I am totally intimidated by anything to do with electricity. More than intimidated, scared.
Many many years ago in South Africa I inserted a plug into a socket, and suddenly felt something moving through my hand and fingers, a strong internal current went up my arm. Whatever it was it was not pleasant, it hurt, and I didn't know what was happening. As the current buzzed it dawned upon me that it is to do with the cord in my hands. I released it and the buzzing stopped, but pain continued, flowing in tunnels up my arm. I haven't touched an electric cord since.
One night in South Africa my brother called me to his bedroom. He had made an exciting discovery he wanted me to see - he licked his forefinger and touched it on the burning lightbulb next to his bead - we heard a sizzling sound and saw a tiny puff of steam. This was great, he then dipped his finger into a glass of water and touched it to the bulb - sizzle, a loud bang, sounds of glass breaking, then darkness. The lightbulb had exploded, luckily neither of us was hurt.
Out of necessity I replace light bulbs and put cords into sockets, but that is it.
The other night I came home and turned on TV - nothing, just a dark blue screen with the words 'no signal' flashing. I turned it off and tried again, same thing. I held down the power button on the cable box for 10 seconds, nothing. When I called AT&T I went through the normal lengthy frustrating process of answering the machines questions, pressing appropriate buttons etc. until eventually a human voice (sort of) took over from the robotic voice. This voice asked my name and then proceeded to say Nesta after almost every word that came out of his mouth. After trying this and that he said my box (transformer? transponder? - whatever it is called) is kaput. "That is technology, Nesta."
He then said they would send me a new box and said I would have to install it myself. He's got to be kidding, I thought, I can't set up this box - I don't know an in from an out cable, and I won't touch anything with electrical cords. He said, "Nesta, it is easy to do. When you get the box, Nesta, log on to AT&TUVerse/fix blah blah, Nesta. Otherwise you have to pay for installation."
He said he would have the box sent, Nesta, and then- I paid no attention as I was no longer listening .
When the box arrived the afternoon of the beginning of the Warriors final play off games I had every intention of running out into the driveway of my home and calling out for some young child to come and help me. But everyone was in school. My male neighbors were not home either.
I opened the cardboard container and pulled out the box and different cables. At the bottom were some written instructions.
I pulled them out and scrupulously followed each and every diagram , and read every written word.
I removed and replaced the coaxial (???) and did the same with the power cord and input cord.Then I pointed the remote at the TV and ........... yahooooooooooooooooooo, it worked!!!
I am inordinately proud of myself and feel like this is one of my crowning achievements!
Friday, June 5, 2015
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Far Away
Thanks so much to everyone who read the entry Back. It is difficult, I know, but not so hard as actually being detained there!
Why far away ? I am now so far away from Israel.
It never ceases to be deeply unsettling, that feeling of being here and there simultaneously, and yet, as soon as I board the plane, the realization of the actual physical distance.
I have not been in Israel in springtime since I left, so very long ago. I always go back in the fall - Rosh Hashanah, when the countryside is brown and parched. I forgot the beautiful spring, especially this year after the winter's rains. Everything is green and lush. Every little patch of earth is covered in flowers - in whites, oranges, reds, deep pinks, purples. To me if feels as if nature is compensating for the war of last year, and too many years past. She reminds us that there is beauty on this planet.
As always, it is so comfortable to be with family and friends - everything familiar, and yet always different, always more ... more construction, more people, more roads...
I have not been on kibbutz for Remembrance Day since I left. I find it very hard to put into words the feeling of being surrounded by warmth and love and belonging - of shared memories, of a past that no one here in America can fathom.
And now, here I am, back with that ever constant ambivalence and dissonance. The holy trinity, Africa, Israel, America - and so it shall be.
Why far away ? I am now so far away from Israel.
It never ceases to be deeply unsettling, that feeling of being here and there simultaneously, and yet, as soon as I board the plane, the realization of the actual physical distance.
I have not been in Israel in springtime since I left, so very long ago. I always go back in the fall - Rosh Hashanah, when the countryside is brown and parched. I forgot the beautiful spring, especially this year after the winter's rains. Everything is green and lush. Every little patch of earth is covered in flowers - in whites, oranges, reds, deep pinks, purples. To me if feels as if nature is compensating for the war of last year, and too many years past. She reminds us that there is beauty on this planet.
As always, it is so comfortable to be with family and friends - everything familiar, and yet always different, always more ... more construction, more people, more roads...
I have not been on kibbutz for Remembrance Day since I left. I find it very hard to put into words the feeling of being surrounded by warmth and love and belonging - of shared memories, of a past that no one here in America can fathom.
And now, here I am, back with that ever constant ambivalence and dissonance. The holy trinity, Africa, Israel, America - and so it shall be.
Friday, May 8, 2015
Back
I am back, from where? some may ask.
I went back to Israel for 3 weeks. I shall write about my visit in an upcoming blog.
What I now want to write about, most urgently, is my one day visit to Holot - a detention center somewhere in the Negev desert - a two and a half hour bus ride from Tel Aviv.
When I posted pictures from Holot on Facebook, many asked about Holot. I posted a link to a website
Please go to this site where you will read about the refugees from Sudan and Eritrea in Israel. They also have a Facebook page where you can keep up with all that is happening, including the most recent demonstrations against discrimination in Israel - this most recent round is discrimination against Ethiopian Jews.
In other words, my friends, discrimination against people of color.
This detention camp is in the middle of the desert, opposite a large military base., and a prison where some refugees have been imprisoned. There is no protection from the brutal sun, cold desert nights, harsh sand-filled winds, even rain which has left slippery clay-like pools.
The people detained there are refugees, men who fled violence and genocide. The word in Hebrew to describe them is no longer refugees - they are known as infiltrators, obviously a loaded word.
We went down there to show solidarity, to let them know they are not forgotten, and to listen to their stories.
Nearly all citizens of Israel have fled persecution and discrimination - how is it possible that this blight is allowed in our midst?
There are valiant volunteers from Israel who do as much as they can; teaching, offering legal aid, medical services, and so on. They are not just from Israel - on our bus were NGO workers from France, the Netherlands, volunteers from America, and various other countries.
My niece has been volunteering with these refugees for a long time now and introduced me to her friends. How these people have maintained their humanity, humor, dignity, and compassion is beyond me. Each and everyone deserves our respect and care, in whichever way we are able to offer this.
The very least we can do is be aware of their plight.
I went back to Israel for 3 weeks. I shall write about my visit in an upcoming blog.
What I now want to write about, most urgently, is my one day visit to Holot - a detention center somewhere in the Negev desert - a two and a half hour bus ride from Tel Aviv.
When I posted pictures from Holot on Facebook, many asked about Holot. I posted a link to a website
 |
Please go to this site where you will read about the refugees from Sudan and Eritrea in Israel. They also have a Facebook page where you can keep up with all that is happening, including the most recent demonstrations against discrimination in Israel - this most recent round is discrimination against Ethiopian Jews.
In other words, my friends, discrimination against people of color.
This detention camp is in the middle of the desert, opposite a large military base., and a prison where some refugees have been imprisoned. There is no protection from the brutal sun, cold desert nights, harsh sand-filled winds, even rain which has left slippery clay-like pools.
The people detained there are refugees, men who fled violence and genocide. The word in Hebrew to describe them is no longer refugees - they are known as infiltrators, obviously a loaded word.
We went down there to show solidarity, to let them know they are not forgotten, and to listen to their stories.
Nearly all citizens of Israel have fled persecution and discrimination - how is it possible that this blight is allowed in our midst?
There are valiant volunteers from Israel who do as much as they can; teaching, offering legal aid, medical services, and so on. They are not just from Israel - on our bus were NGO workers from France, the Netherlands, volunteers from America, and various other countries.
My niece has been volunteering with these refugees for a long time now and introduced me to her friends. How these people have maintained their humanity, humor, dignity, and compassion is beyond me. Each and everyone deserves our respect and care, in whichever way we are able to offer this.
The very least we can do is be aware of their plight.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Message
Straight from the fabled Akashic Records, (Shhhhhhh): Time and Space is where you chase things you pretend you don't have - love, friends, and abundance - while worrying about things you pretend you do have - problems, challenges, and issues. Until one day, you happen to notice the prophetic powers of pretending. In case that helps any. The above is the message I received today from the universe, interesting in the light of my conundrum |
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Stranger
Why does one decide to walk on a different side of the street on a particular day, at a particular time, for no apparent reason?
Today I did just that, I walked by people eating on the pavement outside a cafe - I glanced at two men eating, walked by, did a double take, and walked back toward them.
Yet again, someone I haven't seen for a long time, not someone from a distant land, but from a distant time in the here and now. A time of drinking and good food.
After I posted the last entry I received an e-mail from a friend who had read it.
Firstly, I am so happy someone looks at my entries. I only rarely get any comments, so it is like sending out posts into a vast void. I sent out that post over the baffling constructs of space and time, and not so long after I received an e-mail from someone in Jerusalem wondering if I remember that time when . . .
And yes, of course I remember.
Many years ago, in another lifetime, I lived in Jerusalem. My neighbour was from America and we spent many hours over coffee and cigarettes. listening to music, and chatting, and he told me about New York, and its boroughs. I had never been to America, and never expected to go there. But I loved to imagine all the areas he spoke about.
Cut to quite a few years later. I lived in New York and spent weeks and months walking the streets, remembering all he had described. One day, after having been there at least 7 months, I sat down in a cafe in Greenwich Village and wrote him a long letter telling him about all my new experiences that were somehow familiar to me because of him. I went to the post office and bought an airmail stamp and posted that letter just before I got on the subway to West 4. I exited at West 4 and climbed the steps to the exit. I looked up and saw a pair of legs descending the stairs and the gait looked strangely familiar. My gaze moved from the sneakers up, and there he was, my Jerusalem neighbor!
The universe and all the creatures in it are nothing but a bunch of sub atomic particles which move around, bump into each other, and continue moving around again.
Today I did just that, I walked by people eating on the pavement outside a cafe - I glanced at two men eating, walked by, did a double take, and walked back toward them.
Yet again, someone I haven't seen for a long time, not someone from a distant land, but from a distant time in the here and now. A time of drinking and good food.
After I posted the last entry I received an e-mail from a friend who had read it.
Firstly, I am so happy someone looks at my entries. I only rarely get any comments, so it is like sending out posts into a vast void. I sent out that post over the baffling constructs of space and time, and not so long after I received an e-mail from someone in Jerusalem wondering if I remember that time when . . .
And yes, of course I remember.
Many years ago, in another lifetime, I lived in Jerusalem. My neighbour was from America and we spent many hours over coffee and cigarettes. listening to music, and chatting, and he told me about New York, and its boroughs. I had never been to America, and never expected to go there. But I loved to imagine all the areas he spoke about.
Cut to quite a few years later. I lived in New York and spent weeks and months walking the streets, remembering all he had described. One day, after having been there at least 7 months, I sat down in a cafe in Greenwich Village and wrote him a long letter telling him about all my new experiences that were somehow familiar to me because of him. I went to the post office and bought an airmail stamp and posted that letter just before I got on the subway to West 4. I exited at West 4 and climbed the steps to the exit. I looked up and saw a pair of legs descending the stairs and the gait looked strangely familiar. My gaze moved from the sneakers up, and there he was, my Jerusalem neighbor!
The universe and all the creatures in it are nothing but a bunch of sub atomic particles which move around, bump into each other, and continue moving around again.
Monday, March 16, 2015
How Strange
How strange and wondrous life is. I leave for Israel in a couple of weeks.
On a ridiculously clear and warm winter's day a week ago a friend and myself strolled in a park in Point Richmond. My friend asked me whether I would be going to the kibbutz when I am there.
"Of course," I replied. I always go. I then added that what is always strange for me is how, when I am there, my other realities simply fade away. I know the people so well, and have known them for so long - Kibbutz Ein Dor was my home for eight very important years of my life, and I visit it every time I am in Israel.
So I affirmed "yes, I will be visiting." I looked around at the bay and the shorebirds and the ducks. A gentle breeze came off the water - the land is speckled with yellow, mustard flowers and invasive oxalis. I noticed a woman walking toward us who seemed to be looking very intently in my direction, not our direction. As she came closer she smiled - I looked at a vaguely familiar face, but these days all faces seem vaguely familiar to me. I smiled in acknowledgment of her smile. She looked intently again and then said in accented english
"Excuse me, are you Nesta? from Kibbutz Ein Dor?"
As soon as she said that all those years came flooding back - yes, of course I knew who she was. I knew her now deceased father, and mother, and older sister and was familiar with her younger sister. I remembered their stories. I remembered she was a musician, and someone I have not seen for 40 years.
We stood rooted to the dusty path, both of us astonished. She lives in Point Richmond, and I live in Albany. We have never seen each other.
Questions bubbled forth - 'do you remember? .... how is ?....... have you seen? how often do you go there? ... What are you doing? ....
Even stranger, I asked her whether she remembered a brother and sister from the kibbutz. Yes, of course she did, their stepmother had been pivotal in her life and instilled in her a love of music -
I told her they lived on streets parallel to the street on which I live, in Albany!
That night my dreams were of kibbutz and everyone there. We are getting together soon, and when I return from Israel all of us will get together for a kabbalat shabbat.
And now I am so excited to tell everyone on kibbutz how we met up here.
The friend I was with in Point Richmond and myself visited South Africa last year. After our reunion in Johannesburg I left for the Cape and bade her farewell until we next see each other in California.
On my last day in the Cape I went with my cousin and a friend to Kirstenbosch Gardens on a Saturday afternoon. There must have been thousands of visitors there. I stood marveling at a host of magnificent king proteas when I looked up and saw a woman with a down coat draped over her arm. She turned around and we gaped at each other - how did we met here? at this moment, in crowded Kirstenbosch gardens, when we knew that the next time we would see each other would be back in California?
These synchronistic events happen to me all the time; in London, in New York, on the Costa Del Sol, in India, in the Bahamas, and yet each and every time I am struck afresh by the wonder of it all.
It informs me that there are invisible threads which connect us all, and our reality is multi-layered, and it helps me when sometimes I feel so alone in the universe.
On a ridiculously clear and warm winter's day a week ago a friend and myself strolled in a park in Point Richmond. My friend asked me whether I would be going to the kibbutz when I am there.
"Of course," I replied. I always go. I then added that what is always strange for me is how, when I am there, my other realities simply fade away. I know the people so well, and have known them for so long - Kibbutz Ein Dor was my home for eight very important years of my life, and I visit it every time I am in Israel.
So I affirmed "yes, I will be visiting." I looked around at the bay and the shorebirds and the ducks. A gentle breeze came off the water - the land is speckled with yellow, mustard flowers and invasive oxalis. I noticed a woman walking toward us who seemed to be looking very intently in my direction, not our direction. As she came closer she smiled - I looked at a vaguely familiar face, but these days all faces seem vaguely familiar to me. I smiled in acknowledgment of her smile. She looked intently again and then said in accented english
"Excuse me, are you Nesta? from Kibbutz Ein Dor?"
As soon as she said that all those years came flooding back - yes, of course I knew who she was. I knew her now deceased father, and mother, and older sister and was familiar with her younger sister. I remembered their stories. I remembered she was a musician, and someone I have not seen for 40 years.
We stood rooted to the dusty path, both of us astonished. She lives in Point Richmond, and I live in Albany. We have never seen each other.
Questions bubbled forth - 'do you remember? .... how is ?....... have you seen? how often do you go there? ... What are you doing? ....
Even stranger, I asked her whether she remembered a brother and sister from the kibbutz. Yes, of course she did, their stepmother had been pivotal in her life and instilled in her a love of music -
I told her they lived on streets parallel to the street on which I live, in Albany!
That night my dreams were of kibbutz and everyone there. We are getting together soon, and when I return from Israel all of us will get together for a kabbalat shabbat.
And now I am so excited to tell everyone on kibbutz how we met up here.
The friend I was with in Point Richmond and myself visited South Africa last year. After our reunion in Johannesburg I left for the Cape and bade her farewell until we next see each other in California.
On my last day in the Cape I went with my cousin and a friend to Kirstenbosch Gardens on a Saturday afternoon. There must have been thousands of visitors there. I stood marveling at a host of magnificent king proteas when I looked up and saw a woman with a down coat draped over her arm. She turned around and we gaped at each other - how did we met here? at this moment, in crowded Kirstenbosch gardens, when we knew that the next time we would see each other would be back in California?
These synchronistic events happen to me all the time; in London, in New York, on the Costa Del Sol, in India, in the Bahamas, and yet each and every time I am struck afresh by the wonder of it all.
It informs me that there are invisible threads which connect us all, and our reality is multi-layered, and it helps me when sometimes I feel so alone in the universe.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Addendum to Endgame
To those who read my post Endgame, you will have noted that I have four children left.
Last year and this year I have felt that I am singing the song "10 Green Bottles." I began last year with 10 children, and the number has steadily decreased. Yes 4 children left, and I won't take anymore, that is clear, but at the risk of being repetitious, here are some more of the reasons why.
When I returned from South Africa I had 5 children I returned to. One of them began a different program, so that was 4. When I went to visit a little girl I had been seeing every week at the same time for a year and a half, her grandmother informed me, when I arrived at the home, that she was not there. The entire family (other than the grandparents) had moved to another county, Santa Clara County, to be exact. They left without so much as a by- your -leave, or a goodbye, or a gracias! I informed the case manager who said she would look into the matter, but of course that was the last I ever heard of it.
A few weeks later the case manager asked whether I would take another child and I agreed to this one so that I would still have 4 children. I began to see a one-year old girl who lived with her extended family in Richmond. I never met the dad, which is typical. Mom seemed sweet, rather young. She only speaks spanish and on the first visit she told me her 1 year old daughter does not do anything other than sit, if she is placed in sitting, or else she lies on her back.
I told her I like to work with kids on the floor, so she did put a blanket down for me when I got there. The living room was tiny and dominated by a large couch and TV, and within a couple of weeks, a large Xmas tree .The area I had to work in was tiny, but I was used to that.The girl does not like being handled, or placed in different positions. She screams and screams, in fact she screams blue murder, and it is tough to understand whether something really hurts her, or she is used to being picked up as soon as she screams. Mom would sit there and say, 'that is what she is like,' she screams with everyone.
On my request she gave me the number of the Public Health Nurse seeing the family, and also that of another therapist who was seeing her. I called them and left my numbers, e-mail etc. but needless to say, never heard from anyone - of course not, so much for the village. The child had an appointment with her doctor and I told the mother what questions to ask the doctor and also gave the mom my card for the doctor. On my next visit I asked mom what the doctor said. Mom never made it to the doctor, or rather, she arrived too late for the appointment which then had to be changed to another day. Another couple of weeks passed by. I knew the mother was not putting the child on the floor, or trying any of the suggestions I had made. She either did not understand, or did not want to be bothered - it was much easier to leave her sitting or lying, and mom kept on saying 'that is what she is like.' She did eventually make it to the doctor and told me that the doctor told her she would receive a call from Childrens' Hospital Neurology Dept. to make an appt. I was relieved to hear that, some progress was being made.
At the end of my session mom said to me "I am going to Mexico"
"When, and are you going with your daughter."
"In a day's time - yes with her."
"When will you be back?"
"I don't know yet, I will call you."
That was a month ago, and I haven't heard back, and probably won't. So much for the neurology appointment. If the parents are not overly concerned, there is really nothing I can do.
I did tell the Case Manager when I saw her at a family meeting a week ago. She had no recollection of the child or her family, none at all.
Then she told me that as of January 2015 eligibility requirements for the babies are easing up, and they will be taking babies at risk again, that is, those born prematurely, low birth weight, etc. In other words there should be way more referrals, but they have such a backlog that they are nowhere ready to begin with new evaluations!
A home therapist called me as her case load is perilously low again. The other therapist had called me with the same concern towards the end of last year.There is nothing I can do. They have to make ongoing work related decisions themselves, because we are on our own!
Last year and this year I have felt that I am singing the song "10 Green Bottles." I began last year with 10 children, and the number has steadily decreased. Yes 4 children left, and I won't take anymore, that is clear, but at the risk of being repetitious, here are some more of the reasons why.
When I returned from South Africa I had 5 children I returned to. One of them began a different program, so that was 4. When I went to visit a little girl I had been seeing every week at the same time for a year and a half, her grandmother informed me, when I arrived at the home, that she was not there. The entire family (other than the grandparents) had moved to another county, Santa Clara County, to be exact. They left without so much as a by- your -leave, or a goodbye, or a gracias! I informed the case manager who said she would look into the matter, but of course that was the last I ever heard of it.
A few weeks later the case manager asked whether I would take another child and I agreed to this one so that I would still have 4 children. I began to see a one-year old girl who lived with her extended family in Richmond. I never met the dad, which is typical. Mom seemed sweet, rather young. She only speaks spanish and on the first visit she told me her 1 year old daughter does not do anything other than sit, if she is placed in sitting, or else she lies on her back.
I told her I like to work with kids on the floor, so she did put a blanket down for me when I got there. The living room was tiny and dominated by a large couch and TV, and within a couple of weeks, a large Xmas tree .The area I had to work in was tiny, but I was used to that.The girl does not like being handled, or placed in different positions. She screams and screams, in fact she screams blue murder, and it is tough to understand whether something really hurts her, or she is used to being picked up as soon as she screams. Mom would sit there and say, 'that is what she is like,' she screams with everyone.
On my request she gave me the number of the Public Health Nurse seeing the family, and also that of another therapist who was seeing her. I called them and left my numbers, e-mail etc. but needless to say, never heard from anyone - of course not, so much for the village. The child had an appointment with her doctor and I told the mother what questions to ask the doctor and also gave the mom my card for the doctor. On my next visit I asked mom what the doctor said. Mom never made it to the doctor, or rather, she arrived too late for the appointment which then had to be changed to another day. Another couple of weeks passed by. I knew the mother was not putting the child on the floor, or trying any of the suggestions I had made. She either did not understand, or did not want to be bothered - it was much easier to leave her sitting or lying, and mom kept on saying 'that is what she is like.' She did eventually make it to the doctor and told me that the doctor told her she would receive a call from Childrens' Hospital Neurology Dept. to make an appt. I was relieved to hear that, some progress was being made.
At the end of my session mom said to me "I am going to Mexico"
"When, and are you going with your daughter."
"In a day's time - yes with her."
"When will you be back?"
"I don't know yet, I will call you."
That was a month ago, and I haven't heard back, and probably won't. So much for the neurology appointment. If the parents are not overly concerned, there is really nothing I can do.
I did tell the Case Manager when I saw her at a family meeting a week ago. She had no recollection of the child or her family, none at all.
Then she told me that as of January 2015 eligibility requirements for the babies are easing up, and they will be taking babies at risk again, that is, those born prematurely, low birth weight, etc. In other words there should be way more referrals, but they have such a backlog that they are nowhere ready to begin with new evaluations!
A home therapist called me as her case load is perilously low again. The other therapist had called me with the same concern towards the end of last year.There is nothing I can do. They have to make ongoing work related decisions themselves, because we are on our own!
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