the soul. Booyah. (can you tell the sun is out today?)

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Rock and roll

"I should have been a rockstar" is the thought that passed through my mind walking to work this morning. What's disturbing about this notion was that I was really thinking hard about it. Thought how much I would enjoy the stress of touring, and the temptation of fans and just the general fun of stage lights and Rock'nroll.
Rockstar, Judaism, Rockstar Judaism. Hedonistic attitudes. Rock'n Roll, rolling pins. Rolling stones. Row Row Row your boat. Boating oars. Band whores.
I like to think about things in my head as if I had more of a choice in the matter than fate. I suppose fate is one of those things you love when it's all beautiful, blame it when it's bad- then say it doesn't exist when the skies go vanilla.
Rockstar Susi su. Oh! I'd never have made it, I only play the drums and the harmonica, and I only know punk rock beats. Plus I am left-handed but still can't manage to get myself comfortable on a guitar since I like holding it right-handed, but my brain won't let my right fingers move like they should.
The trip in meeting my family seems to have fallen through, and I am a bit bummed. and since everyone else is meeting their families during the lovely Passover Holiday I figure I should have something to look forward to. More so due to the fact that somewhere, deep inside- I have a feeling the Bet Din is not going to convert me next month. I hate admitting it- but I think they have too much pride to throw me that bone. Argh- these memorials really get to the innards of ones soul. I think all my friends are well aware that this is an extremely frustrating time, but I have to remember not to freak out everyone with an existential crisis part 2.
Soooooo..It's time to up it up a notch. and create something beautiful- ya know- to balance out this frustrating time. I think it starts with getting one's hair Did. Then you hang out with extremely fascinating people. Then do something completely, madly insane, that it's so mad that every time you think about it in the future- you have a smirk on your face. Just let me think about it for a second...

Sunday, March 18, 2007


The moment you meet someone, you don't realize what an impact they will have on possibly the rest of your life. The minute you look at someone, you may not yet know that they will teach you so much, and love you in a way you never knew possible.
When you lose that treasure, you spend your days wanting it back. When you lost it forever, you have no choice but to take all the goodness that you learned, put it in your silken handkerchief and run through the tunnel of darkness. If you're lucky, the light at the end of the tunnel came from the contents of the handkerchief.

Let us remember Tsiki Eyal, April 1st, 2007 at the Maskeret Batya Cemetery, 4 p.m

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Your booze please.

It's snowing in Jerusalem. In March. When I lived in Germany, the sun peeping out after a cold rainy day symbolized hope. Here, it's not good enough. I have begun to bang on pots and pans for the attention of Spring. She's not listening to me.
In light of my Shiur last night with Rabbi L. I am gearing up for what could possible be my last Pesach as person not of the Jewish Faith. I have devised a contract for all my friends to sell all their Chametz to me. I made a small revision. I don't think anyone would mind tho.
I/ We, ____________________________, hereby fully empower and authorize Susi Doring, all legal right and title to my “Chametz” .
The term “Chametz” is intended and shall be understood to include, without limitation, any product made of wheat, barley, oats, rye or spelt and any mixture or derivative thereof, as more particularly defined in and by Torah and Rabbinic Law and Jewish Tradition.
Additionally, without limiting the generality of the foregoing, “Chametz” may include the following items: schnapps and spirits; beer; cereals; noodle and pasta products; barley; ingredients used in baking; frozen foods; crackers; baked products; pet food; vitamins; wheat germ; pickles; mixes; condiments (e.g. ketchup, vinegar, etc.); cosmetics; toiletries; medicine and medicinal preparations; assorted groceries; canned foods; “Chametz” that may be affixed or attached to utensils, toys, books and seforim, appliances, baking tools, etc.
The aforementioned “Chametz” items are located and may be found primarily in the following areas (please check all areas that
may apply.):
___Kitchen cabinets ___Desk ___Investment property located at:
___Breakfront/China closet ___Attic _____________________________________________
___Liquor cabinet ___Pantry ___Car (which will not be used on“Pesach”)
___Briefcase/Knapsacks ___Garage which is stored at:_______________________________
___Refrigerator/Freezer ___Closet/Cabinets ___Neighbor’s or relative’s house located at:
___Shed, Basement or Storage area ___Locker at school
___Medicine/Bathroom cabinets ___Chest or Bureau ___Other:______________________________________
and shall include all “Chametz” and/or mixtures containing “Chametz” that is or may be knowingly or unknowingly in my possession
(as “possession” is defined in and by Torah and Rabbinic Law and Jewish Tradition), or to which I have or may have legal responsibility in whole or in part (including corporations or other business entities which own or deal in “Chametz” in which I may have an ownership interest), or transit goods which may be delivered to me during the period commencing Wednesday, April 2,
2007 through Thursday, April 9, 2007.
In addition, the key necessary to gain access to said places and areas where the “Chametz” items may be located can be obtained by
contacting :
___________________I hereby understand and agree that Susi Doring, the buyer of the aforementioned “Chametz”
items shall have, free access to the “Chametz” items which he/she
will be acquiring and to any area that will be leased or sold to him/her. I authorize that whatever Susi buys in terms of Whiskey/Scotch(Jameson,Bushmills,Middleton,Glenkinchie,Talisker,Craggenmore,Glenlivet,Macallen, Johnny Walker,Dewars) and chooses to keep and not sell back, is fine by me I will not ask her to pay for the ingested items.
The “Chametz” items located in the areas set forth above have an approximate value of $____________________.
My authorization and delegation of power set forth in this Authorization shall become binding upon my execution of this Authorization in the space set forth below, and this Authorization, when delivered to the buyer with the bill of sale, shall have the same force and effect as if I had personally executed such bill of sale.
This Authorization is also intended to conform
to the criteria and requirements of secular law.
Address: Phone:___________________
Signature: Date:____________________

Wednesday, March 14, 2007


You came and went, like those one night stands I've heard so much about.
Like a happy hangover.
Where did you go? I'm so lost without you.
A feather tickle on my nose. tickle tickle.
Oh woe is me!! my soul was filled and I swore strawberries were dancing in the sky!
The blue blue blue shiny shiny sky.
Oh Spring.
You are a Lilith to my soul. You temptress, such joy met me soul, only a weekend ago.
Tickly tickly. My soul was filled.
And then the sand came and the pimples from the sand. and I became tired.
And then the cold came and tickled my lungs. Green Tea is my soldier of defense.
And then the busy schedule came like a tornado and I really needed your color to make me dance on tables.
But you left and I'm so lost without you.
Come back. Please. I put a shekel in a jar, every minute or every day for your return.
I don't want to be rich.
I just want you back.
So I can breath you in and eat a mango.
I won't eat any Mango's or avocado's because I miss you too much. And they are a reminder of you.
You smooth talking season you. You player in the field.
Oh! it is so dreary outside. I thought we were in Mediterranean paradise?
Do you hear that? The fat raindrops falling for the bleached sky???
Come back.
I sit in my Tu Tu on the doorstep of joy, with anticipation.
I had a conversation with Hashem and he said you'd be back in time for Matzah Bread and memorial weekends.
But I wish you back right now. My bones ache because you're not here.
I'm putting a sign out of my window today,
So you can find me. You temptress you.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


Our small group has managed to meet for the 3rd time with another stimulating topic. There is something satisfying in the ability to find dedicated people in attendance and participation to create an environment where we are open to learn and discuss new and different topics. Topics that I wouldn't normally familiarize myself with without the suggestion of my peers, or moreso- topics I wouldn't try to understand unless I was in a classroom. After our session- I feel asleep instantly- and deeply until the familiar sound of my morning alarm brought me back to my bedroom and out of my subconscious. I think the learning experience I am having is: there is so much you can do for free. It's as simple as finding the smartest people you know, inviting them over and picking their brain.


Keywords from last nights discussion:
Thoughts that circulated in the Ginrod brain when we discussed Avraham's response to G-d: Here I am.
  • "Here I am once again on my own, going down the only road I've ever known"
  • "Here I am once again..lonely lost whatever Kelly Clarkson" (i don't know that song)
  • "I am smelling like the rose that somebody gave me on my birthday death bed"
  • "Here I am, rock you like a hurricane "
  • "Here I am It's just me and you Tonight "

Then I refocused and it was goodness. All wrapped up in a silk package goodness. The kind of goodness that melts in your mouth not in your hand. That you spread, not smear. The "i'm stuffed but i'll have more" goodness. The goodness you have with strawberries. The sweet smelling goodness. The goodness like avocadoes goodness. The juicy mango goodness. The warm sweater goodness. The kiss on the neck goodness. The once u pop u can't stop goodness. The kiddie blanket goodness. The singular sensation goodness. The at a theater near you goodness. The 3 day weekend goodness. Freshly mowed lawns. Rain on a summer day. Summer on a rainy day. Raindrops on roses rain. Stormy weather rainy goodness. Blue Moon and moon river goodness. Melodic Goodness.

Monday, March 12, 2007


The doctor ordered knee surgery for me in terms of that cracking,pop,crunching sound I've experienced ever since I spent a measly 5 minutes being Kitchig on those roller blades. You spent four years dedicating yourself to sports and daily training to be a pre-teen athlete and you find yourself wondering when you can squeeze in the time to fix what's broken. Such thoughts ran through my head "maybe I should find a first floor apartment? How am I going to be in shape if I can't move?" "Take away my ability to walk for a week and I'll melt. I'll melt."

I had a dream last night- that I got caught in a pyramid scheme involving dynamite, English currency, and a baby. I played the role of some clever woman, dodging bombs and not taking morally tainted money. There was a scene where I was in Taoromina, Sicily and then I was pulled out of sleep by my alarm. It must be the sand in the air- cuz I feel ten pounds heavier today.

Pyramid schemes. The U.S was full of them, and when I first graduated- all job offers seemed to be an amazing sounding job- with an interview at some dodgy place with a greased out 21 year old by the name of Al who drove a 1987 Caddy. I would stay long enough to get into the office and announce: "This is a pyramid scheme". "No it's not", "Yes it is." "No it's not". "This is stupid". "I'm sorry you feel this way ma'am." "Don't call me ma'am, you're only a year younger than I". "Well ma'am, I think you should take the time to understand our purpose." "I went to uni for this? this is ridiculous, you and your pyramid scheme for a worthless product." "this isn't a pyramid scheme.""of course it is."

My dad would call to see how these interviews went. I'd tell him it was a pyramid scheme and I'd get a lecture how I shouldn't waste my time on Pyramid schemes and we'd get into some tiff about my career future and I'd find myself bringing him oysters to make up for my disrespect.

more coffee please.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

walking like an old maid.

After walking up and back down a plethora of stairs to retrieve a book left behind. My knees reminded me of their disposition. I slowly made my way up the street, in a snail-like speed towards the juice stand I practically pay rent at. I totally understand the torment of arthritis in the elderly. I completely sympathize, and although I hate running due to trauma of too much training when I ran in high school, I miss the ability to simply be able to run. I miss the ability to climb stairs without being reminded of what feels like raw cartilage brushing against my bone.
The Shiur was quite entertaining. As I mentioned before i'm sure, the majority of those that attend are senior citizens, and I actually prefer it that way. The jokes are so innocently offensive and repitition is often as some can't hear as well as I. My Rabbi was still hungover from the Purim festivities and that added a lot more humor to the session. He did however, explain to me that pomegrant seeds are symbolic of Mitzvah's in Judaism and I took that into account to analyze my dream.
If I had a bowl filled with pomegranate seeds, well one one hand it is symbolic of my immense, ever flowing fertility. On the other hand, if the seeds were numerous in numbers but didn't fill the bowl completely, well- does that mean I have ever flowing fertility but not enough mitzvah's to fill a bowl? Not that it matters either way, i'm still a Shiksa. My mitvah's don't really count. I have them in savings at the Israel Discount Bank on Diesengoff. They are gathering interest for Post-Passover investment.
Jumped in bed as soon as I went home and read up a little more on Jewish history,. Downloaded a couple prayers to my ipod that a friend recorded for me so I can learn Davening and be on the up and up with my knowledge. Slid my headphones on and I was asleep by 10:15. Studying really takes it out of ya. No wonder I slept so much in class in Uni.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Dream about a fruit.

I've got a fishbowl on my desk. Secretly, I believe my company keeps me around cuz I'm that girl that you find walking around the office with the fish bowl- headed towards the kitchen and announcing that "the fishes need a bath!!". No matter how silly it is, everyone grins and when clients come in- they find it humorous to see me marching into the kitchen and scrubbing the bowl clean as the fish splash around in a tiny bowl next to me.
In Feng Shui, Goldfish are "baby dragons"- good luck. Fish bowls are supposed to transform bad energy. When I sit and stare, the Goldfish press their O mouths against the glass, moving their heads left to right, jiggling themselves from excitement at the notion of being fed...I find myself lightly touching the glass and grinning, I check on them, always glancing over my shoulder as I work. These goldfish of mine. I stare at them and get lost in thought- they say Goldfish have 3 day memories, I've read up to 6 months- either way, temporary memory can't be a bad thing.
I don't dream of Tsiki often. There are often symbols in my dreams that in one way or the other refer to him. But only a small handful with him directly in them. I think I've had one for each season only. In the beginning, he came to me and said he was sorry. I've only dreamt of my father twice. He seems to come when I am emotionally wounded. I don't know if it's to motivate me, or to also kick me in the gut. Either way, I was on a Kibbutz this time, we were strolling along. As always, I know he's dead- but I ignore that fact and wonder if I don't bring it up- perhaps he'll forget he's dead and we can go about the merry lives we were leading in early 2005.
And then the dream gets frustrating, and my ovaries are in a bowl. but they are not ovaries- they are pomegranate seeds and I need his seed and I am not allowed it because he's dead. The nurse tells me not to tempt such an ordeal and the dream changes and I am at a track meet again and running laps. the 800. My knee is hurting, like it does right now, and I keep running. My knee is breaking and I keep running. I know if I just make myself do one more lap, I can make it. One more lap.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

The Kah-nee and the Kah-nife

These knees of mine, particularly the right one.
Over Shabbat I climbed the stone-tiled steps. Click. Click. "Am I 26?" I thought to myself. Click Click. My left foot lead me. Pop. Click Click. Pop. Click Click Pop Crack.
You skate for a second and next thing you know. The knee injuries from too many basketball games, too many street hockey sessions, too many back flips and backhand-springs come forth like a memory that you put in the closet when you where 17.
The weekend was beautiful. Beautiful enough that it rose me out of bed at seven in the morning, gave me a coffee and let me take a blanket out into the yard at the Eyal's house to read. I literally studied all day, and when the sun became too hot, I retreated for a nap inside.
There's something that disturbs me about coming home to Eyal's. and it's not the memory of Tsiki, for that is something i've lived with every moment of my days for the last three years. It's remembering the time i lived in the house. When we were all suffering and handling it in different ways. It was remembering a time when a warm home changed and became cold and lonely for all of us. Where every shower i had were made of tears and longing and the dread of getting up. I am looking forward to experiencing more Shabbats there, so I can slowly change the memories of the last years.
I've been consumed by reviewing what I am learning. I read all day until I felt tired enough for a nap. There is something I love about studying- it brings amazing dreams. This time, I dreamt of a long table, with all my friends- but they were faceless. I was there to only serve them dessert and I had special homemade ice cream made for them all. As I scooped it out- I realized I only had a serving for one person. And so I gave it to P Bonez. I then walked to the freezer and pulled out a container of Strawberry ice cream and served everyone else. I guess this is the time I learn to serve chocolate to everyone.
Pop. Crack. Crack. Click Click. Crack.