Return to School 2008

I know I said I wouldn't talk about the return to school but I just couldn't resist.

I worked Sunday so I was free for the 'Welcome to 1st Grade!' ceremony on Monday morning - both my son and daughter were playing in the orchestra. In addition my daughter and the other vavs (6th graders) taking part in the actual ceremony.

To start the ceremony there is the entry of the first graders to lots of singing, flag waving and clicking of camera shutters. They do a round of the basketball court, in the style of a mini-Olympics, either looking scared and tearful or waving happily to their parents.

Once they are seated there are the speeches (why oh why does every single event involves speeches?) by the Headmaster, the chairman of the local council and the chair person of the parents' committee.

Speeches!

Luckily it is election year so the chairman of the local council kept his speech to the bare, boring minimum. Normally he arrives half an hour late then spends forty minutes thanking his cronies and telling us all the wonderful things he is doing for our town, in general, and our children, in particular. Brilliant for insomniacs.

After the official speeches there is always a kind of rhyming prose poem, an Israeli specialty, about the delights of returning to school.
Each child reads a line or two, which involves some complicated shuffling of the microphone and a lot of unintelligible mumbling, until they reach the end of a row: about half a dozen children. Then there follows an interlude with dancing and singing to badly amplified music.
Lather, rinse, repeat four or five more times until all the participants have either danced or spoken.

This year participation in the entertainment was allocated according to gender with the boys speaking and the girls dancing. Although one group of boys from a lower class gave a short display of their gymnastic ability.

Throughout the ceremony the class teachers do their best to keep the lower classes quiet as they wriggle in their seats. But by far the greatest disturbance comes from the parents.

When the first graders make their entrance their parents are so totally overwhelmed with emotion they run amok, squeezing both cheeks and shutter buttons with almost hysterical enthusiasm.
After a few minutes of patient waiting the headmaster, a stickler for discipline, calls them to order. Setting a great example for their children the parents ignore him. After several more minutes, with the help of a few teachers and judicious use of the microphone, the parents are herded to the back of the crowd.

In my day, oh so many moons ago!, parents sat on chairs while children sat crossed-legged on the floor. Not so in today's Israel. The chairs are all reserved for the children while the parents must stand at the back, shuffling round in the semi shade, straining to hear what is being said and doing their best not to miss their progeny's 15 seconds of 'fame'.
As time wears on they become more and more restless until they huddle in groups discussing in muted, and not so muted tones, various subjects only marginally related to their children's education and bemoaning the waste of a morning's holiday from work. A few give up altogether and go to sit under a shady tree.

Finally it is all over, the children disperse into their classrooms, the mothers of the first graders blow kisses and shed a few tears and the rest of us hurry off to be getting on with whatever it is we get on with.

Parents milling around the school gates

Rosh HaShanah Approaches

I'm not sure why but Israeli holidays always seem to sneak up on me.

It might be the slightly schizophrenic nature of the Israeli calendar where business life, doctors' appointments and the long summer holiday are calculated according to the dates of the Gregorian calendar. But the yearly cycle of festivals, minor school holidays and family celebrations is lived in harmony with the Jewish lunar calendar.

At least now we attend synagogue regularly the prayer of thanks for Rosh Hodesh (the beginning of the month) gives me some sense of my bearings as I make my annual trek through the seasons.

Another welcome sign that the holidays are imminent is my husband arriving home with gifts from work.
In England I remember people hoping for a Christmas bonus and there were always the staff parties but that was it.
In Israel it is traditional, even if your workplace is so small you are the only employee, to receive gifts from your employer at both Passover and Rosh Hashanah.

My husband's employer is quite generous and in addition to the gift vouchers which provide some welcome wiggle room in a budget well stretched by festive meals, they also send him home with a gift basket which maybe not be as useful as the vouchers but is much more exciting.(Did I ever mention that I just love opening presents?)

When my son asked 'what's that?' as he opened the door for my husband I knew there were goodies to be had.
After the usual greetings hubby carefully placed the box on the coffee table and I positioned myself as master of ceremonies.
Once we had thoroughly inspected the various delights and sampled some of the chocolates the children became fascinated by the hive shaped honey pot and wooden honey spoon.They filled the pot and spent the evening twirling the spoon in the honey and then letting it drip onto their tongues, I permitted this hedonism with the excuse that the honey was medicinal as an antidote to sore throats brought on by the autumnal night temperatures.

Baking Buns

I thought I would start the season by blogging about the return to school. But so many other bloggers seem to have had the same idea and this year has been relatively sane if a little busy for us.

As we glide towards the end of September and Rosh Hashanah I am, as usual, totally fed up with the heat. I feel sick most of the time and have non-specific food cravings (basically, I crave anything but what I am actually eating)
My very sweet GP diagnosed it as 'an allergy to the Israeli Summer' and thinks the cause is psychological rather than a dietary deficiency. At least Goldstar makes me feel better and the Doc approved it as a treatment!

However, with a job and children to look after consuming large amounts of beer during the day is not an option and if I can't have beer baked goods make a decent substitute.
Unfortunately, our friendly local baker has moved his bakery to a location at the entrance to Shlomi, not within a distance I fancy walking in this heat. Over priced, over sweet synthetic cakes from the supermarket just don't do it for me.

So, during a momentary lapse of reason, in the middle of +30C temperatures I decided it would be a good idea to use up some ripe plums by making Marzipan Plum Buns
There was a major problem - The recipe involves yeast dough.

Now I am fine at baking basic bread and have even purchased a
Kenwood Patissier to aid me in my endeavours. However I never seem to have the time or patience for bread and can rarely roll it thin enough for cakes and cookies, resulting in an item that is all bread and little filling.


The rolling seems to be more successful if I make bread while annoyed. The kneading and knocking back take on the function of a punch bag. But I have to be rather intensely irritated for my bad humour to last through the hour of waiting for the dough to rise and I'm concerned that if my children only get to eat baked goods when their mother is feeling belligerent they will be scarred by some irreversible childhood trauma. - Do I really want them to hyperventilate whenever they encounter a doughnut?

So I was in a relatively pleasant mood when I made the dough and left it to rise. Then I stoned the plums and soaked them in wine. Once the dough had risen, I drained the plums. They were already suspiciously soft and I began to have my first serious doubts.
I was not reassured when I tried to 'stuff' them with pieces of marzipan and even the slightest squeeze turned the fruit flesh into puree.
Determined not to be defeated I knocked back the dough and divided it into sections.

Now I will be the first to admit that I am a failure at measuring by eye - size, weight, length, speed - I do not have the foggiest.
Luckily uneven portions are not a problem in this household where we all have slightly different appetites, but it can leave to more than a slightly hotchpotch effect when I am baking things in batches.

Such considerations aside I divided the dough as evenly as possible, rolled out each section, popped the marzipan stuffed plum on to the dough, and tried to massage it back into a bun shape.

This is where everything came unstuck - literally. The plums were so soft and wet they slid around on the dough which refuse to stick to itself. When I gently tried to shape the dough plum juice leaked out everywhere.

Eventually I had to fold the dough over the plum filling and pinch the edges into adhesion.

The doughy disaster cooked up quite quickly though most of the plum juice leaked out without making any attempt to soak into the dough and impart some flavour. Worst of all when I finally tasted the buns the marzipan, my main reason for endeavouring to bake these buns, was non-existent.

This plate was actually full a few minutes before the photo was taken

I have to admit that although I was disappointed with the results of my baking my daughter and husband were more appreciative. They consumed quite a quantity before I remembered to take a photograph and in the evening my husband begged me to hide them after he had already eaten half a dozen

Back to Work

Well I can tell I have truly returned to the workforce - Yesterday I was on strike!

It is one of the advantages of working within the local system that although my children were home because the school was on strike I was at home to look after them because the local Matnas (community centre), where I now work as librarian, was also on strike.

The reason for the strike? As the posters say 'The Government is Losing the North'. In a play on words in Hebrew it also means 'The Goverment is Losing Direction'. Neither are sentiments with which I have great argument except that maybe to lose something you have to have had it in the first place.

Hizbullah has been relatively passive for the last year and so in its wisdom the Goverment has come to the conclusion there are no security concerns in this area, unemployment has come to an end and life is peachy.

Personally my life is quite peachy and I like living in Shlomi but if the Government removes tax relief and other subsudies we will not be able to afford to eat. This is not money for luxuries such as foreign holidays, sports cars or milllion dollar homes in Jerusalem, this is what we need to provide the basics for our families.

The Orchestra

I have already mentioned that both my son and daughter are taking part in a wonderful orchestra project that has been started in Shlomi.

They enjoy playing their instruments and both of them are aware of the fact that they must practice to develop their embouchure and produce a clear sound.

My daughter has been playing a couple of months and already has a good sound.
My son has only been playing a month and at first he complained that after only a few minutes his mouth went 'wobbly'. We explain that this is what will happen until his muscles become strengthened though practice. He has taken this very seriously and once he has finished his homework he wanders round the flat trumpet in hand, even when he is watching TV. He practices for a few minutes, then rests, then practices again. Depending on her mood and how interesting the TV program my daughter tolerates the loud blasts or chucks him out of the room.

The Trumpet

A couple of weeks ago my daughter came home with the announcement that the orchestra was going on a trip. Everyone was going to a hostel in a small community about 15 miles away and they would be spending the night. It would be an opportunity to practice together and create a spirit of cohesion among the members of the orchestra who are of different ages and from both of Shlomi's schools.

I was excited for her. Both my husband and I have taken part in musical trips and we know what a fabulous experience they can be.

Last Wednesday my son came home from school, and his trumpet lesson, and informed me that he was to join his sister at orchestra practice that evening and the teacher had asked that a parent also put in an appearance.
I knew I had paid everything required so wondered what more paperwork I would be signing.

When I got there, the conductor informed that I had been asked to come because they wanted my son to join the orchestra trip. I checked with my son that it would be OK; although he had never been on an over-night trip before he would be with his sister and although most of the children were older than him, he is quite friendly with the boys from his sister's class.
Then I wandered off to pay for the trip and then phoned my husband to ask which restaurant he intending taking me to on our childfree night.

They set out yesterday afternoon. All the parents were crowding round the bus, some of them crying, others saying they would have to pay a visit later in the evening.
I don't really do the 'mother hen' thing. I blew kisses through the window and waved goodbye in the expectation that my children would have a fine time.

They returned home this morning full of stories about how much fun they had had mainly telling stories and playing games in their rooms until late in the night. They even played a little music!
My daughter was also proud to tell us that she had helped a younger girl learn how to hold her flute properly and place her fingers on the right keys.

The Flute

Of course are so much fun they were pretty tired out this evening but they still had enough energy to show off their instruments to the guests at my parents' for Shabbat meal.

Pretending to be a librarian

I have been volunteering at the local library for several years now, organizing the English section. I am also a familiar face around the community centre as a result of the various children's activities and local initiatives.

So the last year when the local librarian was struck down by a vicious bug that barely left her able to breathe, they asked if I could man the desk for a few hours so local bibliophiles, desperate for the next literary fix, could make a quick exchange.

With my fondness for computers I soon figured out how to enter lent and returned books on the program that I had previously only used for cataloguing. More problematic was trying decipher Russian names, mumbled names and names that turned out to be first names.

Most of the visitors were children and Russian pensioners with the occasional mother who, recognizing me from various activities with my children and after inquiring how I came to be working in the library, would launch into an enjoyable review of the latest bestsellers while I would try to translate the titles from Hebrew to English in order to reference their comments against my own opinion or other reviews I had read.

After two afternoons of such pleasant occupation they asked me to take a third turn at the librarian's desk However, obviously due to such frequent contact with the librarian, I had become infected with the same dreaded lurgy and could hardly summon enough breath to gasp, "I can't."

This week the librarian attended a conference and asked me to cover for her again. The timing was a little complicated as my father was going into hospital, meaning that not only was my mother not available for babysitting but we would also have to be 'on call' for any night-time pickups and any animal emergencies. On the other hand, it would be a good thing if I were occupied with no spare time to fill with considerations of hypothetical 'worst case scenarios'.

I managed to arrange, with the help of my hubby, that my daughter would be able to take part in her ballet lesson without having to go either there or back on her own. And I felt that several long stints in the library might encourage my son to read.

The first afternoon the library was quite empty to begin with and my children joined me straight from school.
Then a couple of six grade boys came in and began searching the Internet for the history of Hanukah. Soon they began calling for my help.

"Find something for me," they asked.

"Exactly whose homework is it?" I replied.

A little while later a teacher tried to help them but they couldn't even be bothered to click through on the links Google gave them so she soon gave up. Eventually, after lot of fuss, they found something suitable and printed it out. However, one of the boys being too impatient grabbed a page it before it had printed and the printer had a hissy fit.

I made several attempts to fix it, with the boys pestering me that I had to fix it because they needed to print.

After ten minutes a lady stood at the desk waiting to be served. I didn't want to keep her waiting as I knew her books would take only a minute while the printer seem to be un-fixable.

As I was talking to the lady one of the boys barged in. "You must hurry up. I'm going to be late for sport!"

I replied that he must be more polite and more patient.

Eventually they showed me that they had already printed one copy so that photocopying was their solution. An end to the problems? Not quite. One of the boys had no change to pay me for the copies so I directed him to reception.

"Where's that?" He asked

I explained to him, but even though reception is the main feature in the community centre lobby he had to return twice for directions until one of his friends took him.

Next two little girls needed help with their homework. As I moved over to the computers I noticed two small boys were playing games on the Internet computers even though one of the games computers was free [Don't get me started about computer games in the library] When I asked them to move their mother gave me an 'evil glance'.

About ten minutes later another child came in and inquired politely when a computer would be free so she could play. I replied that the children already at the computers had another five minutes at which 'evil glance' mother piped up "That's not fair my children have only been playing for ten minutes."
I replied that when there is a queue each child has a turn of fifteen minutes so it was perfectly fair.

Somehow the turns sorted themselves out without me having to interfere any further. However when 'evil glance' mother decided to go home both of her boys threw a temper tantrum at being removed from the computer which gave naughty me more than a little satisfaction.

The second day I just put a notice on the printer saying it was broken, saving myself a whole load of hassle. A few children came into play games and use the Internet but they were well behaved and I was able to concentrate on dealing with the positive flood of people coming to exchange books. At one point I had to chase out a few children who had drifted in from the Hanukkah fair with doughnuts in hand. But otherwise I spent all my time checking books in and out on the computer while the returns piled high around me waiting for the librarian to return them so their shelves in the morning. It was a busy but very pleasant way to pass the afternoon.

Pump it

In England, when I was a teenager, it was always my job to wrangle the petrol pump at the self-service stations and it was a chore I enjoyed.

Fast forward to my life in Israel and even after self-service had began to take over from the full-service in the mid-nineties it was always my hubby who dealt with the petrol, after all, he is the driver.

This morning my mother requested my company when she went to pick-up my Dad from hospital (Thankfully, he is feeling fine.)

On the way we stopped to get petrol. Due to my mother's minimal amount of Hebrew, she has no chance of following the self-service instructions so she always pays extra for full service. Today she offered to 'get the man', but with determination and a little trepidation, I stepped up to the pump.

The instructions flashed on the screen and the only minor hiccup occurred when my mother had to scrabble in her bag for her ID card as she has yet to learn her ID number by heart.

Finally, the pump clicked off and I returned the nozzle to its position. Feeling a little ridiculous the sense of victory that surged through me I was also pleased to reflect that despite wifehood, motherhood and imminent middle age I had not become totally dependent and 'girlie'.

The Arnolfini Portrait

As a child I lived quite near to London and made many visits to the wonderful galleries and museums.
One of my regrets living so far from the centre of Israel is that I now rarely get a chance to visit museums or national art galleries.

Luckily the internet, as always, can help out.

The National Gallery in London has a wide and varied collection and they have created a beautiful website.
The paintings are arranged by artist or by collection. There are tour and guides and even podcasts. I particulaly like the 'Painting of the month' .

What makes this website special is the zoom-in feature that allows you to examine the paintings. More closely than you are able to do at the actual gallery.

One of my favourite paintings is 'Portrait of Giovanni Arnolfini and his Wife' by van Eyck. This is a painting we studied at school. I still find it fascinating

Books - Night by Elie Wiesel

Today I worked in the library so I though it would be appropriate to post a book review.

Normally when I like a book or film my reviews are short - 'Wonderful', 'Great', 'I loved this'. it is when I don't like something that I become more eloquent. However I did think it best to start with something positive, if not terribly upbeat.

Despite having read many books and seen many films on the subject I had never read Elie Wiesel's Night. Although I am always cautious about the books that become so hysterically popular after featuring on Oprah's Book Club I did feel that this particulr book deserved the benefit of my doubt.

Here is my review:

It would be easy to say everyone will feel compelled to this book 5 stars because of the subject matter but Night receives top marks from me because of it's straight forward writing style and clear narrative.

Night was a quick but by no means easy read. The subject was not new but during the first half when people are been ripped from their homes and families I could feel tears prickling in my ears. When they arrive at the camps horror soon dries the tears but no matter how many I read or films I see on this subject I am still left incredulous that people could do such things.

The book is quite short and clearly written. And you can feel Elie Wiesel's pain reaching out to you across the text - A must read.

Procastinating is Fun

It is amazing the wonderful amount of things I am getting done in the name of procrastination. I will do anything except writing!

I normally do well on deadlines. Tell me, 'I need two thousand words by tomorrow!' and I will probably get it done. But a month is too much time. The laundry needs doing today and the meal needs to be ready in an hour, this letter needs posting, this email need answering. They all have deadlines less than a month away and therefore take priority over NaNoWriMo.
Suddenly we are nearing the end of the month and my motivation, and time, has evaporated. I am like a deer in the headlights - I know I should move but I just cannot seem to snap into action.

In contrast NaBloPoMo, with its daily deadline, is going OK. My posts are hardly great works of literature but I enjoy talking about my knitting, the weather and my life in general.
I am also enjoying the comments I received and my chosen procrastination for today is looking through some of my friends' blogs.

Tropical Screamer has two blogs. On one she blogs about her knitting, quilting, cats - life. On the other 'Tropical Screamer Writes', she is doing an excellent job journaling her writing for NaNoWriMo and seems to be well on her way to winning this year.
I am enjoying reading about her progress even if I am a little jealous.

Ponders of Two Guinea Pigs is a blog written by ... two guinea pigs. Everyday stories of their adventures and those of their mum. For some reason I am reminded of Beatrix Potter.
The photos are wonderfully colourful and clear. (How they hold the camera and press the buttons with those little paws and claws, I'm not sure!)
They are so cute and remind me of my lovely Pitzi Ephraim who passed at the beginning of the year.

In addition, Wiggley blogged about my music post!

Cello Centred is another blog that caught my attention today.
In this post maricello discusses readability and how to make your blog more accessible to others. I found her blog definitely accessible - a very pleasant and soothing read.
I loved the discussions of her music interspersed with her various other activities.

Shabbat Music

I previously mentioned Israel's version of Pop Idol - A Star is Born.

To be honest I only saw a few episodes of the first season and I watched those because my husband kept telling me how wonderful Ninette was. She was pretty cool then but since winning has become hysterically popular, stars in some telenovella, has lost a ridiculous amount of weight and in the process seems to have also lost her singing talent.

My daughter actually prefers Shiri who came runner-up in the first season and went on to represent Israel in the Eurovision Song Contest.

Here is the song which is pretty good and the dress isn't bad either

Oneg Shabbat

Today has been a little weird.

I am not hosting the meal tonight but still had to cook a couple of dishes. No problem except that in my usual fashion I had left the purchasing of certain vital ingredients until this morning and then I didn't feel well enough to go out.

After a while I began to feel better. Luckily as I was about to go out my Dad came round, delivered the lemons I needed and gave me a lift up the hill to the shops.
By this time it was 10:30 and I had to be home by 11:40 for the children.

I had good luck in finding the birthday present I needed pretty quickly. Then I walked to our small shopping centre keeping my eyes alert for any sign of the children as they walk through the centre on their way home.

Nearly forgot one vital ingredient in the supermarket but remembered at the last minute and got out of there quickly as my efficient friend was working the till and when she is around the queue moves fast.

Then to the greengrocer who also had just what I needed and finally to the cafe where they sell the eggs. Lucky again - I bought the last tray of eggs.

I arrived home and began to cook. The children turned up after about 10 minutes and as I was putting the quiche in the oven, my husband walked through the door.

He was home earlier than usual because today was the azcara (yahrzeit or memorial day) for his paternal grandmother.

He helped the children practice on their musical instruments to keep them occupied and out of the kitchen while I made a chocolate mousse and then, while they tidied up, I finished off the tabouleh. I have been a little cautious about making tabouleh recently as the quick couscous often becomes lumpy and tasteless. Today I added the seasoning first, with lots of fresh lemon juice and olive oil. When that tasted good and the couscous was well separated, I added the chopped mint, and finally the tomato and cucumber. According to my husband, this house's expert taster, it is delicious!

I changed quickly and we left for the cemetery. We travelled the road through the Arab villages, Kfar Yassif, Yarka etc. The traffic was heavy and when we got to the junction the traffic coming from the direction of Akko was blocked solid for more than a kilometre. We phoned to warn my in-laws but luckily it was a problem traffic light, which was at that moment being sorted out. The traffic dissipated quite quickly so no one was delayed.

The original Akko cemetery, like the one in Nahariya, is next to the sea on what used to be the edge of town. When they ran out of space a new local cemetery was created far out of town, along the road to Carmiel. It is impossible to reach without a car as there is no public transport and there is a steep walk uphill from the main road. However, it does have a lovely view across the fields to Haifa.

In some cities the Chevrat Kadisha (burial society) makes a lot of fuss about anything non-Hebrew on gravestones. In Akko I think they have given into the inevitable: Along with the Hebrew there was plenty of Russian as well as a smattering of English and Amharic (Ethiopian).

Next to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather there was a grave with a chessboard etched into the covering slab and there were several graves where the corner of cover slab and been cut away and flowers planted beneath so they poked through - pretty if a little creepy.

One grave had been turned into a rock garden. There was no flat covering stone. Instead there was a mountain-shaped chunk of rock, roughly carved on one side and 'terraced' on the other. The 'terraced' side was covered in smooth stones and nestled in the stones were small pots of hardy but colourful plants. It was quite beautiful.

After paying a quick visit to the grave of my husband's maternal grandfather, the relatives arrived. There were the hugs and hellos, then we made our way to the grave of my husband paternal grandmother and my father-in-law read the appropriate prayers followed by a few moments of reflection.

Then we washed our hands and ate some cake.

As we got in the car and drove home the sky was already starting to darken even though it was only 3:30pm.

We drove past Regba, which is between Akko and Nahariya, and maybe I subconsciously recognised her but my eye was caught by a young woman at the bus stop trying to hitch a lift. At that time of a Friday afternoon there are still plenty of cars but no buses or taxis.

A glance at her long sleeves and long skirt told me she was religious. She was definitely cutting it fine to get home in time for Shabbat. I almost told my husband to stop for her but we would have had to pull across three lanes of heavy traffic. Instead she got a ride with someone who took her to the main junction into Nahariya.

She immediately started trying to hitch another lift from the drivers stopped at the red light. Again, she attracted my notice and when she caught my eye she asked if we could take her to Shlomi. Of course! I immediately called her over and her face lit up with relief.

As she settled into her seat she thanked us profusely. My husband remarked on the lateness of the hour and the fact that Shabbat came in at 4:15pm. She replied that she had though she had until 4:15 pm but her mother had just phoned in a panic because Shabbat started at 4:05 pm. Either way she had been worried she would be stranded somewhere in Nahariya.

My husband drove along at his usual smart clip and we chatted with our pleasant hitchhiker. Shlomi being so small it was no problem driving her to her doorstep and we left her there at 4:01 pm.

It was a pleasing way to start the Shabbat.

More Rain = More Knitting

Yes it rained again today! As usual the hardest rainfall was between 3-4pm when the children have to walk home from school.

By the evening the rain cloud had puffed off somewhere else and I enjoyed a walk out in the cold, fresh air as I accompanied my son to his karate.
While he is in lessons I pass my time in the library, organizing the English section on a voluntary basis - but that is a story for another time.

Normally I spend my first half hour repairing the ravages of the high school English class. The Israeli teachers have been on strike for a month now but strikes rarely seem to affect teachers in Shlomi. However, the high school English teacher decided to join them today so the English section of the library was in immaculate condition.

Instead I sat and chatted with my friend the librarian. I often knit while I'm waiting so she immediately asked if I had knit my scarf. When I answered yes her next question flummoxed me - she asked why I had knit it so small!

To be honest the scarf is quite short because I insist on wearing scarves as often as possible during the short Israeli winter even when it is not cold enough for me to bear to wrap the scarf round my neck.
In such a situation 'English length' scarves become entangled in my jackets and bags so I made this one 'Israeli length' - just long enough to hang to my waist when draped decoratively round my neck.

But she was referring to the width. In her mind a proper scarf should resemble a wrap.
It is another one of those culture gaps.

For the first 18 years of my life I lived in a country cold enough to require the use of a scarf during winter months. For me a scarf is a draught excluder, filling in the gap between the neck and the coat collar, sealing out the chilly breezes that sneak down the back on a cold day and leave you feeling stiff and sore.

For an Israeli, raised in a country where even a heavy winter coat is rarely a necessity, a scarf is pure decoration to be draped over the shoulders, falling off with annoying regularity and providing little in the way of warmth.

Anyway here is the scarf.


The yarn is jewel coloured cotton chenille recycled from a couple of sweaters I had worn until they were falling apart but still couldn't bear to be parted from. The yarn was quite thin so I combined two colours. To make it extra soft and squidy I knit it in double rib.
The imperfection of the yarn gives it a slightly ragged look but it feels lovely and I adore the colours. (which unfortunately don't show up too well in these pictures)

Winter is the time for knitting

It has been raining not stop all day long. My husband even brought home photo of the hail that fell where he works.

Perfect weather for winter pursuits .... like knitting. I wait eagerly all year for the cooler weather. Impatience to start knitting is probably part of the reason I get so irritable when Winter takes in time in getting here.

This year I decided to knit some baby items for a friends' newborn granddaughter and got a little carried away with the 'bite-size' fun of baby bootees.

They only take an evening to whip up. Problem is they take almost as long to sew together!

Finally I convinced myself I must face the music, or rather the bootees, and, after several failed attempts, I have one finished bootee.

one finished bootee

one more to go

The pattern is Saartje's Bootees. The first free pattern on the right-hand side of the page.

Shake, Rattle and Roll

As if this little corner of the world doesn't suffer from enough man-made excitements today we were at nature's mercy.

The week started with and increase in temperate which caused an increase in my irritability (I mean really, too hot for jeans in mid-November - Who wouldn't find their temper more than a little strained?)

Last night with a crack or thunder and a flash of lightening the heavens opened, soaking my laundry before I could rush out and haul it in off the line.

The storm has rolled around the skies all day (as my laundry rolls around inside the dryer) thought there was a slight respite when my daughter and I made our way out of the house to her ballet lesson. As we waited at the bus stop, the storm rumbled back into position overhead turning the road and the drainage ditches into a raging torrent. I was trying to reassure my daughter that we weren't in mortal danger when the man keeping us company under the bus shelter informed me that on a beach only a few miles from us a fisherman had been stuck by lightening and killed.

Although I have felt the earthquakes on previous occasions, it was probably due to the storm that I didn't feel anything this morning.

My daughter was running around outside at break so she also didn't feel it but her friends did and the teachers called them together to explained what was happening.

The epicentre was in the Dead Sea. But they weren't large quakes.

However, we are on the Syrian African rift and the news tonight was full of scare stories of what will happen when the 'Big One' hits.

Pen and Paper

I love my computer. Anyone who knows me will tell you this. But I have a confession to make.

I tend to do most of my writing while waiting, at bus stops and while my children are at after-school activities. I do not have a laptop so I write using pen and paper.
The main problem, in addition to occasional losing these precious pieces of paper, is that I then have to copy up all my notes on to the computer.

This November I signed up for NaNoWriMo. Faced with the prospect of writing at least 1,667 words per day I decided that I couldn't afford to waste time copying out notes. It would be more efficient writing straight on the computer.

To be honest I have tried before and the result has been banal prose at best, total writers' block at worst. I thought I could work through it, get used to the glare of the screen, be inspired by electrons.

Unfortunately it has not worked. The problem is not the banal prose. One of the mantras of NaNoWriMo is just write even if what you are writing is crap. During November you put down 50,000 words and then spend December, or the next year, editing to reshape them into something elegant and beautiful.

My problem is that, however self satisfied or recursive it may sound, I am inspired by my own writing.

Or rather, to be more accurate, my own characters. Long before I ever commit my characters to paper they are running round inside my head, acting out scenes from their lives. They keep me amused when I can't sleep or during a boring car journey.

As appalling as my handwriting is, the physical act of writing is automatic and requires little concentration, especially when I let standards of spelling and legibility fall by the wayside. My mind can trailing off in a day dream following round my characters as they develop inside my imagination.

Typing however requires slightly more concentration and although I can edit electronically with alacrity and pizazz my brain is to occupied with the physicality of typing to be creative.

Today I finally gave into this reality and sat on the sofa with pen and paper. It took me less than a couple of hours to write the required 1,667 words and then another hour to type them on my computer. Even better I am satisfied with what I have written and eager to continue.

Now I just have to discover how to ward off writers' cramp as I try to catch up with my word count.

Toad in the Hole

For the English speaker in Israel there is much humour to be obtained from the appalling English so frequently encountered on signs and labels.

Finding the 'vegetal' sausages on special offer at the local supermarket inspired me to prepare
the very British and , normally, very non-kosher dish of Toad in the Hole.

Shabbat Music

Israel, just like everywhere else on the planet, has a version of Pop Idol. We call it A Star is Born.

Although, obviously, only one person wins each season the top three tend to become successful.

Harel Skaat didn't actually win in his season of A Star is Born however he has become extremely popular and in my opinion is the best romantic ballad singer in Israel at this time.

This is my favourite of his songs.

Of course, video clips are all very well but for me a ballad singer is truly measured by the effect his song has in a more intimate setting - just him and the microphone, and several million adoring fans!

So for those of us interested in a live version here is the link

Knitting - Baby Blanket

I knitted this for a friend's baby a little while ago and was pleased with my efforts.

Hopefully it will the first of many post about my completed knitting projects though at present my pile of UFOs (UnFinished Objects) is growing larger by the second!

Argh!

I looked in the mirror as I was brushing my hair today and I noticed not just one but several grey hairs!!!!

I suppose I should have been prepared - My mother has been going grey ever since I can remember and my husband even has a few grey hairs in our wedding photos, he was 23.

I suppose I will have to start behaving like a grown up now?
Maybe not!