latest by jen
Do you trust me?
My one son has the memory of an elephant. He can remember the details of events that happened when he was three, trips we took when he was four. My other son — not so much. He hardly remembers his best friends from America, and what he does remember is from stories we’ve told him and pictures we’ve shown. We’ve fabricated most of his memories by sharing our own. What I mean by that is, …
Classified: In need of better ice cream in Israel
I made my own ice cream last night. I did this out of despair. I do not like store bought Israeli ice cream. It’s awful. Even the halavi (dairy) ice cream (as opposed to the soy-based parve) is gross. A complete waste of calories, if you care about that kind of thing. I don’t. I just want some decent ice cream every now and again. For a while, I would splurge on the Ben & …
What I am is what I am until I am not
Most of my greatest ideas come to me either in the shower or while I’m drying my hair. As do some of the most confounding philosophical dilemmas. Today in the shower, I found my mind starting to spin towards that place called: What is my purpose? I started wondering, “Is this who I am supposed to be? Is this what I am supposed to be doing?” I started to feel concern that I wasn’t acting …
Smells of Shabbat
One day in the future My son will need some air. He’ll leave home Seeking solace If only for a minute or two. On his journey toward temporary peace He will come upon The smell of roasted potatoes with rosemary Two minutes to go til burning The scent will float beneath his nostrils And he will remember tonight… Walking with me Up and down emptying streets Through quieting paths Around quickly passing cars Parking on …
Is blogging the new MFA program?
Before I was in high tech, I was in publishing. At Scholastic, I worked in the creative marketing department, not directly with authors, but with their work; trying to make their work appeal to the largest audience as possible. My claim to fame is that I wrote responses to fan letters for R.L. Stine and K.A. Applegate. So if you came of age in the late 90s, we were probably pen pals. I also was …
Daily Prompt: Legs Wide Open (Straddling the Myers Briggs)
Today’s Daily Prompt from the folks at WordPress: Are you comfortable in front of people, or does the idea of public speaking make you want to hide in the bathroom? Why? I read this prompt a few times before responding. Frankly, I don’t think it’s an either/or, and just goes to show how careful one must be when making comparisons. I am very comfortable in front of people. AND the idea of public speaking makes …
Learning by metaphor
You know you are meant to learn a lesson when it’s offered to you in metaphor three times in one week. Last week, I wrote an ode to Yom Kippur. One of my friends commented by referencing a Dvar Torah given by a friend and neighbor during the holiday: She used driving a car as symbolic of seeing into the future (forward) and the past (rear view mirror) at the same time. She said it …
I see beauty
When I first moved to Israel, as when I first fell in love with my husband, everything was beautiful: The early morning mountains which framed a glorious sky peppered with misshapen clouds. The herds of cows that grazed by the side of the road in fields glistening with morning dew. The herb garden I grew from seedlings and the lemon tree i tended in my front yard. All instilled me daily with wonder. But as …
The Key to the Treasure
I grabbed the nearest book: Tolstoy Lied by Rachel Kadish. I’m about ten pages from the end, but I picked up the book and opened to a random page in order to complete today’s Daily Prompt. Grab the nearest book. Open it and go to the tenth word. Do a Google Image Search of the word. Write about what the image brings to mind. The tenth word on the random page i opened was “key.” …
The trouble with sorry
The hardest thing for me to tolerate on Yom Kippur is not absence of food; It’s the absence of tomorrow. On Yom Kippur, we are present. We are asked to let go of yesterday’s mistakes, to forgive others, and ourselves. We are solemn in our awareness of the gift of a clean slate. Of a clean tomorrow. But this is difficult for me. My busy mind. Everyone else’s mind is busy with thoughts of food …
Today is 9/11/13
On this day, when many of us remember a September 11th that felt out-of-order (to say the least), we may find some comfort in… order. 9 11 13 is a sequence of consecutive odd numbers. You may remember this from first grade, or from watching Cyberchase with your preschooler. Or, it may have come to you quite accidentally while you were eating a chunk light tuna and cucumber unsandwich (aka tuna and cucumber on a plate.) There …
All Signs Point to Yes
What does the future hold for you? The Daily Prompt wants an answer in six words only. I love a good Ernest Hemingway inspired challenge so here goes it with a few predictions, some dark, some light. I’ll keep making mistakes, catching breaks. or Say hello to Sarin from Syria or I will learn, finally, to breathe.
How to recognize a poet
If you write poetry and no one reads it, is it still a poem? What if no one likes it? Gets it? Shares it? What if it’s never published? Never praised? Is it still a poem? How — really — does one recognize a poet? Is the title earned? Learned? I admit — I am a reluctant poet. Reluctant, not because I don’t enjoy weaving short thoughtful phrases together and calling it poetry, and not …
Traumatized by a long dead bug
Every time something beyond my sight touches my skin — whether it is a strand of hair, a computer wire, or a strong gust of wind — I assume a bug is crawling on me. I shutter. I swat. I slap. Often times, a bug is indeed crawling on me. After all, I live in Israel, a country that is still in many ways upper third world — at best, lower first world. But many …
Sex and gas masks and the absurdity of it all
You know you live in Israel when your in-laws offer to take 2 of your 3 children for a sleepover, you return home with your husband and sleeping 3rd child, you strip off your clothes, get into bed and your first thought is not “How much hot sex with my husband can I have right now?” but “Oh shit, <said in-laws> have two gas masks (if any at all) and room for approximately 2 1/2 …
Crazy Jen and her digital detox
In a discussion with my mother last week, I explained to her with confidence that a group of people were surely talking about me when I left the room. “How exactly do you know that?” she asked me. “I just do,” I replied. “How?” she pressed. I explained to her that in the same way she is brilliant when it comes to data analysis or number crunching, I know people and their behavior. It’s not …
What’s worse? Jet lag or war?
As if jet lag, back-to-school prep, protecting my kids from a polio outbreak and returning to work after a 2 1/2 week long digital detox wasn’t stressful enough, now I have to worry about a Syrian attack before Thursday. Wait. TOMORROW is Thursday? Holy crap. HOLY CRAP. I should have bought more Tums while I was in the States. Or I should have taken a longer vacation. Either way, I am in deep doo doo …
“Cheerful Birthday to Me:” a ballad sung solo
My birthday is this month. In two weeks, to be exact. August 19. Just about 39 times, I’ve grown older on August 19 and it still feels off. Why? I’m a numbers girl and 19 has never quite fit me. Not now, not when I was 19, not ever. First of all, in general, I prefer even numbers to odd. And second of all, nine sounds harsh, and nineteen harsher. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F0rPFASUXY&w=420&h=315] The 20th seems like a …
- Dreams |
- Letting Go |
- Mindfulness |
- Writing |
Art of attraction
- Writing |
This poem comes in pencil only
- Community |
- Letting Go |
- Love |
- Memory |
- Writing |
Tell me a secret I don’t already know
- Kibbutz |
- Making Friends |
- Memory |
- Mindfulness |
- Relationships |
Return to sender
- Letting Go |
- Love |
- Writing |
Pretty lies
- Writing |
What’s Off-Limits When I Die
- Community |
- Letting Go |
- Memory |
The Things We Keep
- Family |
- Letting Go |
- Memory |
- Mindfulness |
Since I put your picture in a frame
- Writing |
The poetry inside other people’s cardboard boxes
- Nonfiction |