I seem to be the kind of person who is open to adventures. Over Pesach my partner and I slept in a converted vegetable growing hut. I’m sure this structure has a name but I can barely describe it and don’t know where to begin to look for its name. Thousands of them are covered with plastic in agricultural fields. It is made from iron ribs that bend and it’s like walking into a cave, but this cave had white muslin walls and a few beds. The bathroom was 25 meters away, as was the kitchen. My inner camper liked this upscale camping experience offered by air b&b at Moshava Kinneret. The olive grove offered a canopy of gentle shade and the hammock connected to two trees wanted me to stay longer. I hear it still, calling my name.
But I am back at my screen in Tel Aviv trying to remember who wrote what I read about not having everything you write be perfect. So I am allowing myself to write straight onto the blog page without setting myself up for five to ten drafts. I am going to let my inner imperfections shine through in all their normality. When I ask myself why I haven’t posted in so long, it could be because of my loss of memory. But that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Some of my best friends can’t remember what they read an hour earlier. It comes with age, so beware and eat lots of kale and Vitamin K. Those k’s may help you remember why you’re reading this right now instead of going outside to smell the jasmine.
So what I wanted to write about is my adventurous spirit. I am owning my need for adventure. I did a hair cutting course for ten months – big adventure. Now I am taking private singing lessons – another big adventure. This morning I inquired about taking a song-writing course at Rimon School of Music in Ramat Hasharon that starts in two weeks. I think I’ll do it. It’s only once a week for fourteen weeks and the author of “Geula,” Hemi Rodner, teaches it. Ever since I heard the song again last week at the Tel Aviv demonstration at Kikar Rabin against the deportation of asylum seekers, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
Maybe I’ll write a simple but glorious song based on one word, as well. What will that word be? Maybe the same word I don’t yet know to describe the housing option in Moshava Kinneret. Maybe Kinneret. Maybe MatzahBrie. Or possibly dogfood. Yesterday I wrote a song between my daughter’s apt. where I picked up her dog and my own apt. called “Gone Home”. It was a good song, the melody as well. The singer starts being depressed as she roams a 19th century cemetery in Quaker City, Ohio. She comes across a few tombstones that say Gone Home, thinks suicidal thoughts, but eventually goes home to her family in Cleveland. One of many songs probably that will never be written or sung. There should be a button to a cloud I could push to record all the songs I write as I walk.
I remember when cellular phones first came out. I saw a woman walking and talking along Lake Michigan. I thought she was a crazy lady talking to herself, but she was talking on a phone outside in public, where others could hear and see. It was as strange as if she had been walking naked. Now I walk down the street, fully clothed and sometimes talk on the phone and other times sing to myself, but only loud enough for the dog to hear. Too bad the dog can’t sing back the words and the melody.
I am holed up in my Tel Aviv apartment avoiding the crowded roads, enjoying not being in a traffic jam on a crowded bus heading north. Happy Intermittent Days of Pesach to everyone. I didn’t wish anyone a Happy Pesach on any social media before the holiday for reasons unbeknownst to me, so consider this a personal blessing that affirms spring, sunshine, birdsong, love, peace and memory. Yours forever, Judy
PS -I promise not to stay unwriting for such a long time, if you promise to accept imperfection for no more than 764 words. Thank you to all my loyal readers who have asked me over the past months why I’m not writing. If the above does not answer your question, we will just assume that it’s because I’ve been in an adventurous growth spurt.