As the rain diminishes, for the time being, we begin to cancel our plans for lining up the neighborhood animals two by two. Although the subway digging has been pretty much sabotaged, with holes big enough to trap a car or two a few blocks away, there doesn’t appear to be as much flooding as last year.
There is a drive to collect coats for the homeless – and it will be a pleasure to warm some hearts as soon as I can find the address…
Anyone?
Are there many homeless in Tel Aviv? More than you can imagine – and many of those people have homes but they are inhabitable.
Since the numbers are going up for Omicron and the weather is forbidding, we’re staying home. I’m also light-headed and wiped out from these beta-blockers so I’m happy for the excuse. And there’s a reading tonight about war poetry – I’m not hosting, but I’ll read a poem or two. here’s the link:
We sat in the living room watching the window and waiting for the storm – our guest worried that he might get stuck in the violent weather, and indeed, although we worried about it for 2 hours, it was only when he left that the rain began…
Since everyone is talking about Spielberg’s West Side Story, and all the racial issues involved, I can’t help but add two cents – two very old pennies I never mentioned before. 1. When I was in high school, and we all loved everyone else – it was not only interracial dating that was frowned upon. Every mix was suspect. And I was more than once taken aside and warned against the non-Jewish boys I had a fondness for.
2. But the main point of West Side Story is inter-sexual, not interracial. An old friend of mine was a long-time lover of Leonard Bernstein and I remember the depth of feeling, the secretiveness, and the wonder. I think we get bogged down in details about love. what does it matter whether it’s trans sexual, homosexual, interracial – the problem is irrelevant social limitations that become mandatory.
What’s important is that it is mutual and not an infringement on the rights of others.
i haven’t been publishing poems lately – too tired to chase after publishers, but hoping to wake up soon. So this is a little something I’ll probably never publish anyway since I put it on facebook.
PUBLICATION
Reader, don’t you dare copy this poem.
In fact, you are not allowed to read it without permission.
Really, you should pay to find out I exist in the first place.
Because I’m not reacting well to some new medication, all I want to do is sleep – and I don’t like that. So we went against our natures and went down to the beach, where the storm was just easing up and people were beginning to resume their activities.
you can see the anger of the sea and the peace of the shore here.
But we couldn’t stay long. The wind was too powerful.
So we went to the photography exhibit at the Muza museum to warm up. Some really great stuff there. I was much more interested in the local photographs than the prizewinning photographs around the world. I was a bit too sleepy to figure out credits but here’s linoy ashram and a guy in an unrecognized village.
We seem to be unable to keep the variant out of the country because we can make simple rules we can follow. The government wanted to make shopping malls off-limits to the unvaccinated, except for essential items, but they decided there was too much opposition and it was too hard and so the malls stayed open.
There’s a similar story with vaccinations in schools. Even though it would be simple to vaccinate the kids in school, the minister of education has forbidden it.
And today in dance class the leader said she was sick of all those silly rules of social distancing and had us embracing all over the place as part of the choreography.
I didn’t dare disobey her.
See, if everyone was like me, we’d be finished with corona.
The 15th of December is our usual annual holiday. It is the date that for the 50th year we are turning in the heat. It used to be all the 18 apartments in our building who participated in this rejoicing. The hot water pies under our floors would be turned on and we would no longer be walking on cold floors. This form of heating went out of style long ago as people began using air conditioners and thought it was cheaper to heat the specific areas they used. Before those days, we had kerosene heaters, we would take outside to ignite and then crowd around them all evening. Later there were gas heaters, and they were also local but less smelly. I used to make my cholent on the heater.
But one night, when my daughter was small and suffering from pneumonia, I fell asleep in the chair by her bed and was awakened by the smell when the gas cord disconnected from the wall spigot. I rushed to open the windows so i could see by the rainlight what was going on – and though there was no moon – only storm – i could see the cord wriggling along the floor.
When I moved into this apartment the heated floors seemed to me the height of civilization. It is not dry, like AC, but almost unassuming. Almost normal.
it isn’t that expensive either. And all the others who had their pipes removed are rarely invited in to our place….
After the EKG’s of 2 weeks ago, after the halter last week, after the missed communications with doctors, I’ve been diagnosed with Atrial tachycardia and will be visiting the heart clinic for a bit. when they get the paperwork straightened out. So I’m going to stay home and not watch news. At least I’ll avoid the latest variant….