It takes ridiculously small things to make me feel so very proud of myself.
Before work the other day I went for a latte in my neighborhood coffee spot. While waiting for the latte I dropped my car keys. No big deal, I picked them up, paid for my coffee and went to the car. I discovered that all the little open door/pop trunk key symbols were gone. Shrugging I used the car key to open the door. I noticed that the little symbols had somehow fallen on to the car floor. I picked them up and kept them together planning to fix the key at work. I tried, but the little sign thingies fell through their matching slots. OK, I thought, I will keep everything together, use the spare I had at home and take these to Toyota and get another key.
The next day I went to Toyota sales with the keys and thingies in a plastic bag. The man behind the counter glared at me and said "what am I supposed to do with this?" Taken aback I pulled myself together and politely inquired whether or not he was in sales. Then I told him I had dropped the keys.
"You don't have the .......... (something or other) he said.
I repeated that I had dropped the keys, this is what I had.
He looked at his computer screen, punched in something and said "It will cost you $320 for a new key.
I looked at him and left, I had no interest in any further communication.
This was Tuesday. I used the spare key.
Thursday after yoga class I had a thought. I will go back to the coffee shop and ask them whether they had found the thingie, whatever the hell the thingie may be.
I went to the coffee shop where the young people behind the counter are quite delightful - nothing like the man in Toyota sales. I greeted the young woman and asked whether they had found a thingie, and I held up my keys. She opened a drawer and said, "this is full of lost things." She rummaged about for all of 10m seconds and held up something and said "I think this is what you want."
Thanking her profusely without getting down on my knees and genuflecting I dashed home and sat down with the new key and all the previous key parts. I took the old key apart and painstakingly and carefully put back all the things I had found, following the symbols on the spare. Then I stepped outside and pushed the open door symbol - Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, lo and behold, the door opened.
I fixed it and saved $320.00 - yahooooooooo
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
Wednesday, July 17, 2019
Random thoughts on the meaning of home
What is home? where is home? where and how do I feel at home?
None of these thoughts are new for me. Indeed, I have been contemplating on them for as long as I can remember. Here are some recent ones since my return from Africa (southern africa) and earlier this year, from Israel.
I have now lived out of South Africa for far longer than I lived there. I have lived in America, California, for longer than I have lived anywhere else, and yet I have always experienced cultural dissonance.
The first night in Namibia I sat on a bench outside my room. The moon was just a sliver. All was quiet, other than the occasional rustles, and notes of night birds. I was enveloped in the immense stillness of the bush. Overhead was the southern cross - I gazed at the sky thick with blazes of green and orange, and effervescent trails of shooting stars. The vastness of the milky way so clear and so deep. The more I looked, the more comfortable and the more settled I felt. No words, no thoughts, just the caress of the gentle wind, and the quiet and the immensity of my surroundings. The two pointers guided me to the southern cross, and due south. I was home again. A feeling beyond words - just quiet, settled, deep.
In Israel, when I drive through Wadi Ara and the Jezreel Valley opens and unfolds, and I see Har Tabor I experience a similar feeling.
Is home a place? No, I don't think so. In terms of South Africa it is a place where I feel immediately comfortable. Everyone sounds like me? No waiter ever looks at me in a strange manner when I request water. They know what I am asking for and bring it to me. How comforting it is to order a toasted cheese and not to be questioned as to the type of cheese and bread I would prefer. We stop at robots and go up and down buildings in lifts. I feel that this is how things should be, and I like it.
And even though I grew up knowing I would leave because of the system of apartheid, and the discomfort and dis-ease I felt, it is where I was born and raised.
Israel is home of a different kind. Possibly the most important events of my young adulthood happened there and they have kept me forever linked to the turbulent, lovely little country.
And now, here I am, and have been for a long time, in California. I would not still be here if I did not feel a sense of well being. The beauty of this area reminds me of South Africa and Israel. I have worked in the east bay for a long while and have discovered much about the different people here. I like the diversity.
So --- these are random thoughts - no answers. I will continue writing and thinking about them I am sure.
None of these thoughts are new for me. Indeed, I have been contemplating on them for as long as I can remember. Here are some recent ones since my return from Africa (southern africa) and earlier this year, from Israel.
I have now lived out of South Africa for far longer than I lived there. I have lived in America, California, for longer than I have lived anywhere else, and yet I have always experienced cultural dissonance.
The first night in Namibia I sat on a bench outside my room. The moon was just a sliver. All was quiet, other than the occasional rustles, and notes of night birds. I was enveloped in the immense stillness of the bush. Overhead was the southern cross - I gazed at the sky thick with blazes of green and orange, and effervescent trails of shooting stars. The vastness of the milky way so clear and so deep. The more I looked, the more comfortable and the more settled I felt. No words, no thoughts, just the caress of the gentle wind, and the quiet and the immensity of my surroundings. The two pointers guided me to the southern cross, and due south. I was home again. A feeling beyond words - just quiet, settled, deep.
In Israel, when I drive through Wadi Ara and the Jezreel Valley opens and unfolds, and I see Har Tabor I experience a similar feeling.
Is home a place? No, I don't think so. In terms of South Africa it is a place where I feel immediately comfortable. Everyone sounds like me? No waiter ever looks at me in a strange manner when I request water. They know what I am asking for and bring it to me. How comforting it is to order a toasted cheese and not to be questioned as to the type of cheese and bread I would prefer. We stop at robots and go up and down buildings in lifts. I feel that this is how things should be, and I like it.
And even though I grew up knowing I would leave because of the system of apartheid, and the discomfort and dis-ease I felt, it is where I was born and raised.
Israel is home of a different kind. Possibly the most important events of my young adulthood happened there and they have kept me forever linked to the turbulent, lovely little country.
And now, here I am, and have been for a long time, in California. I would not still be here if I did not feel a sense of well being. The beauty of this area reminds me of South Africa and Israel. I have worked in the east bay for a long while and have discovered much about the different people here. I like the diversity.
So --- these are random thoughts - no answers. I will continue writing and thinking about them I am sure.
Saturday, June 29, 2019
Flight to Namibia
The following events occurred between my departure on June 3 and my arrival in Windhoek on June 6.
My flight from San Francisco to Zurich was delayed by two hours. This was ok as I had less time to spend in Zurich airport - only 4 hours.
The 11 hour flight to Johannesburg was pleasant, as the plane was not full. I had an empty seat next to me, such a treat!!!! A lovely young South African man sat behind me. He is studying economics in England so we chatted when we both were not sleeping.
I had a six hour layover in Johannesburg before my evening flight to Windhoek, so a friend picked me up at the airport and we drove to her luxurious new apartment in Houghton. We drove through areas immediately familiar to me, Huddle Park, Edenvale, Sandringham, Louis Botha Avenue. The roads and shops looked more third worldy than I had remembered. Streets and pavements were crowded with cars, white mini taxis, raggedy shop fronts with iron bars. Signs painted on the windows were much more 'african' than I remembered, colorful paintings of faces and names. I noticed tables set up on the pavements covered with small bags of sweets, chips, etc. which hawkers were selling. On street corners hawkers held up brooms and beaded items. At the traffic lights beggars came up to the car and some tried to spray the windows to clean them and get a few rand.
At her apartments I showered and nibbled on cheese and crackers. We caught up on gossip and then headed back to the airport. She had an unexpected meeting later so she had to bring me back earlier than initially planned. This suited me as I would be well on time for the next leg of my flight to Windhoek.
I loaded my luggage on to a trolley, entered the airport and looked for the Air Namibia check in counter. I pushed my trolley to the number assigned. The number of the counter was lit up, only the name Air Namibia was not to be seen. I asked someone standing there where it was. He pointed me in another direction further down the counters. Off I went, but could not find it there either. I returned to the first counter - again someone said they had seen it in the same direction as the previous man. He accompanied, but again, not to be found.
Eventually I saw a woman sitting in what looked like an office and I asked her for Air Namibia. She pointed me in another direction entirely. This time I did find an Air Namibia office, but the door was closed and no-one was inside. A semi official looking man sitting outside told me that the lady inside, she is in the bathroom.
As she did not appear to be in a hurry to return I decided to trudge a long distance until I found an information desk. I asked one of the woman sitting there whether I could sit in a lounge until the Air Namibia counter would reopen. She said I needed a boarding pass and I explained that I did not yet have one. She then asked for my flight number. She looked at a monitor at her desk and said to me, 'your flight is cancelled. There is no flight this evening."
WELCOME TO AFRICA
I stood there open-mouthed. "I will come with you to the Air Namibia Office," she volunteered. "No one is there," I wailed. She escorted me and by now the Air Namibia representative, Nicolene Tehitja, had returned from the bathroom.
Apparently I was supposed to have been informed about the cancellation. There was a flight the next day at 6.40 a.m. All I knew was that someone called Johan was to meet me at the Wiindhoek airport that evening at 8.30. I was exhausted, emotionally compromised, confused.
Air Namibia set me up in a hotel overnight. I emailed my agent in Namibia to let her know of the change, and I was shuttled off to the Birchwood Hotel. Even getting there was not without many problems, but I did arrive at the hotel and had a glass of wine. Reception informed me I was to leave the hotel at 4.30 in order to be at the aiport at 5.00 a.m. I requested a wake up call at 4.15 a.m. As usual, when I have to get up in the wee hours I awoke to check the time every 30 minutes. By 3..30 I was ready and waiting in the cold, dark Johannesburg night. I was convinced I would not get my wake up call because I was now in Africa, and on African time.
At preciselly 4.15 a young man knocked at my door and took my case. So much for my misgivings.
Back at the airport, more trouble. I landed up having to pay for a ticket for which I had paid several months before. I was too exhausted to protest.
When the time came to handing in my passport and boarding pass, I begged the man at the counter not to give me any more trouble. He scrutinised my passport and papers, looked at me solemnly, and said "I have to advise you ..... that this time everything in OK. Have a safe trip."
My flight from San Francisco to Zurich was delayed by two hours. This was ok as I had less time to spend in Zurich airport - only 4 hours.
The 11 hour flight to Johannesburg was pleasant, as the plane was not full. I had an empty seat next to me, such a treat!!!! A lovely young South African man sat behind me. He is studying economics in England so we chatted when we both were not sleeping.
I had a six hour layover in Johannesburg before my evening flight to Windhoek, so a friend picked me up at the airport and we drove to her luxurious new apartment in Houghton. We drove through areas immediately familiar to me, Huddle Park, Edenvale, Sandringham, Louis Botha Avenue. The roads and shops looked more third worldy than I had remembered. Streets and pavements were crowded with cars, white mini taxis, raggedy shop fronts with iron bars. Signs painted on the windows were much more 'african' than I remembered, colorful paintings of faces and names. I noticed tables set up on the pavements covered with small bags of sweets, chips, etc. which hawkers were selling. On street corners hawkers held up brooms and beaded items. At the traffic lights beggars came up to the car and some tried to spray the windows to clean them and get a few rand.
At her apartments I showered and nibbled on cheese and crackers. We caught up on gossip and then headed back to the airport. She had an unexpected meeting later so she had to bring me back earlier than initially planned. This suited me as I would be well on time for the next leg of my flight to Windhoek.
I loaded my luggage on to a trolley, entered the airport and looked for the Air Namibia check in counter. I pushed my trolley to the number assigned. The number of the counter was lit up, only the name Air Namibia was not to be seen. I asked someone standing there where it was. He pointed me in another direction further down the counters. Off I went, but could not find it there either. I returned to the first counter - again someone said they had seen it in the same direction as the previous man. He accompanied, but again, not to be found.
Eventually I saw a woman sitting in what looked like an office and I asked her for Air Namibia. She pointed me in another direction entirely. This time I did find an Air Namibia office, but the door was closed and no-one was inside. A semi official looking man sitting outside told me that the lady inside, she is in the bathroom.
As she did not appear to be in a hurry to return I decided to trudge a long distance until I found an information desk. I asked one of the woman sitting there whether I could sit in a lounge until the Air Namibia counter would reopen. She said I needed a boarding pass and I explained that I did not yet have one. She then asked for my flight number. She looked at a monitor at her desk and said to me, 'your flight is cancelled. There is no flight this evening."
WELCOME TO AFRICA
I stood there open-mouthed. "I will come with you to the Air Namibia Office," she volunteered. "No one is there," I wailed. She escorted me and by now the Air Namibia representative, Nicolene Tehitja, had returned from the bathroom.
Apparently I was supposed to have been informed about the cancellation. There was a flight the next day at 6.40 a.m. All I knew was that someone called Johan was to meet me at the Wiindhoek airport that evening at 8.30. I was exhausted, emotionally compromised, confused.
Air Namibia set me up in a hotel overnight. I emailed my agent in Namibia to let her know of the change, and I was shuttled off to the Birchwood Hotel. Even getting there was not without many problems, but I did arrive at the hotel and had a glass of wine. Reception informed me I was to leave the hotel at 4.30 in order to be at the aiport at 5.00 a.m. I requested a wake up call at 4.15 a.m. As usual, when I have to get up in the wee hours I awoke to check the time every 30 minutes. By 3..30 I was ready and waiting in the cold, dark Johannesburg night. I was convinced I would not get my wake up call because I was now in Africa, and on African time.
At preciselly 4.15 a young man knocked at my door and took my case. So much for my misgivings.
Back at the airport, more trouble. I landed up having to pay for a ticket for which I had paid several months before. I was too exhausted to protest.
When the time came to handing in my passport and boarding pass, I begged the man at the counter not to give me any more trouble. He scrutinised my passport and papers, looked at me solemnly, and said "I have to advise you ..... that this time everything in OK. Have a safe trip."
Friday, June 28, 2019
Namibia
After we touched down we entered an unprepossessing room at Windhoek Airport. For some unkown reason all the travellers went to the right side of the room and were hunched over a counter. There were absolutely no signs and I saw three stone faced women sitting behind another counter just ahead of me.
They did not move and their faces were expressionless. I wondered whether they were african carvings. I went in their direction behind three young ladies who had been on the same plane. We walked through iron bars toward the three statues. When I approached one, her mouth moved and I heard something like 'forms,' after I had asked her to repeat herself. My mouth was dry, a combination of plane travel and a bone-dry atmosphere. I gazed at her out of my dry red eyes and managed to come out with "what forms?" Her gaze shifted to where everyone else was. I walked over to see that everyone was filling in forms. I took one off a pile and looked for a pen. Someone handed me her pen and I filled in the form. I asked the woman who handed me her pen what the date was, as by this time I was unaware of what date, time, or day it was.
"The date of my wedding anniversary," she replied, "but my husband is dead."
Eventually I completed the form and took it to the queue which had now formed in front of the three statues. I handed my passport and form to the statue on the right. After reading through it she asked me where I would be spending my first night. Again I tried to speak. Eventually the words came out "I don't know." After staring at me wordlessly I gave her the name of the travel agency. Although she was apparently not quite satisfied, she let me through.
And so began my journey into the magical, primeval, awe-inspiring, vast, dusty, dry, wonderland - I will upload photos as words fail me.
They did not move and their faces were expressionless. I wondered whether they were african carvings. I went in their direction behind three young ladies who had been on the same plane. We walked through iron bars toward the three statues. When I approached one, her mouth moved and I heard something like 'forms,' after I had asked her to repeat herself. My mouth was dry, a combination of plane travel and a bone-dry atmosphere. I gazed at her out of my dry red eyes and managed to come out with "what forms?" Her gaze shifted to where everyone else was. I walked over to see that everyone was filling in forms. I took one off a pile and looked for a pen. Someone handed me her pen and I filled in the form. I asked the woman who handed me her pen what the date was, as by this time I was unaware of what date, time, or day it was.
"The date of my wedding anniversary," she replied, "but my husband is dead."
Eventually I completed the form and took it to the queue which had now formed in front of the three statues. I handed my passport and form to the statue on the right. After reading through it she asked me where I would be spending my first night. Again I tried to speak. Eventually the words came out "I don't know." After staring at me wordlessly I gave her the name of the travel agency. Although she was apparently not quite satisfied, she let me through.
And so began my journey into the magical, primeval, awe-inspiring, vast, dusty, dry, wonderland - I will upload photos as words fail me.
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Walrus
The time has come, the Walrus says, to speak of other things .............
So, I have been back in the US OF A for 3 weeks. I have caught up with friends, with doctors visits, with trips to the gym.
And now I am off again - to Africa, the mother, my mother.
If my attempt to blog from Germany was unsuccessful, the same may prove on this next trip.
I am going to Namibia (Southwest Africa) for 12 nights, and then to Johannesburg, the city of my birth.
So I shall probably fill you in on my return, and hopefully there will also be photos
Au revoir, lehitraot, tot siens, auf wiedersehen
So, I have been back in the US OF A for 3 weeks. I have caught up with friends, with doctors visits, with trips to the gym.
And now I am off again - to Africa, the mother, my mother.
If my attempt to blog from Germany was unsuccessful, the same may prove on this next trip.
I am going to Namibia (Southwest Africa) for 12 nights, and then to Johannesburg, the city of my birth.
So I shall probably fill you in on my return, and hopefully there will also be photos
Au revoir, lehitraot, tot siens, auf wiedersehen
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Adventures Continued
Here I sit, at my desk, back in the US of A, in the twilight zone of jetlag, caught between cultures, and on top of it, preparing for yet another adventure. At the beginning of June I am off to Southwest, and Southern Africa!
My last week in Germany and Israel was super intense. On the morning of Holocaust Memorial Day I took the train to the Grunewald Station, and went to Track 17. This is in an elegant area of Berlin - beautiful homes and embassies are situated here. It is from Track 17 that the Jews and other undesirables; Gypsies, homosexuals, were rounded up and put in cattle cars and sent to their final destination. I find it difficult to put into words the feelings I experienced there. I met an Israeli couple, and we both just looked at each other and shrugged. She said a word in Hebrew to me 'hallucination.' That says it all.
Then I went to my nephew and his family. His daughters are in a "Wald Kindergarten." A forest kindergarten. That Friday night Spring was celebrated. We all went to the lush and glowing green forest where the men brought in a maypole, and the women collected wildflowers and there was a symbolic wedding, and we danced around the maypole, all singing to the earth mother. Another hallucination - I felt I was in a Midsummer Night's Dream. Magical.
Then back to Israel to Memorial Day. On the eve of Memorial Day we attended a collective ceremony in Hayarkon Garden in Tel Aviv. Collective - the shared experience of Jews and Palestinians all caught in this web of sadness and pain, yet still daring to hope.
And the next day - on the kibbutz - our shared sorrow. After the ceremony we (kibbutz members and friends) went to the home of a member. We sat outside on the balcony, under the shade of a plane tree, overlooking the Jezreel Valley. A patchwork of greens, gold, platinum. Mt. Tabor always there, always present. And we spoke, each one of us, of how we first heard the news of our loved ones' deaths. We all remember each and every detail - and as we all said, the passage of time never eases our pain. Somehow it seems to be more diffcult with each passing year, a bottomless pit of grief. But it felt very good to talk about it, and laugh, and to bask in the warmth of caring and love.
And life goes on - new adventures await.
My last week in Germany and Israel was super intense. On the morning of Holocaust Memorial Day I took the train to the Grunewald Station, and went to Track 17. This is in an elegant area of Berlin - beautiful homes and embassies are situated here. It is from Track 17 that the Jews and other undesirables; Gypsies, homosexuals, were rounded up and put in cattle cars and sent to their final destination. I find it difficult to put into words the feelings I experienced there. I met an Israeli couple, and we both just looked at each other and shrugged. She said a word in Hebrew to me 'hallucination.' That says it all.
Then I went to my nephew and his family. His daughters are in a "Wald Kindergarten." A forest kindergarten. That Friday night Spring was celebrated. We all went to the lush and glowing green forest where the men brought in a maypole, and the women collected wildflowers and there was a symbolic wedding, and we danced around the maypole, all singing to the earth mother. Another hallucination - I felt I was in a Midsummer Night's Dream. Magical.
Then back to Israel to Memorial Day. On the eve of Memorial Day we attended a collective ceremony in Hayarkon Garden in Tel Aviv. Collective - the shared experience of Jews and Palestinians all caught in this web of sadness and pain, yet still daring to hope.
And the next day - on the kibbutz - our shared sorrow. After the ceremony we (kibbutz members and friends) went to the home of a member. We sat outside on the balcony, under the shade of a plane tree, overlooking the Jezreel Valley. A patchwork of greens, gold, platinum. Mt. Tabor always there, always present. And we spoke, each one of us, of how we first heard the news of our loved ones' deaths. We all remember each and every detail - and as we all said, the passage of time never eases our pain. Somehow it seems to be more diffcult with each passing year, a bottomless pit of grief. But it felt very good to talk about it, and laugh, and to bask in the warmth of caring and love.
And life goes on - new adventures await.
Sunday, May 12, 2019
note
Please note, the previous entry, although written on my first day in Berlin, was only published on May 11, as for some reason I could not publish it in Berlin. My trip is now complete and I am back in the States. Soon I will publish further impressions of my trip in general.
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