I am a world of one participating in a universe of many. My bits and bobs are arranged as nonstandard, impractical commodities contemporaneous with being disposed as normative and utilitarian. My blends are not patently better or worse than are others’ initiatives. Any merit attached to my work derives from my deliberations being a seizable voice. One size never fit all and never will. At best, my declarations suit some persons, sometimes. Even so, few deeds delight me more than producing word assemblages. I am happiest when exercising my mind, videlicet, when storytelling.
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Strengthened, I again am able to nurture. I use diet, not drugs, to combat Missy Older’s allergies. I make an effort to teach Older Dude to share our garden with our neighbors, our toys with our visitors, and our living room with Missy Younger. I show Older Dude and Missy Older how to use words to stop bullies. I gift myself with affirmations.
In fifty essays, On Golden Limestone glimpses the Israeli people, their communication, their day-to-day goings on, and their momentous occasions. Living in Israel means embracing multiculturalism, joining in an array of lifecycle events, and easing up on relationship strictures. Although immigrants bring foreign particularities to this place of sand and sun, Israel pours an even greater depth of character into her newcomers. It remains important, in this unique quarter, to differentiate among: modes of gesturing, ways of bargaining, and avenues for seeking children’s spouses. Few geographies proffer enormity per parking tickets, dentists, or ethnic violence, concurrent with ascribing significance to aureate sunsets.
I used to harbor affection for all things blue and green. My world was one of ultramarine and cobalt, of viridian and cerulean. After making aliyah, I developed a new aesthetic. Now, umbers and siennas, cadmiums and ochres stir me. Where once woodlands and carpet-like valleys moved me to develop free verse or to reach for literal canvas, these days, sandy hilltops and burnt-looking wadis provoke me to write and to paint.
It is difficult to know whether I consciously changed to acclimate to my external surroundings or whether my external surroundings, without invitation from me, caused my metamorphosis. I dreamed of living in The Holy Land, but never thought that my desire would become actualized in my lifetime. I was a secular academic whose vision had been limited to two children and to tenure at some state university.