Hey Liam, move aside

A quick and not very thoughtful posting.

Today, like we're doing every so often, a bunch of us had a bunch of beers together with a bunch of munchies (while a bunch of guys played golf on the teevee surrounded by a bunch of cacti).  Liam used to love these get-togethers.  She loved a bunch of [old and balding] men drinking beer with her dad; she loved the food, especially the spinach & artichoke dip; she loved the company; she loved the attention; she loved the golf on the teevee.  I don't think about Liam every minute of my life, but it was difficult not to think about her today. But with all due respect, Liama, move aside please.  It is not your day today.

Tonight, a day in advance, Meitav celebrated her 15th birthday.  Only a year and a half ago Meitav's life were pretty fragile.  As if having a sister that was suffering for months and eventually dying is not enough, she didn't have her mom at home; life at her previous school was not easy; plus all her dedication to dance. For us, adults, who have some life experience, all this might be easier to cope with.  But for a 13 years old, it's 1000 fold more difficult.

Yet, here we are only a year and a half later, and Meitav is surrounded by her [new] school friends and there's nothing on her face but joy and happiness.  It's not only because the 10 teenagers who are messing the house (even as we speak) are having fun together.  It's mostly because all of the many things which just come (came?) together for her now.  This evening symbolizes this amazing change for the better.

I'm happy that Liam "visited" me today.  But I'm even happier that Meitav enjoys the moment regardless of Liam.  There would be many more chances to remember Liam - whether we want it or not.  Tonight is not one of them.  Today is Meitav - all the way.  I'm so happy that Meitav can enjoy the present.  In other words, to lose a sister (or a daughter) is not the end of the world. Life goes on. One can remember (and cry) at the appropriate times (or when it catches you unprepared).  But it's also ok to let go and forget, yes, forget I said, if/when happiness and joy are calling.  It's that simple.  I'm glad Meitav knows how to implement this.  There's no reason to be wrapped in self pity your entire life.

The Nutcracker (version 0.000000001)

(When Meitav reads this post, she's likely to kill me.  The Nutcracker is HER thing in the family.  How dare I steal it from her?  But, since I love getting killed by her, I'm pushing forward....)


Hi Eema (Mom),

Here I am addressing the dead.  I guess I can no longer say "you know I never speak to the dead".  But you left me no choice, right?  You would never have forgiven me if I didn't, right?  And even though you're no longer in position to forgive anybody and even though I don't seek your forgiveness any more, what do i know about the dead?  Maybe you turned from the angel that you were during your life time to a witch?  Why take the risk, eh?  So here we go.


It was cold and it threatened to rain as I sat on my bike and headed home, trying to beat the rain coming from the west.  Right after I crossed Piedmont Park, I got off the bike to cross at a pedestrian light.  A dirty looking guy, probably a homeless, teethes for sure, approached me and asked about my bike:  how many gears do they have, when did I get them, how much did they cost (I'm guessing he was preparing his budget for the new fiscal year).  We engaged in a short conversation.  Then he showed me the Target plastic back he was holding and said "$5".  And to prove to me that his offering is good, he took one out and with his no-teeth cracked it open and showed me the "meat". 

Is it possible that God indeed exists and that he really does give  nuts to those with no teeth?  As you know, Eema, I'm not really strong in this whole God business, but here I am finding a toothless guy cracking pecan nuts  and here  I am writing a letter to a dead person (and if that's not enough, Tim Tebow bit Pittsburgh in a playoff game).  I don't know, something is spooky here.

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In short, Eema, if you were here today you would have been very proud of me.  Not only I engaged in a conversation with a total stranger, one of your traits, but I also brought home some 5 or 10 I-really-forgot-what-an-actual-kilogram-feels-like of pecans.  I'm sure you'd remember all these times when you took me to the kibbutz's pecan grove to search for treasures.  Empty "laundry bags" in our hand we  searched for leftover pecans in the tall grass and under the wet leaves.  We only found very few.  And if we happened to find a lot, immediately you'd feel guilty - this crop belongs to the kibbutz, you would say.  But shortly after you would snap out of it and we would stuff our bags, because booty is booty, after all.  Lesson #1.

We arrived at the pecan grove after we left our bikes somewhere in the orchard and made the rest of the way by foot, since it was too muddy (and those who're familiar with the Kfar Blum mud know that you put put your foot down and take a step, but your boot probably got left behind, stuck in the deep, sticky mud).  Or, we rode our bike on the road to the neighboring kibbutz and came into the pecan grove through the hole in the fence.  Even when I returned to the same spot years later as an adult-wannabe - this time before the harvest, the fence was still broken just the same and provided for a quick escape route in case the orchard "police" arrived.  (You wouldn't believe it, Eema, but there's much easier way to do all that.  It turns out that they store the pecan nuts in the packing facility.  The bounty is right there.  Just reach in and grab them.  No need to drown in the mud or to break or back or get caught by the rain.  10 minutes of bravery in the darkness and it's all over. But, SHHHHHH.....)

Truth is, I loved some parts of this adventure and of course I loved the taste of the pecans.  But I didn't like looking through the tall grass for the scarce pecans.  It was too boring for a young boy.  And while we're on the subject, I didn't always enjoy the many other adventures of yours you pulled me into behind you:  butchering a live chicken, cleaning carp fish you caught in the Jordan river, fishing with you, learning how to throw a cricket ball, visiting Bethlehem on Christmas night . . . and a few others that I forgot over the years.  They were scary, boring, disgusting . . .  But, looking back after all these years and being the dad that I'm now, how can I not be proud of the way you brought me up?  You did with me such unique things which most moms never do with their sons.  You opened me to the world.

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 Where did you get them? Did you steal them?  I asked the homeless-teethless guy in an authoritative tone of a middle age man who is till working and is likely to work for the rest of his life on achieving the American Dream.  He looked at me with his innocent eyes.  "Of course not, there", he said, pointing to, well, somewhere in midtown (and I did believe him for some reason).  We were in the heart of midtown, where there are plenty of houses and office buildings and asphalt and concrete and even a few parks, but I can't remember any pecan grove anywhere.  I didn't reveal to him that I'm a semi-pro pecan petty-thief and that you can rarely find such quantity as he carried under a single tree.  But I didn't like his negative answer.  My virtual buzzer immediately sounded his alarm -- eeeeeeeeeh.  What and idiot, I thought to myself.  Wrong answer.  If you told me they were stolen I may have given you $10 instead of $5 (for the bravery, camaraderie, or simply my own stupidity).  What are you gonna do with the money, I tried to push him into a corner.  "Oh, I'll go to Crystal's and get me a nice meal", he squeezed between his noteeth.  That was actually a good answer (the virtual buzzer stayed silent).   You see, as a matter of principle I don't give money to any beggar.  But this guy worked for it and he looked too thin.  I thought maybe the saturated fats of the fast food would do him some good.  Why don't you eat some of these nuts? Put on some fats maybe. 

In other words, Eema, some of your adventurous spirit got into me.  I gladly gave the guy the $5 for the pecans.  Hmm, where am I gonna put them, I wondered, as if it's any of his problem.  And what if the bag breaks on the way?  But my new friend was a creative guy, it turns out.  He quickly reached into an adjacent dumpster and pull out another plastic bag - just like the one I was holding with the nuts in it.  No thanks, I'll be ok.  And the wheels were already churning,  trying to figure out how I will disinfect all these nuts from who the hell knows what kind of germs. 

And, just like the old days, I got on my bike, improvising space for my new load, and resumed the trip home.  The rain already reached me by now and it got cold in a hurry . . . And Monya, which meanwhile listened to the weather forecast and looked with worried eyes toward the west and the darkening skies would probably holler at you 'why are you taking him to these adventures of yours?  And what if you got caught in the rain?'  But deep inside he might have been happy that his son is getting trained for the steeplechase marathon life is.

Then I sat at home, just like Monya, and with a hammer cracked open the entire 5-10 kilos, one nut at a time.  Nostalgia was in the air.  And just FYI, the city pecans are not like their kibbutznick relatives.  The kibbutznicks, just like the guys who grow them, are big, tanned, their shell is strong, it's hard to crack them open.  They're proud and full of ego.   The city pecans, on the other hand, are small and poor looking.  They were not irrigated.  Relied on the scarce rain.  Their shell is thin.  They cry a small ooowwww as soon as the hammer just touches them.  Their "meat" is thin and small.  But Eema, these are tough times for the world economy.  You got to be happy with anything you can get your hands on.

And then, to the oven.  I remembered:  20-30 minutes in a 350 degrees oven.  Check them often, you said.  I did not forget.  Take them out a bit early, you taught me, as the pecans keep baking themselves while cooling down.  I remembered.  We sat, we talked, we ate - dammit, the pecans are in the oven.  I totally forgot!!!  But, it turns out that forgetting is maybe part of the secret recipe.  Without forgetting they would not have come out that good, eh? 

Eema, you know I'm a very modest guy, but they came out really good.  Just like back in the days.  Kudos to the chef.  You used to say that there's nothing like the taste of roasted pecans - the crunch, the surprising sweetness that the roast is able to bring out.  You were almost right.  Only one thing tastes better:  stolen roasted pecans.  And today, as I cracked  a few and watched Meitav's surprised face as she tasted them, I felt some of you and your spirit within me.  Somehow passing on the tradition.

So here's to you, Eema, a virtual glass of beer.