Rosh Hashana Reflections

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I decided to look at a map of my life's journey until 1988, all the places I've lived, not including a year studying in Paris and a four-month work-stint in London.

Google maps can't do New Jersey to Tel Aviv. Yet. Or show us my next destination.

The Biggest Crime in Israel

I have the feeling that the biggest crime in Israel at the moment is spending the holidays alone. God forbid! Everyone seems to be in a pre-holiday frenzy at least as hectic as I remember the pre-Christmas period in the old country. I am preparing a relatively small feast and reflecting a bit on the happenings of the past year. Of course I do exaggerate: there are plenty of non-Jews among us, but they too must be affected by the super-bustling atmosphere. When I happen to take a bus at rush hour I see many Africans and Philippinos (sp?) and hear a variety of non-Hebrew conversations, reminding me that the world is much larger than our little corner, and everyone has a story. Maybe the biggest crime in Israel (and anywhere) is not listening to anyone else's story.

Nevertheless,

Happy New Year everyone: I wish you health, happiness, prosperity, and good listening!

Summer in France, 1956

Yes I know it's hard to believe that anyone was alive in 1956 and that there was a France to visit, but I have all kinds of evidence, and I'm busy albumising it with the help of the famous and talented Noorster. I was am such a pack rat that I have still, over 50 years later, a mind-boggling array of mementoes of that trip: the label from a bottle of Mumm Champagne purchased in Reims, the ticket stub from a bullfight in Spain (more about that later), concert and theater programs from Paris, all 25 of the letters and postcards I wrote home, the passenger lists of both the westbound and eastbound student ships that took nine days to cross the Atlantic, and on and on. All of this would be fine scrapbook fodder, but we're working on photo albums, and there very few photos. I wonder where the rest went?

The biggest gem of a memento that surfaced was the trip itinerary (photo), hand-drawn by our French leader, Robert Petelle. Because you see, this was no ordinary Grand Tour, but was rather an exchange program that consisted of a homestay with a French family for the first four weeks, and then a three-week camping trip with a member of the host family, in a group organized by The Experiment in International Living, or as we fondly called it, "The Experiment." I am amazed to see that it still exists, although now it seems to target high school students. My group of seven American girls and three American boys, all about 19 or 20 years old, all having completed at least two years of college and many more years of French language studies, was sent to some American-friendly French-speaking families in the neighborhood of Valenciennes, in the North of France. This being 1956, it wasn't all that hard to find American-friendly French-speaking families, what with the Yanks' stirring elimination of the somewhat unpopular German occupation, but it was more of a challenge to find a collection of them with room for an additional family member. My famiy, and a couple of others, were in Anzin, a suburb of Valenciennes. The others were in Maubeuge and other little towns close to Belgium. Since it was primarily a mining district, and not particularly interesting for a three-week bicycle trip, we did our camping trip in the much sunnier South of France. We were each supplied with a bicycle and two saddlebags to drape over the rear, with room for our sleeping bag in the center.

I would like to brag that I biked over the Pyrenees, but my best chum and I became adept hitch-hikers and several truck drivers were more than happy to carry us with our bikes. I seem to remember many cafe stops, becoming accustomed to a drink called menthe a l'eau, a kind of cloudy, minty, slightly alcoholic and very refreshing beverage. We biked and hitch-hiked from cafe to cafe. It was divine. Formidable!

Brideshead Revisited Revisited

I am in the midst of a new knitting project, an argyle vest for one of my hosts on the recent Edinburgh jaunt, and it's making me miss television. Knitting for an adult reminds me that adults are considerably larger than children, and so there are more stitches and more rows than I've become accustomed to as a knitting grandma. Once of my Soup Salon regulars offered to lend me her 25th anniversary DVD edition of the complete Brideshead Revisited series, and I took her up on the offer. Several things happened.

The original production, 11 episodes, was broadcast in 1981, and had a huge audience. I thought I was one of them, but it seems I don't remember a single thing about the plot, confusing it with other lavish British TV dramas like Jewel in the Crown and Upstairs, Downstairs. Maybe I never saw it? I was traveling a lot for work at the time, and it might have been playing on my hotel room TV while I fell asleep. Maybe I'm just suffering from senile dementia, but if I am, it means I can watch all the movies I saw in my youth as if for the first time.

Anyhow, in case you haven't seen it either, or also forgot, it is the story of some Oxford guys who live an opulent life. Charles, the protagonist, falls in love with Sebastian, a charming and beautiful toff who lives in a castle (Brideshead) and also a town house in London to die for. Sebastian pouts and makes scenes, never grows up and becomes a dissolute alcoholic in Morrocco, while Charles becomes a successful painter and falls in love with Sebastian's sister, Julia. All of this takes 11 hours to show. 11 hours of eye candy. Evelyn Waugh wrote the book, and wanted to dramatize and personalize a conflict between British upper-class Catholicism (I didn't even know there was any) and secular Protestantism during the period between WWI and WWII.

I learned a few things from watching this:
1. English people in the 1930's never heard of Alcoholics Anonymous or twelve-step programs
2. People with unlimited wealth can make themselves miserable
3. Agnostic Protestants shouldn't fall in love with believing Catholics and vice versa
4. I can finish the back of an adult's sweater in 13 hours (including 2 for the "extras" like director's and actors' commentaries, and outtakes.

A 24-Hour Something

In the middle of yesterday's Soup Salon I was struck by a queasy feeling and felt an overwhelming urge to lie down. Luckily my guest were in such animated conversation that my disappearance hardly caused a ripple; in fact I fell asleep and I'm told another guest arrived, stayed for soup and conversation, and everyone left without waking me up.

It was truly heart-warming to know that my hospitality does not require my waking presence. Really. After a hearty 13-hour nap, I awoke briefly, and resumed my marathon sleep for another four hours, giving whatever it was that I had plenty of time to lose its battle with my immune system.

Hurricanes, floods, election campaigns, nothing disturbed me. Luckily my dog is a champion sleeper too.

I wonder if it was Sara Palinitis?