I keep the tv on while I’m reading a book, since my voice is gone and my head isn’t working with all that codeine I’m getting. The book, Cairo Circles by Doma Mahmoud, is about a guy whose cousin blows himself up in a terrorist attack. And the news they are interviewing a cousin of the Bedouin who stabbed 4 people to death before he was killed. The cousin on TV is asking that the country dedicate a day of learning about this kind of incident. He’s just said that his cousin is from a normative family and no one had an inkling of his extremist beliefs.
In honor of the first day of spring, my doctor is changing my antibiotics.
Seriously, guys, it is bitter cold around here – even the trees don’t know how to behave. Some are shedding and some are blossoming.
Every year we turn off the central heating on March 15. For the past few years, we’ve even turned it off weeks before. The determining factor is always my feet. That is, when I begin to complain that my feet are cold, Ezi consults with Shlomo and they agree to ask Tami to collect the payments of those residents who participate in the under-floor heating pipes. Usually we run out of money for the heater by mid-March and my feet are okay. So we stop. This year I’ve been turning on all the air-conditioners to warm and I’m still sick all the time.
In the past few years I’ve read “HaAretz” in English for the headlines, and for the real local news I went to the Hebrew and the NYTimes. But now that the weekend magazine is back, I keep it all week and really read it. All that’s missing is the local news about English events – the plays, readings, book launches, etc. And that will come back. Especially now that the tourists are returning. In droves.
I was suddenly reminded of the poems I wrote during the gulf war. The situation was nowhere near as terrible then as Mariupol now. And yet, there is a taste of it. Here’s a link: Love and War
The funeral of Rev Kanievksy has closed down the city. The university is on zoom; Cars cannot pass here because the roads are filled with busses on their way to the mourning.
For us all that matters is that we’re keeping the dog happy. He stole my pillows last night and neither of us slept – as a consequence, we’ll be walking a lot close to home this afternoon – after a morning rest…
And here I was getting ready for a full day’s work at last. I’m hoping now for a few hours of peace.
Not that he’s a bad dog – just a young orphan abandoned by his family for a week of skiing. And I dream of a bit of apres-ski.
turns out i’ve got a pleural infection – so apres-ski is perfect for me
Jonathan Freedman wrote about the trauma that remains with
him from March 27, 1945 bombings on England.
I have to add that I was born two days after. When the last V2 rocket
fell on London, I was being born. My parents
never got over that night when they raced to a bombed hospital to let me be
born, and my brother would pull me under the steel table in our garden whenever
there was a loud noise. I still can’t
bear fireworks. Can you imagine what the
residents of the Ukraine are feeling now, and what they will feel for the rest
of their lives?
Yesterday we sat on breeezy Habima Square and enjoyed ourselves so much it was only near the end that I realized I had put myself in harm’s way again. By today, my cold had turned into a hacking cough that wasn’t coming from my throat. I slept through the morning but by the late afternoon, Ezi could bear me no longer and decided to take me to the health clinic. Now Friday afternoon is when everyone sleeps in Tel Aviv, but the clinic is open until 8. So Ezi dragged me there, bucking and digging my heels in like a donkey. I knew that even though everyone is sleeping, they would send me on wild goose chases. So it started with a covid test. And then, when I passed it at last, a superficial examination and then an x-ray. So most of my time was spent waiting.
And the diagnosis – just take few weeks of antibiotics and enjoy the codeine in the syrup. Perfect ending to a Purim day.