Arguing

Today a 2nd grader had an argument with her brother, a Kindergarten. She was in utter disarray. Naturally having a flare for drama anyway, she was frustrated, crying, and couldn't believe the injustice. Her little brother just looked at her in disbelief, trying to understand what the argument was about to begin with.
After resigning to the fact that this problem was not going to get resolved in that moment, I sent her to her classroom to join her friends for the poetry lesson during writing time. Hours later, she shows me this, her experience (which is applicable, I'd say, to anyone, of any age), in poetry:

Arguing

When I get mad, I am red as blood. It sticks to me like glue.
When I get sad, I am blue as the sky. It sticks to me like honey.

But when I am both I feel as if I was purple. It sticks to me like cement.

Same to him.

A colorful fight of unhappiness and no one wins. We all lose.

And then we win.

Then red and blue and purple rise up again. Until then, no arguing.

remembering my grandmother.

in her later years, my Grandmother had a hard time hearing. you had to speak really loudly for her to hear you.
one thing that characterized her was her desire to pray, no matter what the situation, no matter where the circumstance. she loved to pray.

so the best was when we'd be sitting in a prayer gathering and someone might be saying a prayer in a low voice, one that was clearly inaudible to her, and she would just begin to chant, in her sweet Persian voice, she would chant the verses of God. completely unaware that she had just interrupted someone. so the whole room would stop, and wait for her to finish. she'd just interrupt whenever she felt like it, although to her it wasn't really interrupting.

today i was in a prayer gathering. and a woman started to say a prayer in a very soft voice. half way through her prayer, a woman in her 80's, wearing a beautiful shade of blue, began saying a prayer in Spanish. right there, over the previous readers voice, she just started and continued. completely and blissfully unaware.

and immediately, i was reminded. tears sprang to my eyes so easily and just streamed down my cheeks. i wasn't expecting it at all. but in that moment i couldn't think of anything but my grandmother and how she would have done the same.

as if face to face with her memory, i sobbed. for a few minutes. remembering her.
it felt good to remember.
God sent me that sweet old woman and her Spanish prayer.

woof woof woof

There is a dog outside my window. He only comes when I am most tired. He barks - always three times in a row, and then over and over again.

I'm not sure who leaves him. I'm not sure what he's barking about. But there he is. Three barks. Rhythmically, methodically.

Keeping me awake.

death by chinese food

was beyond exhausted on Saturday night. was out alllll day long at a meeting in Connecticut. an hour and a half there (we got slightly lost) and then about 3 hours back (stuck in City traffic). got home, too tired to think or speak. just too tired.
haven't ordered Chinese food in months and months. yup, that's the one. that's what i want today - Chinese!
call, place order, slip into PJ's. food comes, and is devoured. don't REALLY think about it. just put it into my mouth, while watching Modern Family.
then.
eyes (with contacts still in them) start to slowly close.
body starts to slowly slouch.
next thing i know it is 4am and my poor room mate needs to come in and turn off the light in my room.
death.
by.
Chinese.
food.

my park

there is a park near my house. it's a little refuge amidst the brick and then asphalt. trees and grass and playgrounds. tennis courts and hills and walkways. it's perfect.

and it holds a million memories. memories that remain fresh in my mind as moments i cherish.

like the time i had a big picnic, with all my friends from all over the city - boys played sports, girls did their nails, boys chatted, girls went for bike rides.

OR the time it snowed so hard it covered the whole ground in a sheet of white and we fell in that soft snow and made snow angels.

OR the time it was halloween and all the kids were dressed up and we got crisp apples at the farmers market and hot apple cider and sat and watched them.

OR when i'd bring my kids over after a long day in the classroom and just sit in the sun and bask in the happiness they felt running around and playing games.

OR sitting on the hill on brooklyn-queens day with a bagel sandwich and an iced coffee.

these are the things i remember. small as they may seem. the things that make my park so special - the memories that flood my brain each time i pass by.

the sun

it makes such a big difference when the sun shines. it brings this internal happiness that just fills you up. warmth, kindness, happy. it all surrounds you. you don't even remember what was so hard about the winter. what were you so agitated about? what was the big deal with the gray and the cold? you forget. really easily you forget how terrible it was because the fact that you can sit out on your patio and soak in the sun while you drink iced tea is all that really matters at this point.

mother's tell me that they consider having children again because they forget the pain of child birth. the forget all the excruciating pain of that day because they are so filled with love for this little one. this new light that has filled their lives.

small proofs that happiness overrides pain, anxiety, and hardship. how are we spending our days then? how full is the glass?

reality vs media

When I lived in Israel, it was a very unstable time there. At least that's how the media would portray it - over and over. Images of war and disunity invaded the news. Showing no one was safe.

After I had lived in that city for one whole year, my mom prepared to come visit. All her friends back home told her it wasn't safe to come and visit. They warned her not to come. They tried to persuade her that staying in America was safer.

But, of course, she came. And there we were, sitting on the Mediterranean, sipping lemonade mixed with mint, eating fresh salads with feta, and soaking in the sun. Wondering what everyone was so concerned about...

listening

In the evenings her Dad reads to her. There is a rocking chair in her room. He sits in that rocking chair, reading her stories, showing her pictures, entertaining her. She sits in the crib, watching him. She is only just coming to the 9 month mark. And yet she sits. Sits and listens so beautifully. Watching her Dad. Taking it all in.

staten island

"what should we do today? i want to do something different, something crazy."

"i'm down," he replies. "maybe somewhere where we see the sunset?"

"hhmmm...lemme think. how about....oh! i got it!"

45 minutes later we are boarding, along with 200 other people with the same bright idea, the staten island ferry. we pour onto the boat and find a spot near the window. wanted to make sure to catch a glimpse of lady liberty herself. if you plan this trip right, you see the sun setting on the way to staten island and then you watch the lights of the buildings twinkling in the moonlight on the way back. que romantico!

we set foot onto the island only to turn around and ride right back, or so we thought. but something lured us out to look at the water, and once outside, it hit us. that overwhelming smell of Italian food. as if someone had a spray can with marinara scent and had diffused it all over the area. we asked a local where some good food might be and set on our way.

pier 76 is what it was called. juke box. smell of good food. red and white checkered tablecloth. clear plastic cups for soda. and regular paper plates for your pizza. we ordered. a lasagna and a pizza for the table, pepperoni of course. nothing short of delicious. even last bite of it.

later, back at the ferry terminal, we asked another girl for good restaurant recommendations, excitedly waiting for her to mention the place we just ate at, certain that we were at one of staten islands finest, hands down.

[insert thick NYC accent] "yeah, ya know. i haven't been to that place for a while. since a long time. you know what's good? [she doesn't even pretend to pause to actually let me guess] applebee's, chilli's. those are good - and they are right around here too. who needs anything else when you have that?"

and...we're heading back to NYC.

broke.

it's a sad, sad day when you look at the ol bank account and realize you are broke. not just kinda broke like you might have to put off buying the pair of shoes you really wanted until next month, but the kind of broke where you are wondering how long you can go just eating the contents of your fridge and cabinets before you will have to go grocery shopping again.

not sure how this happened. how it all crept on up me. i'm sure it was somewhere between delta and american airlines. it always happens there - my weakness. well, that and my 8.5 month old bundle of joy. all worth it if that's the case.

trashy novels.

"when you were mine".
sounds like the name of a really bad novel right? it is. not bad, just brainless. bought at JFK for way more than it's worth.
true vacation book. the kind that allows you to just get lost in the story and loose track of regular life things. perfect vacation book. the kind where you have to bed the book so no one reads the title of it and sees the cover for fear of what they'll think of you if they see!
problem? hooked. hooked, and not finished with the book yet, and vacation is over.
so i keep reading. trying to hold on to the only traces left of spring vacation.
in those pages lies relaxation and an escape from life.
reading, reading, reading.
holding on to break.

the end.

i walk into my apartment in NYC after a 12 hour flight, direct from Israel.

it was a great flight. no one sat in the seat between me and the person occupying the window seat. love when that happens. free seat to stretch out in. slept probably 9 of those 12 hours. was completely asleep, only briefly did i get up to shove something that resembled pasta down my throat and then catch the tail end of "little Fockers" - or whatever it's called.

point is. i arrive in NYC. walk into my apartment and there FIRST to greet me (after some lovely spring flowers and a welcome home note from my roommate) is a thick envelope, enclosing the news that our rent will go up, if we renew our lease. which, clearly, anyone living in NYC knows - we will. who wants to/can afford to move each year in this City?

sheesh.
welcome home.

go to my room. the familiar scent of my anthropologie vanilla candle soothes me. forget about the increase in rent. take in the calm of being home.

go to use the bathroom. toilet clogged. clogged.

nice.
thus completes spring break 2011.

7

Seven years ago I left this place. This place that was home to me for three years. Three years that I will guard and cherish in my memories forever. It was in these three years that I created bonds of friendship that still remain unchanged; I strengthened my Faith; I realized my own potential. In these three years I drew closer to my Creator through prayer and through service. I learned that these two things, when done in unison, could be the means of the survival of my soul.

I was touched by the people I met. I was humbled by the opportunities I was given. I was made grateful for the experiences I had had.

Seven years ago I left this place. And leave it again tomorrow knowing I will not be returning for some time. I watch my parents, who have now lived here for five years, begin to process their own departure. The same good-byes, finalities, moments attempted to be captured by film, are all the same. Knowing you are leaving makes you appreciate every little thing even more. I watch them do their "lasts", watch them laugh with their new friends, the way I had with mine.

This time the farewell is so hard. Almost, although not quite as teary as, my own. There is a deep, deep sadness inside me that feels the loss my parents feel. That knows this is the last time for a while that my feet will touch these red and white tiles. It will be the last time for a while that I will touch the marble walls, rest my forehead on the ornate carpets adorning the floors, breath the jasmine in the air while looking out onto the Mediterranean. There is nothing, NOTHING like this in the world. My heart aches for the knowledge of it's next visit. Longs, yearns, and hopes that that day will come soon.

getting ready

"Do you want to try this mango smoothie?"
He breaks my concentration on reading. I look up and he has a tray full of small shot glass sized cups filled with samples of mango smoothie.
I sit up, let my bare feet touch the hot wooden planks of the porch, and I take one. I sip it. Cool, refreshing, and a happily invited treat in the blazing hot sun.
I look up and it's the Mediterranean Sea before me. Stretched out for miles and miles. Across the terrain and box shaped cream colored houses of Israel, you see it sparkle.
This cafe, it's a cafe that wasn't here when I used to live here myself but has since become a frequent favorite. I make a solitary trip here at least once during my visits. They are best known to me, at least, for their fresh almond croissants and their steaming hot lattes.
Something about this place, sitting on the porch, drinking coffee, watching people, reading, thinking - something about all that makes me ready for the real purpose of my trip. It's my welcome. It adjusts my mind and softens my soul from the experiences leading up to this moment. The experiences that took place outside of this safe and protective bubble. It's here that I get myself ready...

tattoo

Today I was asked to speak with high school students in the City at their career fair about the work I do. The school brought in about 40 different professionals so that the kids had a plethora of individuals with different work experience for them to talk to and learn about. All was well until I realized that me, the DJ/Graduate Student, the landscape architect, and the tattoo artist were all in the same room. Well, there is NO denying the fact that no 15-18 year old wants to talk about community development when you could instead be chatting about how to build a career imprinting on others bodies. She sat in the middle of the room and she looked so cool - I seriously wished I could go sit and talk to her about how to pursue this newly developed dream.

It was 5 minutes into the morning before the rest of us realized this was going to be a tattoo-centric day, clearly. I craned my neck to establish eye contact with the landscape architect. He sent me a half-smile as we both looked at the empty seats in front of us. As we did, a sophomore walked in and grabbed the ONE seat remaining in front of me and asked, "OK if I borrow this?" He dragged it over to join the small group gathered at my tattooing friends table.

We were defeated. What followed was simply a small handful of interactions with some pretty savvy kiddos. These left over students were the ones that thought developing community is more exciting than body art. Either that or they needed to fill their quota of individuals they were required to talk to today.

Chocolate.

I've recently become obsessed with chocolate. Not just any chocolate - dark chocolate. Throw in some sea salt and I'm sold.

Some will think I'm crazy, for I know it is the packaging that I am paying for, but I think the chocolate actually tastes better the prettier the wrap. Colorful, carefully placed designs. Type face that speaks straight to the heart. Something about the process of peeling off that gift wrapping reminds you of being a kid again. You know full well what is hidden under that paper and yet the anticipation of it excites you! It just tastes better, I tell you.

Hope Excitement and Anticipation

When there is one Spring-like day in New York City, all the days that came before it and all the days that will come after it seem to disappear from the memory. Bright, long floral dresses emerge into the light. Sunglasses accompany smiles. Pants are rolled up with nothing left between it and the shoes supporting your feet.

No one remembers that yesterday it rained. No one wants to consult the iPhone for the forecast of tomorrows change. We live in that moment, taking advantage of every thing that can be done. Holding on for dear life to the traces of happiness that have shone their heads this day.

And with that Spring-like day comes unexpected hope, excitement, and anticipation. Something inside tells you things are on the up and up. You never know what will happen...you realize that all things in life, like the unexpected sun, will come when you least expect them to. One moment gray, and the next, you are filled with the knowledge that things could change at the drop of a hat. You trust and become confident that the status quo only exists because you let it. You have allowed things to stay a certain way. But only you have the capacity to then change that. Whirlwind of colors and possibilities.

These days are natures way of telling us that beautiful things are coming our way. I guess we needed the darkness of winter to appreciate the slice of the sun and get from it everything it has to offer.

Where They Really Were

So I'm walking down my street today - got a slice of Luigi's pizza, which I have to say is the BEST dirty slice of Brooklyn pizza around. Walking, enjoying the fact that it's 7:15pm and still light out. Also thankful that this was not the case when I was fasting.

And then I see it. A real cherry blossom. Right there. On my street.

Who knew that instead of traveling for 5 hours down to DC, and another 3 hours to "see" the festival, that they were here all along. Right next to the gas station on Myrtle.

The 3 Hour Search for Cherry Blossoms

"I really want to go and see the cherry blossom festival. It's all I ever wanted. All these years visiting DC and living so close to DC - I've always wanted to go to the festival."

"Ya, totally, we should go - shouldn't be a problem!"

25 minute car ride turns into one hour on the freeway. It's OK - it'll all be worth it. Cross the bridge into DC - bumper to bumper traffic. You can see for miles and miles the traffic ahead of you.

"Don't worry, I know a secret way."
Turns out a lot of folks also know that same secret. Another 30 minutes later, the thought of seeing cherry blossoms seems far less exciting.

"Pull over, I'll just hop out and look and get back in before the car gets to another light."

Done. Mission accomplished. Head back out onto the freeway. Awesome, good thing I got a shot of it. Feeling relieved and proud.

Until I realize what I took photo of wasn't even a cherry blossom.

Brunch One Winter Morning

I guess there was something about this that didn't need words.