Proud Auntie Janet

Months ago, when the whole family was here including my sister's growing belly, we went to the Temple Mount/Dome of the Rock. There a little girl was taken with Vivian and Dominic asked her what her name was. "Naveen" was her answer.

Dom and Nancy so liked the name that after their healthy baby girl was born yesterday evening, I became the proud Auntie of Naveen Aline Macdonald Lozada. That's right, her name is Middle Eastern-French-Scottish-Spanish.

When I heard the origin of the name, at first I had a little panic. What if this little girl had given Dominic her nick name and my sister just named her kid "Princess Poopy Pants" or "The Whiner"?

I headed to my Hebrew speaking labmates brought they brought no clarity. There is no name "Naveen" in Hebrew. There is Navah, Navit and even Nedivah but no Naveen. However, there is a word naveen in Hebrew and it ironically means "we will understand."

So I headed to the lab next door where an Arab construction crew is working hard at the renos. It think they are still confused as to who's kid it is, but with stilted Hebrew (on both sides) I managed to learn that Naveen is indeed a popular Arab name for a girl. "Shem tov," they assured me. "Good name."

Then there was the stress over the correct spelling. Is it Naveen or Neveen? It was pretty easy to find how Arabic speakers translate it into Hebrew (thank you court documents and newspaper articles!) But since both Arabic and Hebrew are a little vague with their soft vowels, I told Nancy and Dom to just pick their favorite phonetic translation and go for it.

So welcome to the world, baby
נוין
Naveen

From the Proto-Coop to Coop-Nouveau

We have schlepped almost everything to the new apartment. James, like a good Israeli, is just finishing squeegieing the floors ('cause that is what Israelis do instead of mopping).

We are about 10 minutes away from taking out the last bag of trash, and locking the door for the final time.  

Although I have a few weeks left, leaving our Proto-Coop is the beginning of the end of my time in Israel. 

This is the apartment where I started my marriage in earnest, celebrated two anniversaries and two Christmases, contemplated the meaning of god and humanity, was occasionally horrified, got fuming angry, grieved, was blissfully happy, and laughed so hard I had tears running down my face innumerable times.

And as I grab my backpacks brimming with the odds and ends we left to pack to the last minute and head out the door, my heart is breaking just a little bit. 

Gainful (Part-time) Employment (Temporarily)

Behold the Happy Dance

Despite the fact that I screwed up the first ten elements of the periodic table, for some miracle, the folks at Wilfrid Laurier seemed to like me. Maybe it was the fact that I flew halfway across the world for the interview. 

So for the months of January through April, I will be teaching  chemistry to 425 eager/sleepy/stessed/terrified/hungover freshmen. It is officially a part time job, but I think that putting together a whole course and wrangling 425 students worth of questions will be full-time in reality. 

I think I will (eventually) be good at it, but I must admit I am completely daunted by teaching a whole course. 

It is only a contract position, but at least I will not be living off my savings only, since I probably don't even qualify for Unemployment. And this will be a nice stepping stone towards a faculty position that, in principle, would start in July or August. Keep your fingers crossed for full-time, permanent employment.  

Run Janet, Run

We booked our meeting with the Ministry of Interior in early September and the earliest appointment they could give us to renew our visas was only three days before they expired.

At 1 pm today was our long awaited meeting.

One does not mess with the Ministry of Interior. One arrives early, with all documents in perfect order, filled out in both English and Hebrew, and the visa cost in hand in perfect change.

I gave myself a generous fifty minutes with the plan to catch two short buses downtown rather than a single one that doodyl-doops through the streets to get only somewhere close.  My plan was a disaster.

I took bus Route 1, on the advice of Ben, the guy we are renting our next apartment from. I ended up in a grid lock of traffic with James frantically calling me every three minutes as the clock ticked towards 1pm.

Not only was the traffic moving at a snail's pace, but I was stuck in the middle of Mea Shearim, the most uber-orthodox community in the world (no kidding, The World). I wasn't actually a hundred percent sure where I was at the time, but looking around, I had a pretty good idea. The streets were humming with people; this was the busiest street I have ever seen in Jerusalem. But the big clue was that I felt like I had started seeing the world in back and white, there were so many black suits, long black skirts and white shirts.

I need to explain a little bit more about Mea Shearim. I have heard that those not in appropriately modest clothing will be physically removed by the locals from the neighbourhood. With hundreds of very observant Haredi on the street with me in my jeans and bubble-gum pink t-shirt, I didn't want to test the definitions of "appropriately modest."

At this point, James, who didn't understand my predicament, was pacing up and down the street like a mad man in front of the Ministry of Interior calling me frantically.

"Just get in a cab!" he suggested.

"No point!" I replied emphatically as I looked at the grid locked traffic.

"Just get out of the bus!" He said.

And this is when I learned that a funny euphemism I had learned for Haredi people is possibly more offensive than I had been lead to believe.

"I can't just get out of the bus! I am in a neighborhood I don't know," I said and then whispered into the phone "There are lots of penguin-im!"

The guy sitting next to me on the bus shot me a look of death. I still don't think it is as bad the "N" word or anything, but I won't be using that one in public again.

After finally coming out the other side of Jerusalem's Antarctic, I recognized a landmark, hopped off the bus and ran, no, sprinted the last 300 meters to the Ministry down Yaffo street.  I found the small windowless door amongst the the shops and knocked to get entry from the security guard.

Can you find the door to the Ministry of Interior?

If you are having trouble finding the Ministry, there is a handy street sign to point you to the right one.

I ran up two floors of steps four at a time, and arrived 10 minutes late in a frantic sweat and out of breath. I rounded the corner and found The Chicken with his head in his hand and his hair sticking straight up from running his fingers through it.

Luckily for us, of the four agents all lined up in cubicles, we got the nice understanding one and not the one screaming at the applicants like a banshee.

Thirty minutes later, we had our visas.

Wolly Socks

The days are hot, but once the sun goes down, the mercury really drops now.

Last night I put an extra blanket on the bed, tossed on some wolly socks and snuggled up to my very large hot water bottle, The Chicken.

That makes 24 days between being so hot I had to sleep on the tile floor and being in serious winter snuggle mode.

I think they really only have two seasons here:  קיץ (Kites) and  חרף (Horef) which I will translate as Touch of Hell and Chronic November.

Whirlwind Trip

You may be wondering why exactly I was in the airport flying to Moscow the other day. 

It turns out, I got a job interview.  I normally would have told you earlier, but I had to keep it a secret since the sudden trip home coincided with an old friend's bachelorette party. I was so disappointed that I was going to miss Terri's wedding, so it was a real treat to roll up the pathway with my suitcases and give her a big surprise as she and all her girlfriends were getting manicures. Polly, another old friend and one of the bridesmaids, was the only one in on the secret. I was pretty excited to rub Polly's growing belly; she is having her first child in January.  I was also able to surprise yet another high school friend who came to the party, Alison, who got engaged only last weekend. 

The job interview was this morning. It was the first live interview I have given in about seven years and consequently, I was shaking I was so nervous. And of course, now that it is over, I am obsessing over what I should have said and didn't, and what I did say and shouldn't have.  It is a good thing my mom is on a diet and doesn't keep nibbles in the house, because I could stress-eat a whole package of cookies right about now. 

My super cheap flight back home- I mean Israel- is tomorrow on the random Russian airline (hence going to Moscow).  It was a whirlwind trip but it won't be long until I am home-as in Canada- for good. We have decided to spend a couple months at my Uncle's house in Listowel. Even though I wasn't raised here, I am related to about half the residents of the local cemetery. After so many years living like a vagrant, the thought of moving–even temporarily– to a place that I have roots is comforting. 

Purple Sexy

The security at the air port was extra-especially thorough today. I got interrogated for at least 30 minutes including detailed descriptions of my research, a list of my friends, showing emails, going through one of my chemistry talks and showing the list of contacts on my cell phone.

Not to mention the swabby-swabby-swabby of my stuff. My computer was X-rayed, count em', five times.

I was so flustered by the end of it I forgot to grab my coat out of my luggage before I checked it.

Waiting for my delayed flight to Moscow, I was freezing my butt off in my tee shirt in the over air-conditioned terminal. After three hours of goose bumps I gave up and shivered my way to the duty free to try and buy the cheapest warm piece of clothing I could find.

After hunting though the bottles of booze, cartons of cigarettes and ridiculously over priced sweaters because they had an alligator on them, the result of my search was a miracle thirty dollar track suit hidden behind the one of the cash registers. After the purchase, I immediately tossed on the purple zip-up sweater. But then thought, well heck. If I am going to spend all night on a plane, I may as well wear the comfy pants too. They are a little on the tight side; you can see my underwear lines when I walk- but who cares. I am warm and I am all decked out to sleep on the plane.

So here I sit outside Gate C6 illustrating my indomitable sex appeal by wearing a matching purple track suit.

But don't worry, since I am heading to Moscow first, I am surrounded by the fashions of Russians. The purple track suit actually seems to fit in.

Souvenir Shopping

In the nearby village of Ein Kerem, there is a wonderful tile painter by the name of Ruth Havilio. Her shop can be found behind the blue gate on the main road. Head up the pathway to the stone house that has had many additions and changes over the decades and never seen an architect. Climb up the twisty narrow stone staircases to her studio in a single room that seems to be perched on the roof. Just follow the tile signs that say "studio" and knock on the blue door. 

James and I have had our eye on her stuff for over a year now, and today we picked out our "big purchase" to remember Israel by. It took us a while to decided what we wanted because there were simply too many designs and options to choose from. 

In the end we opted for two classic geometric designs in the traditional cobalt blue. She is painting them just for us, and they will be ready in a month's time. 

Surfer Girl Storms Tel Aviv

I rose with the sun and took the first bus to Tel Aviv this morning. I can highly recommend the convenient number 8 bus from near our house to the central bus station and the 8 shekel giant coffee available at the terminal. What I do not recommend is the then required 8 minute frantic hunt for the washroom in the Tel Aviv bus station and the 8 second hang over the nasty, dirty, graffiti decorated, cigarette burned facilities. 

All this was to head down to the beach and cash in on my brithday present: surfing lessons. I got a private lesson from Oded who seemed just like you would expect a surfing instructor to be,  but with a Hebrew accent. Two hours later, after catching a few waves, some spectacular falls, swallowing half the Mediterranean, I could stand on the board (although while still holding the board). It was tonnes of fun, and seeing how I love the water, it was a great birthday present.  

Arms aching and shaking, sinuses well salted, tummy grumbling, I met up with Assi and Amit for some food. "What do you want to eat?" Amit asked me. 

"After two hours surfing? Breakfast, lunch, or a horse. Doesn't matter," I replied. 

We ended up at a lovely garden restaurant (I love going out with locals! They know all the best places!) As we were ordering, I heard the rumble of dumpster being moved on the street, or so I thought. As our drinks came, I felt a drop. Three bites into my delicious shakshuka (eggs cracked into tomato sauce, topped with cheese and baked in a cast iron pan, served with hearty bread) it started raining in earnest. 

It was the first rain in nearly six months. 

It poured. 

We ran under the awning, but not before my shakshuka became more like shashuka soup. It was still tasty though and filled the giant gaping hole in my tummy. 

It was such a good day, I think I will be splurging on another surfing lesson and a meal with friends in TA again soon. 

Succot Cabin Fever

I never thought I would say it, but thank goodness vacation is over.

Last week was the holiday of Succot- all week. People had their little huts out in their yards all over the country to celebrate the festival. Every night we had singing and partying wafting though our window from happy revelers in their succa huts. We, on the other hand, got cabin fever.

There was nothing to do in town since many things were closed for the holiday. All the hotels were already booked up so there was no place to go. To add insult to injury, it was unseasonably hot, and I am still spending nights sleeping on the cool living room floor.

Stuck in our little house, we started getting on each other's nerves. I swear I almost made myself a widow the morning the hubby had three large cups of coffee.

I was so bored I started reading my bible which doubles as a travel guide here in Israel. Riveting as the begots were in leading up to the juicy bits, I fell asleep part way into the Israelites crossing the Jordan River and conquering Jericho. I have to say, I have driven past Jericho. Why did they bother? It is in the middle of the Judean desert, well below sea level, and so seems to literally be a pit of hell. The combination of childhood memories of Sunday School, the reality of seeing the place and reading the story while falling asleep produced really wacked out dreams, let me tell you.

We did escape the house and spent one happy day in Tel Aviv swimming and met up with Amit, who is a local, for a little sight seeing and ice cream. I really need to spend more time on the beach.

One other blissfully air-conditioned afternoon was spent at the enormous and brand spanking new Israel Museum. Last time we went I got lost in the archeology section for three hours straight and barely made a dent. This time, I headed straight for the Jewish life section and their really fantastic art collection including some great sculpture outside. I loved all the displays on wedding contracts, illuminated texts and Jewish clothing from all over the world, but I must admit, the "bris kits" made me a little nauseous.

As much as I like to be lazy, there was just a little too much of it this week, along with too much sweating in the heat. I am glad to head back to work where at least I have chemistry to distract me.