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Congratulations, Delara and Steve

My girl, Delara, married a very lucky Steve in Nashville last weekend.

Though having missed the event pains me to no end, I am so grateful to the bloggers and photographers who already posted recaps and pictures, and to the couple themselves, who already posted a video. I cried. I still cry.

However, it did make me very happy to see a picture of Delara at the girly luncheon, wearing the bracelet I gave her. It makes me feel like I was part of the weekend, however superficially.

Congratulations! We send kisses from afar.

Tamila’s Goodbye Barbecue

On Saturday we joined Eric’s co-workers in bidding adieu to Tamila (from Kyrgyzstan! Really, how many people do you know from Kyrgyzstan?).

Hebrew Level 1

So, Hebrew classes are going well. I’m definitely more confident about interacting with locals.

At times I’m probably too confident. At a restaurant last week, I thought the waitress asked, “Are you finished?” so I said yes. It turns out she was asking, “Can I get you anything else?” which explains why she kept talking (i.e. “Would you like a dessert menu? Coffee?”) and didn’t pick up our plates.

Eric reminded me that I don’t need to pretend to understand everything; it’s okay to not understand. Oh. Ha ha.

I’m debating whether or not to continue on to Hebrew Level 2, because although the classes are really beneficial, at this point I can probably study it on my own. Plus, the classes are two nights a week with homework, so yeah, it’s tiring.

Do Not Enter

I assume that’s what this lovely, dejected sign says.

Yearning to Go Places

I wondered how long after our move to Israel I would start feeling antsy about being in one place. Like, how long before I would start looking up airline prices to Cyprus and Turkey? How long before I would look up ferries to Greece? Would ask about hotels in the Negev? Hours to Eilat? Climate in April?

The answer: 75 days.

Yellow Beauty on Ben Gurion

I am a bit in love with this building, especially on a bright day.

Walking

Besides instilling me with an obsession for travel, appreciation for beauty, love for humanity, and preference for homemade cooking, my parents also instilled in me a joy for walking.

On so many occasions, our family walked through the park, walked to the lake, or walked in a foreign city. We walked together, or in pairs; we walked fast, or strolled slow. When we were lazy on summer days, my mother always suggested we take a walk, and when we didn’t know what else to do with ourselves, the answer was always, simply, “Take a walk.”

Even when I was a grumpy teenager, one of my favorite things to do was walk around the neighborhood with my best friends. Walks were easy and cheap, plus we could spend many uninterrupted hours sharing secrets while we marched on. At the time I never would have said we were “bonding,” but we were, and our walks were at the crux of it.

Walking still plays an essential role in my life, but now I have greater awareness of its effects on me -- effects that are physical, psychological, emotional, and spiritual. So, if I have accomplished nothing all day but took a nice, long walk, then as far as I’m concerned, it was a good day. Walking has become a major priority.

Lucky for me, Eric has the same passion for walking. Nearly every day we explore some corner of the city on foot. If we’re not exploring a new neighborhood, we’re enjoying an old one, or maybe we’re too buried in conversation to notice. It may be that walking is also essential to the depth of our marriage.

At some point I hope to have friends who also enjoy walking. I would settle for friends, period (ha ha) -- but in the meantime I can be on the lookout for people who also see walking as a satisfying source of entertainment, social interaction, and simple pleasure.

Of course, this begs the question: would we be walking this much if we had a TV? Since my parents also instilled in me a love for TV and all.

Calm Before the Storm

Yesterday, at sundown.

Beyond the Cypress Trees

I took these during my lunchtime walk last week.

Match Made in Heaven

Eric usually forgets the stories I tell him. The stories about my life, my profound experiences -- all gone.

Which works out great, because I love repeating those stories anyway.

Hillel Street Blooms

What a charming surprise to turn the corner onto Hillel, and behold! These bright, unrestrained blooms were like a mutiny against a modest backdrop. I went quite camera-crazy.

And although I am usually averse to Photoshopping pictures for my blog, in this case the temptation of adjusting the curves was much too irresistable, so I allowed myself one.

Slide

I haven’t been very excited about my pictures lately... until this one. One of my favorite pictures in a long time.

I’m Ending a 20-Year Love Affair

I’ve had one serious celebrity crush almost my entire life. At first I didn’t recognize it when it was happening to me, but whoa, I discovered these strange giddy feelings every time “You Give Love a Bad Name” came on the radio in the 1980s.

Not long after, I saw the music video for “Livin’ On a Prayer,” and yup, there were those giddy feelings again, but this time my eyes were also unblinking and locked to the TV screen.

It must be the sensitive-rocker, average-guy thing that Jon Bon Jovi has going for him. I don’t know what else it would be, because it’s definitely not the tight pants.

To keep the record straight, I was never one of those girls who plastered posters of Jon Bon Jovi on her wall or cried when he emerged onto the stage. No, I’m much too restrained for that. But seeing or hearing him has always, quietly, stopped me in my tracks, and the only people who ever knew about this were the people I told directly.

Lately, though, my giddiness toward Jon Bon Jovi has mostly subsided. He doesn’t have that average-guy thing anymore. I mean, geez, he owns a football team and works beside presidential candidates! And although I love all the work he does for charity... I think his songs are just too happy. The soppy romantic in him is gone. Gone.

So Jon, I’ve decided it’s time for me to set you free.

Rob Thomas is calling.

Big Kitchen, Green Cabinets

Woo-wee, this is the biggest kitchen we’ve ever had. It’s perfect. Every morning we eat breakfast by the window, and if we’re not eating out, we have dinner there too.

We’ll probably never have green lacquered cabinets again, but I don’t mind the experience just this once.

Note that I’m very disappointed by how my camera behaves in low light. Too pixelated, too out-of-focus. My Nikon handled this much better. Hence, sorry about the icky pictures here and beyond.

Shlomo ve Irina Medabrim Russit

This is the story I wrote for my Hebrew class. I am certain you would love it if you could understand it.

Shlomo ve Irina garim be Tel Aviv. Hem nos’im le Haifa, eifo hem lomdim Russit be Rekhov Wedgewood. Hem nos’im be rakevet. Matai hem nos’im be rahkevet, hem yordim be hatakhana akhrona. Kartiseem olim esrim shekel. Hem tsrikhim linso’a hashavu’a ve gam beshavu’a haba. Akhshav, hem medabrim Russit tov me’od.

Here is the Downside

I always assumed that the beauty of the Internet was that we could, for the most part, access anything, anywhere, and that our move overseas would not be a big deal because, well, there’s the Internet.

Of course I knew there would be exceptions, since we are in the Middle East after all, but I’m surprised to find how many exceptions there actually are. For example, we chose a gift on a friend’s wedding registry and went to order it online, but nope, no overseas orders. Also, when trying to find travel information for a friend coming to Israel -- nope, can’t view the website that I relied on so many times in the U.S. And, when I wanted to change my contact information with a handful of websites, none of them gave me the option of choosing a country other than the U.S., Canada, and a smattering of countries in Western Europe.

I feel like I’ve been fooled. Fooled! Time to find other resources.

Hey, That Kid is a Vegetable Grater!

It’s Purim in Israel. Turns out this is an exciting holiday for children and youth, because they can wear costumes and exchange sweets -- in a manner similar to Halloween.

Also like Halloween, it seems that young women use it as an excuse to show as much skin as possible.

Dealing With Criticism in Design

Non-designery people often come to me with crushing tales about their short-lived experiences with graphic design. Whether they designed their best friend’s bridal shower invitation, their brother’s graduation announcement, or helped out a friend-of-a-friend with a flyer, the story always ends the same: THEY WERE SO MEAN ABOUT MY DESIGN.

I can empathize, but I can’t really share in their horror. What most non-designery people don’t realize about graphic designers is that, when it comes to clients, we’ve heard it all -- and I mean ALL. Criticism comes with the territory.

Over time we toughen up. I was in college when handed my first professional design project, and every non-studying, non-working hour was dedicated to its perfection. I did so much research, so many sketches, and came out with three options for my client, each of which I carefully mounted to black matboard. I was proud of myself for my thoroughness, and damn, all three options were so beautiful, how was my client was going to choose???!!

Yeah. He said, “I don’t like them.”

“Okay (face turning red), what don’t you like about them?”

“Well (feeling bad for student designer), I don’t like anything about them.”

Wow, was I thrown off, not to mention thrown into the reality of a career in design. Naturally I sobbbed and doubted my capacities all night, but, long-story short, I got over it and decided I was meant to be a designer despite that experience.

My work has been criticized many times since then (though rarely from a client anymore and usually from a boss who had something different in mind) -- but I don’t fall apart. Designers learn pretty quickly that asking questions instead of flipping out will help everyone get what they want. Honestly, sometimes I feel more like a shrink than a designer.

We also learn pretty quickly that if we’re not willing to let go, we’re not going to last in this business.

Shiori, Bus Ride Peek-a-Boo

This is my friend, Shiori. If children grew on trees, I would have plucked this one.

Lucas, Sinta-Bar

This is my friend, Lucas. I sure hope he doesn’t kill me for posting these pictures of him, the first inside Sinta-Bar and the second just outside.

Where My Girls At

My desperation for girlfriends is no longer funny. Some conversations, whether a quick exchange or an all-night deliberation, are simply meant for women, and if I expect my husband to have those conversations with me, I can also expect that his eyes will glaze over and he will drool from the corners of his mouth, and this is not the type of marriage I want to have.

I interact with women every day, but it takes time to develop meaningful relationships. Plus, being reserved and cautious means the art of making new friends is lost on me.

Where are the Charlas, the Delaras, the Karis, and the Laceys? The Angelas, Evas, Heathers, and Laurens? The Imans and Samans? The Leylas and the Mojdehs?

Maybe I should get myself a hobby. A girly hobby, like baking or sewing or something that involves doilies.

Forget that. I need girlfriends.