The Sacrifice

Banks are not my 'cup of tea', but this one was an exception; firstly, because of its attractive facade, pleasant staff & atmosphere, and location near a garden; secondly, because of an aquaintance of mine who used to work there. Whenever this aquaintance saw me in the bank she greeted me warmly and it was a pleasure to exchange a few words with her.

One day she saw me, and ...ignored me. I told my brother about that as she was the wife of one of his friends. He said that she was avoiding everyone because of their eldest son - a fresh soldier, who had collapsed during an army drill, was hospitalized, and after a while released both from the hospital and the army and put on medication. I asked my brother for details as to the nature of the collapse, but he couldn't provide any as both parents had refused to talk about it even with friends.

The worst was yet to come. During the period of intense worry for her son, this aquaintance of mine, Aliza, a pretty woman about 45 years of age, a top employee at the bank, was diagnosed with liver cancer. I visited her at the hospital two weeks before her death.There was something about her that immediately caught my attention: her beautiful hair was intact, face not much altered, and when she smiled with her pearly little teeth , one could hardly guess she was dying.

It was at the funeral, that the secret was disclosed to me. After the burrial and before leaving the cemetery, her mourning husband whispered in my ear that she had strongly refused to receive chemotherapic treatment. The logic behind her decision was that: Liver cancer is fatal. Chemotherapy might prolong her life with several more months but the price would be too high, it could kill her son. Still not completely recovered from his collapse, seeing his mother, in a highly helpless situation between hair loss and vomiting sessions - it would have been the end of him.

I believe the son is not without health problems today, but he 's got a job , a wife, and two kids. Sometimes, I wonder whether he knows about his mother's sacrifice.

I've closed my account at the bank, one of the reasons being that it fills me with deep sadness to enter this place and not see Aliza's familiar face there. Whenever near the building, I still enjoy, however, having a look at its appealing facade and its compact, modern architecture.

Beer and Lace

Belgium is a cute little european country famous for its chocolates (Godivas, Leonidas confections) its beer (about 700! types of beer), its lace, and many historical, architectural, cultural attractions . When on tour at belgian chocolate factories or beer breweries, one gets to sample the products , and this in itself is a tasty, wonderful experience.

My great surprise at the time of my visit in Belgium, was that at McDonald's - a child and family oriented chain, with most of the staff underage - they sold...beer, an alcoholic beverage. I thought that was strange. In reply to my questions on the matter, I was told that in Belgium , there were generally fewer restrictions and age related limitations on alcohol consumption than in the USA and other countries, and that beer drinking in particular was a major part of belgian culture. Belgium, so it appeared, was the first country in the world that served beer in its McDonalds.

I must admit that I myself greatly liked the idea of beer with my Mac meal . I was tired and hungry from touring , so a glass of icy cold beer to wash down the Mac burger and the fries was very welcomed . Besides , it was a new experience for me. I usually don't drink alcoholic beverages. It's not that I don't like to , it's just that these beverages don't like me; a drop of wine and my head drops , and this is embarrassing when you're sitting at the table with people. With the belgian beer I 've had no problem at all. Anyway, my all time favourite cold beverage is soda water or sparkling mineral water.

The gem of any tour in Belgium is the well preserved city of Brugges. It' s often called "Venice of the North" because of its canals and bridges. Brugges is synonymous with lace as the 'bobbin lace' work ( a branch of lace making) is a specialty of this city.

Lace -making has an history of exploitation of girls from poor families. The girls , good at this craft because of their little nimble fingers , were considered cheap labour, . Lace making was a sedentary kind of work, bad for the eyes and for the spine. Young girls in convents were sitting for hours bent up, not allowed to raise their eyes from their work. As a result of the hard physical conditions they looked pale, weak, undersized. The girls paid a very heavy personal price to allow the bourgeoise ladies the pleasure of wearing lace.

Nowadays , lace is made chiefly as small souvenirs (doilies mainly) as it is very expensive for other purposes. Anyway, no one leaves Brugges without a souvenir of lace and neither did I.

In the photo below we see a girl dressed in a traditional outfit sitting outside and demonstrating the craft of lace-making.

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The "Flexible" Pharmacy

It was in a small building on a narrow lateral street. Inside, there were only two people serving the customers- a wife and her husband, both pharmacists.

I was directed to this pharmacy with the recommendation that it was " flexible" , meaning that one could get stuff unobtainable at other pharmacies. And it wasn't for money. The middle-aged couple were just kind people trying to help wherever and whenever possible.

My mother had been suffering for some time of a bad ear itching. Nothing helped relieve the problem except a certain solution prescribed by an experienced ear doctor. It was a cheap solution and easily prepared by any pharmacist. To my astonishment, I found myself one day in the position that nobody wanted to prepare it for me . It appeared that the active ingredient, 'boron', was found to be carcinogenic in children, and its use was forbidden by the Health Authorities. Well, my mother was no child and she insisted on having the solution at any cost. That's why and how I got to the 'flexible' pharmacy.

It was a good feeling to enter this place - an intimate, family establishment, with a nicely arranged interior and superb service. One day, I found the front door closed, and on it an obituary announcing the sudden death of the woman pharmacist. The shop reopened some two months later. The man was unrecognizable; he looked a human wreck. He told me he had made a great effort to return to work hoping it would give him a chance to go on living, as he felt he couldn't make it without his wife.

The next time I came to the place, I saw one corner full with shoe boxes. What was all that about? The man said he intended to turn his pharmacy into a shoe shop. Since his wife's death he had developed some health issues and was afraid to deal with preparation and selling of medications ; so he decided on something he was familiar with from childhood when he used to help his father in the family-owned shoe shop . The pharmacist sounded to me confused, so I left without asking for the solution.

I happened to be in that vicinity several more times. He was not there, the pharmacist, and I saw no shoe shop but a cosmetics shop, and next time there was a hairdresser's shop, and then a food shop. Flexible place indeed...

The entire episode gave me much food to thought. I've seen men deteriorate after their wife's death but not so quickly and not in such an abrupt manner. What happened in this particular case was perhaps the fact that they had no life at all without each other ; they were together all the time : at home and at work.

As for the difficulty in obtaining the solution - a friend pharmacist of mine was among those who refused to prepare it for me after the 'boron' element was put on the "black list". I reminded him of the saying "A friend in need is a friend indeed" and cut off any contact with him. I was confident that I would have taken the risk of ignoring the stupid health regulation to help a friend in distress ('stupid' was the word used by him later on when he tried to apologize for his behaviour).

At The Parade ; On The Fishing Boat

On last Sunday, day of the joyous and colorful Purim holiday, there were heavy rains , so the annual traditional Purim Youth Parade was postponed until Friday ( March 5). On Friday the weather was rather hot , but the parade... paraded nevertheless. After the procession came to an end, all the participating youth groups and the general public gathered around three main stages placed on the avenue where the municipality building of our town is located, to watch a variety of outdoor dance, music, and circus shows.

Here's a short slideshow I've created with some snaps taken at the Purim Parade (Adloiada - עדלוידע). Open up the speakers, please!

On The Fishing Boat

"The most wasted of all days is the one during which you did not laugh".

[" One morning the husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although not familiar with the lake, his wife decides to take the boat out. She motors out a short distance, anchors and reads her book.

Along comes a Game Warden in his boat, he pulls up alongside the woman and says:

- Good Morning Ma'am, what are you doing?

- Reading a book, she replies (thinking... isn't that obvious?)

-You're in a Restricted Fishing Area, he informs her.

- I'm sorry officer, but I'm not fishing, I'm reading.

- Yes, but you have all the Equipment. For all I know, you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up.

- For reading a book?

- You're in a Restricted Fishing Area , he informs her again.

- I'm sorry officer, but I'm not fishing. I'm reading.

- Yes, but you have all the Equipment. Again, for all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up.

- If you do that, I'll have to charge you with sexual assault, says the woman.

- But I haven't even touched you, says the Game Warden

- That's true, but you have all the Equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment.

- Have a nice day Ma'am, and he left"].

Moral:
"Never argue with a woman who reads. She can also think."

The Tajiki Avalanche

Tajikistan , a former USSR country, lies in central Asia bordered by Uzbekistan, Kyrkizstan, Afganistan, and China. It's capital, Dushanbe, known for its monday market, derives its name from the tajiki word for Monday. Tajikistan is not yet widely attractive touristically , but its Pamir Mountains, also named "The Roof of the World" and considered a challenging mountain range , have attracted professional climbers for years.

The first time I showed any interest in this country was when I met the new cleaning woman in our office building. She was originally from Dushanbe, the capital city, and kept telling me about the place with its tree-lined streets and many monuments , and also about the tajiki various customs.

Tajiki food was a constant subject in our conversations, and sometimes she used to treat me with delicacies brought from her home kitchen such as samosas, pirmeni (small noodle sacks with meat &veggies similar to ravioli). Their staple dish is 'plov' made up of scraps of mutton and rice fried in a large wok. A small curiosity: the Tajikis eat sweet dishes like halwa, and drink tea, before proceeding to soup and meat.

Tajikistan and the Pamir mountains came forcefully into my awareness on july 1990 with the dramatic news that an avalanche set off by an earthquake in the Pamir range swept 45 climbers from different countries to their death. Among these climbers was Benny, a 20 year old alpinist, son of an israeli sovietolog of russian descent, Mikhail Agursky.

It happened late in the night: a minor earthquake caused an ice block to fall off the slope and trigger an enormous ice-snow avalanche ;this avalanche burried the tents and the people at the mountaneering camp located at some 6000 meter up in the Pamir mountains.

An expedition of rescuers was organized, and Agursky, the father, over 60 and not in the best of health, but with knowledge of the language and the mentality of the place joined them to look for his son. There were heart-rending descriptions in the newspapers of that time about the father who stayed at the foot of the mountains for more than two weeks in hope of finding his son dead or alive.

Despite of long time -searching by helicopters and specialist rescuers , only one body was found (that of a woman climber). Out of 45 only two climbers survived the disaster.

The father came back again the following year (after raising the neccessary money), to try to recover his son's body, but - no results. After a while, he was found dead in his hotel room; It was believed he suffered a stroke, but it wouldn't be untrue to say that he died of a broken heart. How sad!

"Deadly" Encounter at the Dead Sea

A former co-worker of mine, Avi, was a sad case of psoriasis(psoriasis - a chronic disease which manifests itself through thick scales and dry red itching patches on the skin). He had it all over his body: on face, scalp, elbows, nails, back. His psoriasis first appeared after he had experienced divorce, so he blamed it all on his ex- wife.

She was an ambitious young lawyer and he was a law graduate who didn't feel like working as a lawyer; she wanted to consolidate her career, he wanted babies - that's how it all started. She was the one who asked for a divorce and he felt devastated for months. When I first met him he was already married to his second wife , apparently the very opposite of his first one: simple and vulgar , but in his condition he couldn't afford to be choosy.

Exposure to the sun and bathing in the salty, mineral rich waters of the Dead Sea - were the only means that helped him relieve itching and pains without undesirable side effects . Twice a year he used to take a three -week vacation and go the Dead Sea , at the Ein Bokek zone which was well equipped with a Solarium, carefully planned to absorb the sun's rays, and provide the patients with the best facilities and treatments possible.

On his return from these Dead Sea vacations, Avi seemed to be a completely different person. His skin was smooth and clear; his self esteem high, and he looked very handsome and relaxed. The period of complete relief lasted about six months till the next attack of the disease.

Every year Ein-Bokek is invaded by hundreds of psoriatic people from all over the world. Avi had friendly connections with many of them ; he was especially attached ( platonic attachment , he said) to an austrian lady (he himself being of austrian descent and speaking the german language); they used to plan their vacations to the Dead Sea so that they arrive together at the spot and leave together, she to Wien, he to Tel-Aviv.

Knowing his wife's violent temper he didn't tell her about his austrian friend, but she found out and demanded to accompany him on his Dead Sea vacations. He strongly opposed the idea saying that without a relaxed atmosphere , away from the stress of home and work , the treatments will have zero effect on his skin disease.

During one of his last Dead Sea vacations, his wife decided to take her little car and drive to Ein Bokek to see with her own eyes what was going on there. Avi was not in his hotel room , so she waited for him in the semi darkness. When he entered his room... accompanied by the austrian friend, she took a chair and threw it at them, and then another one, and then any heavy item found in the room. The two , taken by surprise, couldn't stop her. Luckily the heavy items didn't reach their heads, but hit all the other body parts. For the "finish", she approached them and used her fists and sharp finger nails.. They were left bleeding and in pain.

At this point, our ways , mine and Avi's, went separately as the office got closed and we were transferred to units in different cities.
About two years ago I bumped into him. He looked surprisingly well. He was of course more mature and completely bald, but his skin was radiant.

"Have you been to the Dead Sea lately"? asked I
"No, I haven't been there for quite a long time. I am very busy , and I'm tired of commuting to this place".
"Then how come you look so terrific" ?
"I ask myself the same question" he said, "and have no clear-cut answer to that. I think it's a miracle, and at any rate, I believe that the whole psoriasis matter has to do with my two ex-wives, divorce being the trigger. I got the disease after the first wife filed for a divorce, and I got rid of the disease after I asked my second wife for a divorce. It has all come full circle" .
It has indeed..

Gain and Loss in the "Shield Oasis"

My hometown had several neighborhoods whose name started with the word Neve (oasis). The oldest and most famous was Neve Magen - The Shield Oasis. This neighborhood (adjacent to ours) , was established for the families of high rank officers in the Army. It had little streets with private cute houses and with a very special atmosphere, that of a community with common interests. In tense times (during pre-war,war, post-war), the atmosphere became that of a close family.

A haute-couture seamstress whose clientelle was based almost entirely on the wives and daughters of those army officers lived in our vicinity. One day she turned to me ,a high -school girl, and asked whether I would be willing, after school hours, to keep an eye on a seven year old boy whose mother had died untimely on the previous year. I was to stay with him until his father, the officer, gets back from Headquarters or any of the grandparents show up, whatever comes first. I accepted the offer as the money was generous, the boy, Danny, seemed well behaved, and I was kind of excited to play 'little mother' to him.

One day, Danny came home from school with a black swollen eye. He got beatten by a classmate. The next day, our officer took the kid by hand and the two strolled towards the school building which was not far , to face the little agressor. The latter was not present as he got suspended from school immediately after the incident , so, our arrogant officer (yes, he was very arrogant) "spilled " it all on the young teacher. He accused her , in front of the whole class, of incompetence, lack of control and failure to impose discipline, threatened to have her fired , and finally made her burst into tears.

When father and son came back home, the boy entered his tiny room, locked the door, and refused to eat and/or talk to his father. He cried loudly and bitterly repeating between the heartaching sobs the one question :how dare you talk like this to my beloved teacher?.

I approached the officer and told him he must go look for the teacher ,apologize in front of her, and ask her to come talk to the boy. Since he loved his child more than his arrogance, he did that. He arrived with the teacher . The boy unlocked the door and fell into her arms, still neither looking at, nor speaking to his father. The teacher was invited to stay for dinner. She stayed for dinner, and then... stayed forever. It all happened very fast: the officer had fallen in love with her, asked her to marry him and insisted that she quit her job as a teacher.

I was very proud to have been the 'architect' of all this happy end. However, I was also aware of the fact that the three were winners, I was the loser in this story. They all got Love plus something: the teacher got a loving husband, the officer got a loving wife, the boy got a loving stepmother and private teacher , whereas I was about to lose a job with good money.
As they say : One person's Gain is another Person's Loss.

Happy Valentine's Day!

From Dover to Calais

Every now and then I make plans to join a cruise, but nothing comes out of these plans as I am afraid of seasickness, 'mal de mer', as the French call it. This kind of fear prevents many people from taking a cruise vacation; it's no secret that seasickness can turn a pleasant trip into a miserable, embarrassing experience.

I 've been on boats and ferries for short trips, never on a big cruise ship. I'm told a big ship has huge stabilisers and so less motion. The larger the ship the less it will rock, and if you position yourself in a midcabin, that is, in the center ,where the least motion is felt, and prior to the voyage you take some precautions , then the chances of not getting seasick are very good.

I'll never ever forget the ferry voyage across the british channel or as the french call it La Manche ( the sleeve), from Dover port in south-east England to Calais port on the northern coast of France. The channel is " an arm of the Atlantic Ocean that separates England from northern France and joins the North Sea to the Atlantic" (Wikipedia) . The most cheap and convenient way to cross the channel was by ferry, departures occurring every thirty (30) minutes.

On the day of the voyage the sea was rough, but visibility was good and the service to Calais was running normally. On the ferry, people around me were talking, laughing, eating, having fun , and only I had terrible nausea, and loss of color in my face. Even the color of my eyes, normally green, was fade and lifeless. An english lady wanted to help and gave me something to smell, but that made things worse and I began to vomit and feel cold. At this point, I was willing to accept medical intervention. I was administered an injection which brought about quick relief.

The trip lasted for about an hour, but for me it seemed like eternity. Looking back, I think that a bottle of soda water would have done a good job from the start in helping me get rid of the nauseous feelings, but for some unknown reason I forgot to ask for one.

They say the cause of seasickness lies in some disturbance in the inner ear. There are lots of theories as to what could prevent it, but I knew almost nothing about that at the time. Anyway, the most mentioned tips to deal with seasickness are: accupressure wrist bands, ginger capsules, scopolamine patches behind the ear, taking deep breaths, being on the deck in the fresh air facing forwards , staring in the distance and not focusing on the moving ship etc...

By the way, WHY did the wave rush up on to the beach? IT was feeling seasick.

"SaharaSorbonne" Couscous

It was because of a bad neighbour that I came to believe there might be some grain of truth in the saying: " you can take a man out of the desert, you cannot take the desert out of the man". The neighbor, Mr. A, was born in a small town on the fringes of the moroccan Sahara , which like some other towns and villages in that area served as a gateway to the vast desert.

[This region of Morocco is nowadays a very popular and highly exciting tourist attraction. Towns like Marrakesh, Quarzarzate , Merzouga , Zagora have become famous as starting points for treks in the Sahara desert. Here is the place where all the arrangements are made to ensure that tourists get a one-time experience which includes riding camels, feeling the dunes of sand, watching the nomads and palm grooves, sleeping in tents, and listening to the the unique stillness of the desert].

It so happened that when this neighbor was about 10 years old, a french movie producer spotted his elder sister and found her fit for the role of a native girl who could ride a camel and speak the local dialect. When the film shooting was over, he took her with him to Paris. The moroccon family followed her and settled there permanently . After graduating from Sorbonne (philosophy ?!) Mr. A couldn't 'find himself' in France, so he came to Israel, where he 'found us' and made our life a misery.

It started with the little garden which was common to both appartments: his and ours. Whatever my mother planted, he destroyed. She kept planting flowers and trees , he kept destroying them and levelling the earth. It went on to the water issue. He warned us not to"waste" water on the garden, but he shamelessly used the garden water pipe to wash his car, and there were many other things that made us unhappy, to say the least. My mother didn't want to file a complaint against him. We were afraid , he had "friends" who were apparently close to the philosophy of Sicily not to that of Sorbonne.

It was only when he started demolishing walls in his appartment, and changing his cars as often as one would change one's socks - that my mother finally understood the situation was hopeless. " It seems the man has the desert in his blood and veins" she said bitterly. "He doesn't want a garden but an arid plot, he 's restless in his appartment, he'll feel at ease only close to earth, perhaps in a tent, cars don't seem to suit him well, probably only camels will do." "But Mom, he's got a diploma from the Sorbonne university in Paris, I saw it with my own eyes." "Well , education has its limits ; it probably cannot always, if at all, change the essence of a person, only the outer layers, and in his case not even this," she said.

After her 'discovery', we felt that the only thing to do was to pray to God to help us get rid of him by way of making him consider moving to another place. God heard and accepted our prayers. . At the end of that year, Mr. A finally got tired and bored of constantly demolishing and remodelling the walls which seemed to strangle him, and moved to another building, in the center of the town. I knew where he lived so I kept away from that area to avoid bumping into him.

One day, a friend of mine wanted us to meet in a small coffee shop located in that "red zone". Although I wasn't sure the 'philosopher' was still around, I was reluctant to meet her there, but she insisted. We sat at a table outside the cafe. After we had our chat and coffee, we asked the waitress for the bill. "It has been taken care of'' she said . "What do you mean, by whom?" She looked me into the eyes and said :"By Mr. A, my boss, who wants you to feel welcome here." So, he was the owner of the coffee shop. I kind of panicked, I didn't want to see him, and didn't want his free coffee.

My friend decided to do something about it. She felt guilty for insisting on coming here, so she went into the coffee shop, thanked him, using all her arsenal of charming french words , paid the bill , brought the receipt for me to see it and calm down. When I rose from my seat intending to leave the cafe, a heavy hand pushed me back into it and a known voice in a french accent said : "You're not going anywhere without eating my couscous first"; a bowl of hot couscous ( moroccon specialty based on granules made from semolina flour) was placed in front of me.

I forgot to mention that the only good thing I remember about my former neighbor was his ability to prepare the best couscous imaginable. Well, I could never resist the temptation of eating good couscous.

What a place...to die !

Someone has recently emailed me a little something with a sort of surprise ending. Here it is:

"Two women talking in heaven"

1st woman: Hi , Wanda

2nd woman: Hi , Sylvia. How'd you die?

1st woman: I froze to death

2nd woman: How horrible!

1st woman : It wasn't so bad. After I quit shaking from the cold I began to get warm and sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?

2nd woman: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband was cheating on me, so I came home early to catch him in the act. But instead I found him all by himself in the den watching TV.

1st woman: So what happened?

2nd woman: I was so sure that there was another woman there somewhere that I started running all over the house looking for her. I ran up into the attic and searched, and then down into the basement. Then I went through every closet and checked under all beds. I kept this up until I had looked everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted I just kneeled over with a heart attack and died.

1st woman: Too bad you didn't look in the freezer - - - we'd both still be alive.

The Chernobyl Curse

graffity seen in Prypiat

She looks like a shadow, moves like a shadow; it's only when you place your head into her hands and she gently starts washing it, massaging the scalp, and then styling your hair - only then does she look and sound human, a lively female creature full of energy and humor.
Ina (short for Irina) is a Chernobyl survivor.

Yes, Chernobyl- that dreadful region in Ukraine where on 26 April 1986 early morning , the most devastating nuclear disaster of all times occurred. They said the explosion in the nuclear plant, located close to the town of Prypiat at the border with the Belarus republic, was the result of faulty design of one of the reactors and mistakes done by workers.

[There will always be mistakes, ( " to err is human...") so what does that mean to us? It means that the end of the world is not utopy; all you need to make it happen , is some 'mistake' at a nuclear plant] .

Almost twenty-four years later, the affected area is still a 'dead zone' with deserted towns and villages, decaying ghost houses and high radiation which will remain high for hundreds if not thousands of years. At first, there was talk of a 30 km 'dead zone' around the plant, but as the years went by , it became clear that it was much larger, 300 km at least.
(I strongly recommend reading about it on the website elenaefimova.com It's a must).

Ina had been exposed to moderate radiation. When she arrived in Israel in 1991 she was diagnosed with two types of cancer. She claims that she's clean now of malignancy due to some unique treatment (combined conventional and alternative means) administered to her by a russian doctor living in Germany and specializing in radiation victims.

Anyway, on the day of my appointment with her, after she had finished 'upgrading' my hair , and I was above to leave the tiny hairdresser 's unit attached to her appartment, I said to Ina the following : "the person who has recommended you, told me that you are too good to be true, and I agree with every word".
"Oh , it's not me , it's my obsessive behaviour about hair", she said in surprising honesty.

It appears that as a result of her long periods of Hair Loss, side-effect of chemotherapic treatments, she has developed an obsessive need to touch and work with women's hair in its live, natural place- on the head. She's very skilled and her hairstyling is considered of high quality. Once a month she volunteers her services as a hairdresser to hospitals and aged people's homes in her area.

On that evening, I attended a festive event. A friend complimented me about the way my hair looked and asked who did it. "I'm afraid it's not Who, it's What - apparently, a 'neurobehavioral' disorder did it" said I , and told her about Ina and her confession.

Tough Question

The other day I went to do some shopping at the Azrieli Center shopping mall in Tel Aviv. The large mall is located in the circular tower , the tallest of the three towers composing the Complex, the other two being the square tower and the triangular tower. I hate towers , but since I was looking for a specific item and I couldn't find it anywhere else, this place was my last resort, and so I found myself standing in line for the security check at the entrance.

Nearby, a bunch of girls were giggling and trying to get the attention of a young soldier. They were repeatedly , between the giggles , humming a line from an english song:"...what a looker he was...". I was familiar with the line and the melody, but I couldn't ,at that instance, associate it with any known song or singer.

The soldier 'played it' completely indifferent, but not so the young checker who was throwing furtive glances at the girls instead of concentrating entirely on the bag content of each visitor; which made me think that under the circumstances, a smart terrorist could have had no much difficulty introducing a little cute bomb into the building . Just like in the movies, using the distraction element. But, I was wrong, a security man appeared from nowhere, approached the girls and removed them from the spot.

Anyway, when I got home it suddenly struck me: the line "...what a mover/ looker/groover" belonged to a hit song performed by the british disco singer Tina Charles. I turned to Youtube to find out stuff on her, and I was pleasantly surprised by videos from her breakthrough concert in 1976 and from her performance thirty years later.

In the mid 70's she was a young, fresh ,sweet singer, but a bit plump, voice a bit too high-pitched, hair and dress lacking any particular style. Thirty years later she is mature, but looks cool, sounds cool, displays a stylish haircut, moves graciously in a black fashionable outfit .

Who do you prefer? Tina 'a' or Tina 'b'? Tough question. That's why I vote for the orchestra conductor , "..what a mover" (LOL)...,and for the songs ("Dance little lady dance", "I love to love") which make you wish to dance regardless of where you are or what you're doing at that particular moment.

Do watch the two videos; you'll greatly enjoy it.

Tina 'a'


Tina 'b'

No Hope at "Cape of Good Hope"

At the beginning of a New Year , along with the new plans and hopes, I tend to go back in time to review small and big happenings in my past that fall into the category of 'unfulfilled expectations' . This gives me a realistic perspective for the new year and provides me once again with an opportunity to test the saying of ' Dissapointments that don't kill you, strenghten you.'

I met Ethan (fictitious name) - a compatriot - in Cape Town, the cosmopolitan city of South Africa , the gateway to the huge african continent.
He said he was a doctor, at the beginning of his medical career, but when I tried to make conversation on the nature of his work, he changed the subject.

He was not what one would call good- looking, but there was something magnetic about him, especially about the way he spoke and moved his hands. Hands are the first thing I notice in a man, and his, were big with long, slim fingers like those of an accomplished pianist. He caught my eyes looking at them so I said, trying to sound funny, " Do you practice a lot on the piano?" "I practice a lot on dead bodies" he replied,"I'm a forensic doctor".

This came as a big shock to me, and for a few moments I felt sick. So that was it, that was the reason for his reluctance to talk about his work; Later on, he would say that he didn't mind talking about it, but he noticed I was sensitive and vulnerable ( I liked that, coming from him) and he wanted to spare me the unpleasant aspects of his profession.

During our conversation, I made an effort to look composed and behave naturally, trying to take off my mind from corpses and autopsies.. We discussed the two famous landmarks of Capetown: the Table Mountain with its flat top and sloppy sides, overlooking the city, and The Cape of Good Hope which had been named so, to mark the opening of a new hope - a sea route to India and the East.

He offered to take me the following day on a tour to these two attractions ; "no visit in the area is complete", he said, "without seeing from the top of the mountain, the spectacular views of the city and the cape peninsula with its Cape Point tip , the stunning cliffs and the rugged stretches of rock of the Cape of Good Hope, the mingling of the two oceans: Atlantic and Indian".

I accepted the offer although the weather was not friendly, and I could well imagine that it was probably windy and cold, up there on the mountain. Frankly, I was in a romantic mood, ready to get involved in a relationship with Ethan, so the weather and the anticipated wonderful scenery came second into my thoughts.

Soon after we had reached the spot , a young man approached us, and Ethan greeted him with such a big, warm hug that I stood there watching them with unbelieving eyes and a widely open mouth. Then he turned to me and said in his irresistible low voice something like: 'Meet my boyfriend and home mate ; he'll be our guide as he knows the place perfectly'.

'There goes my Romance, here comes the end of my Hope', I thought to myself, and plunged into the breathtaking beauty of the Cape surroundings.

Great-grandmother's Politician

Groundbreaking - Left to Right : Joe Forbes

One of my great-grandmother's grandsons, Joseph Goldfarb Forbes (Joe Forbes for short) was mayor of the city of Oak Park (1967-1970) and member of Michigan State House of Represantatives (1971-1984) . He was born in Detroit, son to David and Yetta Goldfarb, the fourth of their seven children. He resided in West Bloomfield where he was known for his friendly behaviour and affection for people. He died on December 2004, at the age of 88. May his soul rest in peace!

Several years ago, I embarked on an internet genealogical quest intended mainly as a tribute to my mother's memory, in an attempt to track her father's family saga. She had been very fond of her father (Hersh Goldfarb) and she kept telling me the story about his widow mother, his three brothers and three sisters who had emmigrated to America, leaving him behind as his wife was against departing from Romania. Sort of mini tragedy. Sometimes I think that the fact that I've never visited the USA and feel no urge to do so, has its roots in this story of hers. It is as if in my subconcious I resent the place that has 'robbed' my grandfather of his initial family.

The first of my great-grandmother's descendants I contacted after finding information through the internet, were a nurse from Cincinnati and a restaurant owner from Los Angeles. These people were fourth generation like me , so they knew little (the nurse) or almost nothing (the restaurant owner) about great-grandmother (first generation), her children(second generation) and grandchildren (third generation).

And then I came upon the name of Joe Forbes. He was a public figure, so I thought I would find some biography with information on his parents and siblings which could also lead me to the others. Well, I found no such thing. In those days people were humble ,not like today when the biography gets written on the first month of their public job. I did ,however , find in local newspapers, his obituary and also an eulogy on his service and integrity as a man and legislator.

Obituaries in Genealogy are of the utmost importance. It was from the obituary that I learnt about his three daughters. One of them who lives in Aghoura Hills , California, kindly emailed me some pictures and additional information on her father and his family.

Joseph Goldfarb Forbes was considered a key leader in the Legislature of Michigan. He was elected as the Democrat majority floor leader for five consecutive terms. One of his successors said that in order to survive as a floor leader (whose job is to run the floor debate) one needs a sense of humour and "Joe Forbes possessed humour in abundance". (Im sure of that. All those on my mother's family side had terrific humour that helped them overcome hard times).

Dachau

Memorial

I had in my right pocket a slip of paper with the name and address of a nice german woman from Dachau whom I had met on a tour in Greece. I thought I would perhaps go look for her after visiting the infamous concentration camp. Well, I didn't. I couldn't. I was in no mood to walk around or talk to any inhabitant of the city. I wanted to leave the place that had witnessed unimaginable horrors, as quick as possible.

[I am reminded of my visit to Dachau by the recent news regarding the theft of the iron inscription at the entrance of Auschwitz death camp: 'Arbeit macht frei' (Work sets you free or Work brings freedom).
The Dachau camp had a similar iron inscription at its entrance] .

The concentration camp was built by prisoners on the grounds of an abandoned gun powder factory outside the city in 1933. It was the first concentration camp and it served as a model for the other Nazi camps that followed. It had two main parts: barracks and a crematorium . Almost 30,000 prisoners are believed to have died in the camp and its subcamps.

No way people living in Dachau at that time didn't hear or see anything about the atrocities (slavery work, tortures, medical experiments, inhumane living conditions, extermination) that went on at the camp located east of their clean, peaceful town. More likely they ignored both the rumours and the visible facts.

Nowadays, europeans and germans in particular, claim in private conversations, that they feel they are being punished for what they 've done to the jews. Foreigners from third world countries, they say, have 'invaded' Europe, destroy its culture, traditions, landscapes - and the locals feel helpless about it.

Helpless? Well, they''ll probably come up with something (evil), they'll invent something nobody has ever thought of (like gas chambers), they'll find a (final) solution. History, I'm afraid, has the tendency of repeating itself.

Memories from the Lake of Tekir

I'm following a blog of a geography teacher (Viorel Irascu at plecatdeacasa.blogspot.com); one of his lasts posts focused on the lake of Techirghiol which is only three (3) kilometers away from the Black Sea. This post brought back to me memories of a traumatic and yet wonderful visit with my mother to the lake .

Techirghiol has its name in a legend: A crippled man of turkish origin, Tekir, and his donkey, arrived at the shore of the lake ( 'ghiol' in turkish) by mistake. Trying to get his stubborn animal out of the mud within the lake, Tekir noticed with astonishment that his own legs felt stronger , he could walk normally, and that the wounds on the back of his donkey got miraculously healed. Since then, the lake became famous for its healing properties. Tekir and his donkey are featured in a statue located in the center of the town.

I was a schoolgirl ( elementary school) on summer vacation. My mother who had been recommended mud treatment at Techirghiol, decided to take me with her. It was a very long trip from our hometown in the north-east extremity of Romania to the lake area in the south-east extremity of the country. We had to change trains, and it so happened that we lost a small suitcase that contained all my belongings. I arrived at the resort with nothing but what was on me. Big trauma .

Despite the traumatic beginning, the trip was a wonderful experience for me. Like Tekir and his donkey, I was mad for the mud and liked to be smeared with it all over face and body. At the pension where we were staying, we met a young couple, freshly married. This couple became fond of me at first sight, and asked my mother's permission to allow them to take care of me with the mud and the dipping in the lake while she was having treatment at the spa-complex.

The young couple also took me to the Black Sea beach and to the various attractions in the region. They bought me things, taught me things, and opened a new horizon for the small provincial girl. Looking back, I think they were 'practising' on me parenthood as well as their professions: teaching (she was a teacher) and welfare work (he was a social worker).

In the evenings, I noticed my Mom being engaged in long talks with the young woman. On approaching them, they became silent. It was only when we were back home that Mom revealed the secret; the young woman was born in our hometown, fruit of an extra marital relationship. At a certain stage, she and her mother had to leave town and go as far away as possible from "the scene of the crime". Small World.

Sports and Women in Strawberry Land

1. 'Sharapova is in town' - reported the local media on February last year. The russian born , blonde tennis player Maria Sharapova (currently living in USA), number 5 in the world classament , made her glamorous appearance at the tennis stadium of my hometown as leader of Russia's Fed Cup Team against Israel. The stadium which hosts international and national tennis tournaments was built in 1975 on a patch of strawberry land. (Strawberries are the icon/visit card of the town which was in its beginning a rural place with vast strawberry fields. Click on the above Wikipedia picture to get an idea of the stadium).

There was a lot of emotion involved. The first match out of two, was to be held on Saturday and that made the religious circles very angry. These circles protested and also prophesized that profanation of the holy day of Sabbath will assure defeat of the israeli team. Well, defeat it was.

The stadium was packed with thousands of male tennis fans who were quite rude towards the diva. They shouted at her sexist remarks , and imitated her screaming everytime she hit the ball. When interviewed , she said that this kind of crowd behavior drives her to play better, and leads her to victory.

On Sunday, at the end of the decisive match, when the two finalists shook hands, people overheard Sharapova telling the defeated israeli player, Shachar Peer: 'You deserved it' . Apparently she said that in revenge for something that had happened on a previos match . Not very nice and not very sporting, coming from someone at the top of the tennis world like Sharapova.

2. My home town has a successful women basketball team with a woman coach that is an interesting and tough 'strawberry' herself . The initial name of the team was Lachen , the next Anda, and the present name Electra. There is a story behind the change of names and it's called Sponsorship.

A certain millionaire whose young wife , Anda, had died of cancer wanted to immortalize her fighting against the disease. He thought that the fighting spirit of the Lachen women basketball team would do nicely, so he offered sponsorship on the condition that the team bears the name of his beloved wife .

A few years later, the millionaire remarried , the sponsorship ended, and the team adopted a new name, that of the new sponsor Electra, consummer goods company.

I know very little about sports or sponsorship, but I felt something was wrong here.

Life goes on, the husband gets a new wife, the team gets a new sponsor, but what about the memory of the deceased woman whose name has been removed from the team? There's probably some answer , I just don't know what it is.

Feng Shui and the Flow of Chi

lucky bamboo

The world is insecure, full of conflicts and negativity; so people are looking for security, warmth and harmony inside their homes.

Feng Shui - theory based on the unobstructed flow of energy (Chi) - is a way of arranging and decorating one's home to create a balanced and harmonious environment that will provide positive energies and attract Health, Wealth, Luck and Love to the house.

Personally, I tend to adopt those principles of Feng Shui that are simple to follow, available, reasonable and not costly, such as: daily opening of windows to let fresh air come in, adequate light, display of live plants and fruit in the rooms, no TV or computer in the bedroom, prevention of clutter in the house, smart use of colours and mirrors, special attention to the main door through which, according to this chinese theory, Energy (Chi) enters the house.

Change in wall structure and furniture to improve flow of Chi in the house or appartment - could be quite expensive, and the result not always satisfactory.

My favourite Feng Shui item is the gracious Lucky Bamboo plant. Among the many other plants which symbolize life and growth, this one is considered the bringer of luck and fortune into the house. It requires water once a week, preferably distilled water , as tap water makes it ill - it becomes yellow and thus emanates bad energy and has to be removed.

I like the Feng Shui idea of placing a bowl of fruit, citrus mainly, in a strategic position such as near the entrance, to attract abundance and prosperity to the house. One must , however, constantly replace the fruit with fresh ones and not let it get rotten in which case it will result in bad smell and bad energy.

Many people will object to the Feng Shui 'demand' of no computer and no TV in the bedroom, but bedrooms are not meant for work or watching TV stupidities; bedrooms are meant for sleep and love.

Choosing of colors is not a light matter , at least not for me. I usually like bright colours like white, off- white, pale yellow . Feng Shui suggests , for example, painting the kitchen in yellow or orange , and the main door in red. However, the bottom line regarding colours and lights, is - whatever stands in harmony with the rest of the house, and makes one feel good.

Malware...brrrr

My computer has been giving me a hard time lately. It is six years old, and completely exhausted . I'm proud that during these years it didn't require any technician work; I was the only one to touch its inside when opening the case to clean the ventilators and throw a loving look at the Motherboard. There were problems with it now and then, but I managed to solve them with whatever little knowledge I have on computers.

Only once did I need the intervention of an outside factor. Two years ago, the computer got attacked by malware. It was a shocking, frightful experience; it looked as if some kind of monster within the box was trying to torture me by interfering with my work in various nasty ways. In fact, I couldn't do any work.

It started with the sudden appearance of a big blue Microsoft ad in the middle of the screen offering an anti virus program. Luckily, I understood right away that it was not Microsoft but some dangerous, invasive agent, and so I didn't get tempted to install the program. After a few unsuccessful trials to deal with the situation, I phoned Microsoft technical support and they promptly emailed me an anti malware software. It helped, of course, but it took me several days to make sure everything was under control.

The whole thing scared me so much that I tried to forget all about it. When the attack was on I took a shot of the ad but apparently didn't care to save it.

Anyway, that's all behind me now, and I'm looking forward to get a new computer, hopefully by the end of next week. In the meantime, things are not easily done and certain things (slideshows, for instance) will have to wait .

GO SOLAR !

I'm a great believer in the marvelous, free source of energy, the Sun; solar energy, solar power, solar cooking, solar heating - all these terms just "turn me on".

I remember holding in my hands a little book named "How to live without electricity - and like it" by Anita Evanghelista. I said to myself : with such a title and with such an author's name , the book must be interesting. It was. Especially the chapter which deals with solar cooking. The author mentions there cooking a casserole. Casserole? It took me nearly an hour to boil some water for a cup of coffee. But the blame is on me - lack of practice in handling the solar cooking device and also the fact that I had to wear heavy-duty sunglasses (according to the instructions in the book) which is not exactly something I'm used to in my conventional cooking.

And then there was this other litttle book "547 ways to be fuel smart" by Roger Albright. Again, I said to myself : such a precision, not 500 and not 600 but 547 - there must be something in this book. There was. I learnt from it , among other things, that the simple, primitive device known as the clothesline on which I hang out my clothes , is in fact a solar dryer, and I happen to agree with the author "it works like a charm ..." and saves money. Wow! I was using a solar dryer and I didn't even know that!

But the book that got me daydreaming ( on the possibility of living in a solar house), was "The solar home" by Mark Freeman. On the back cover of this book, a smashing pair of sentences caught my eye. Listen to this: "Baking really good bread is difficult. Building a house is easy". I totally agree with the first sentence, but as to the second one, if it's easy to build a house how come he wrote a whole book on that?!!

(Honestly, the above three mentioned books are good books on the solar subject as opposed to a fourth book which I won't even mention its title and name of author. This book had great publicity and I was extremely dissappointed by it).

Although Israel , where I live, is a country with sunny days most of the year, the only significant use of the sun's energy is displayed in the water heaters that cover roof-tops all over the country.

I've always been fascinated by the work of these south-facing water heaters. The unit consists of a water storage tank, and two flat panels that absorb solar radiation, and heat the water in the tank. Even in winter, if there are sunny days, there'll be hot water in the storage tank, and from there, through insulated pipes, in the bathroom and kitchen taps. It saves a lot of money on the electricity bill. and a good heating system can last as much as twenty years.

There are three main models of solar heating systems (enlarge attached pictures) : a vertical tank with two panels (collectors), a vertical tank with only one( big ) panel, and the latest model: an horizontal tank with one panel. In my non-expert opinion, the oldest model is the most efficient one; besides, if one panel happens to get damaged, you can carry on for a while with the remaining one and still get hot water . The other two models evolved out of esthetic considerations.

(On solar gadgets, and on my tiny collection of solar items in slideshow format - in another post).

vertical tank with one panel; vertical tank with two panels

horizontal tank with solar panel

Turkish "Delight"

potatoes on the israeli market.

still in use in some turkish markets

Turkey , as far as I know, is the largest producer of potatoes in the Middle East. I like the texture of those smooth reddish potatoes imported from Turkey. I eat them mainly as mashed potatoes accompanied by cheese ,meat, or fish.

Lately, the relationship between Turkey and Israel has developed into something ugly ; israelis have reported meeting with great hostility in many parts of Turkey. One of the Turks' favorite "greetings" is to spit on the israeli tourist. As a result of this atmosphere, and of some political issues between the two countries, there are voices calling for a boycott on turkish products. A neighbour of mine is rather 'active' in this initiative.

Last month, she "caught" me at the supermarket with turkish potatoes in my basket and criticized me for that. I said : " Look, I don't drink turkish coffee, I don't buy turkish lokum (also known as turkish delight), I don't eat turkish kebab or lachmajun, I don't even intend to visit Turkey ,although I could if I wish , go as a non israeli (I own also a romanian passport); Isn't that good enough for you? I won't give up the potatoes. Period".

I'm not much in favor of boycotts, but those here who want an efficient boycott, should , I think, concentrate on the touristic issue. All year long, israelis 'invade' Turkey, and so, nicely contribute to its economy. One of the most popular regions favored by the israelis is Antalya , known as the 'Turkish Riviera"; this resort offers lots of attractions at very reasonable prices.

Soon after the incident at the supermarket, I met my neighbor's son, a fresh computer science graduate, and asked for his expert advice on buying a new computer. "Can it wait a week" he asked me "I'll be back by then from Antalya and we shall discuss this matter at length" "Antalya?! Does your mother know where you're flying to ?" " She bought me the tickets as a graduation present" was his reply.
How about that?!!

Antalya - beach

on the way - in Antalya

The Man on the Train

'Ayalon' bridge - to the central railway station in Tel Aviv

Waiting on the train platforms

I like to travel by train. The wide windows bring you scenic spots along the route; on a train you have a comfy seat, enough room to stretch legs ; you can go to the vestibule to take a fresh breath, and you can meet unexpected people.

I got on the train Tel Aviv - Haifa. Someone sitting on the opposite bench stared intensely at me and this made me feel very uncomfortable. He sensed that , and finally opened his mouth:

" I saw you on the platform waiting for the train and heard someone calling you Duta, so I decided to follow you. You probably don't recognize me as I'm very much changed physically , but I was one of your brother's best friends."

He gave me the details . I was familiar with the name ; it brought back to me unpleasant memories of a young successful man guilty of the sin of Pride. I was surprised to see him on a train as I knew he was a very rich guy who had a personal car driver and even owned a private light plane. Well, not any more. He told me his story.

The troubles in his life began with his only son falling into drugs. To buy the stuff, his son used to steal money and jewelery not only from his parents but also from neighbors , relatives, and friends. Next, he joined a gang whose specialty was breaking into houses and empty them.

The man's wife got into depression and never recovered from it. After her untimely death, he ceased to function and lost almost everything he had. Luckily, he met the woman who was to become his second wife, a naturopath by profession, and by using the naturopathic approach , she gradually put him back on track.

''The other night" the man said " I had a weird dream. Your brother was chasing me with a stick . This running and chasing thing happened a lot in our childhood games, but such a dream just before meeting his sister on a train - this must have a meaning, maybe more than one. I know , I deserve to be beatten. I was vain, turned my back on my friends including your brother, departed from my authentic roots . Perhaps this dream was also a warning of your brother saying stay away from my sister, you're Trouble."

I told him that in my opinion both his interpretations of the dream are correct. We pay for our vanity , and my brother, may his soul rest in peace, wanted to spare me the treachery of friendship.

When we got off the train I realized he hadn' t said a word on the whereabouts of his son. I was afraid to ask, and I wanted us to part on a positive note.

Children's Memorial and the Missing Girl

the garden

It attracts like magnet, and doesn't let go of you. It's a superb piece of outdoor art erected in memory of children killed in accidents. This memorial consists of two children (a girl and a boy) made of bronze, and behind them a plaque which bears an inscription that reads: "Your Life Revenges our Deaths."

The set of statues and the background plaque are located in a quiet corner of a small garden with young trees , paved lanes, and a few benches. This garden, near the comercial center of my hometown , was planted in memory of the children who perished in the Hollocaust . It is placed in a compact area which includes a bank and the local police station, and is accessed by some stairs leading down to it.

Some time ago, approaching the memorial, I saw a little weeping girl about four years old near the statues . "They don't want to play with me" she said pointing at the two bronze children. It appeared that the girl had sneaked out of the Bank while her mother was standing in line to the teller; the security man at the door was probably busy checking bags and didn't notice her escape.

That's how tragic things happen: a tiny girl facing alone a busy road and then entering a deserted garden.

I took the girl back to the Bank ; the mother was not there. Apparently she went to the nearby police station to ask the cops help her find the missing child; the bank security man immediately phoned the police to report that the girl is back safe and sound.

The mother appeared accompanied by a police officer who was surprisingly formal. He wanted us (mother, girl, security man and me ) at the police station. After finishing with our questioning and the paper work , he told the mother to take her girl , go to the garden , have a good, long look at the children's memorial - she might learn something.

The girl was happy - her Mom will sure find a way to make the bronze children play with her.

Law Lesson in the Ma'afia

It's not what you think. It's Ma'afia ( מאפייה) not Mafia.

I had to sue my employer for not paying me certain expenses and benefits . I decided not to take a lawyer to represent me as I distrust lawyers as much as I distrust politicians. So I sat down with the book to see what the law has to say in my case , and browsed through law forums on the Web to pick up some tips and tricks. I knew I had to be very good to beat the rotten system and get my money , so I checked very carefully the preliminary correspondence with the court and the lawyer of the adverse party. God opened my eyes and made me notice something which seemed like a gross mistake on the part of the lawyer or an attempt to mislead the judge.

I needed to be reassured of the value of my finding , so I turned to a young law student who worked part time in the local Ma'afia (hebrew word for bakery) where I buy my pita bread, and asked for his opinion. Brilliant, he said, we are going to tear him to pieces. We ?! Yes. The student offered his free services as 'producer' and 'director' of what was supposed to be my show in the court.

According to him, the danger was that the sleek lawyer will throw at me some provocative, offensive word , make me weep, and this will ruin the whole thing. That must not happen. I have to be in control of the situation from the very beginning. I have to be a ruthless attacker. He instructed me to rehearse in front of the mirror and then, a few days before the trial we rehearsed in the backyard of the Ma'afia, with him playing the part of the lawyer I was supposed to"kill". He was full of excitement and I was worried to death.

On the day of the trial, I was tense; the lawyer representing the employer seemed very full of himself and confident in his abilities. He didn't take even a single look at me. I was nothing to him. I didn't exist. This was a good beginning for me. I hate arrogant people, and ignoring me is a red curtain in front of the bull. So I started the attack. I approached the lawyer, looked straight into his eyes and asked with the right intonation where was it that he got his diploma as it appeared he didn't know the very basics of his profession. And then turned to the judge not asking, but claiming that this fellow, the lawyer, attempted to mislead the court by submitting distorted facts.

To make a long story short, I won the case.

A week latter, the student phoned me to ask for a favour -he wanted me to arrange a date for him with a certain girl he had seen me talking to. I hardly knew the girl; she was some distant relative of my cousin's sister in law. He insisted: You'll find a way, he said . I must meet her. Oho, love at first sight?! No, at second, he replied. "I've just learnt that her grandfather owns half of all the ma'afiot (bakeries) in the country".

Bastard. Cute bastard.

The Murder Weapon

I like to walk and jog in a certain alley in my neighborhood. It's a narrow, non paved alley bordered by ancient, majestic trees. I like to stamp on the soft soil ( we have few rains and only in winter, so no mud most of the year); the tall trees make one feel a little dot in the universe and at the same time give a feeling of protection and security.

Sometimes, a retired gym teacher living nearby, trains her dog in this alley and once , something very unpleasant happened to me: the dog knocked me down while running to fetch a ball thrown by her in his direction. The woman panicked, dragged me into her house, cleaned my scratches, put some ointment, made me a cup of tea, hugged me. It was a miracle that I fell on my knees and not on my head ."You know how to fall" she said to me trying to cheer me up. Very funny. I told her she had to stop training the dog in the alley; it puts the occasional passers by in danger.

After the incident, she and her dog vanished from the alley for several months. When I saw her again , the other day, before I could even say Hello she asked me to come into her house promising to show me something very important that she didn't have the chance to show me at the time of my fall incident. It was a bundle consisting of two letters, a card and some newspapers. The letters were letters of Thanks and Appreciation for helping solve a crime- one leter was from the Mayor of the City, the other from the Chief of the Police Headquarters; the Thank You' card ,was originally attached to a bouquet of flowers that had been sent to her by the parents of the victim; the newspapers - local and national , related the story in detail ( I wouldn't have recognized her by the blurry picture in the newspapers).

And this is the story ( which at the time was very much on my mind) : Last year, a young female lawyer, mother of two small children was stabbed to death on the treshold of her house; the children were in the dining room eating supper and didn't catch sight of the murderer. The big question was, why would a woman with two small children in the house, open the door to a complete stranger. I suppose she looked through the door electronic eye, saw the innocent face of a teenager, and that made her open the door without any fear.

That's right; the murderer was a 16 year old high school pupil with no criminal or psychiatric record and no motive. It was a complete surprise for the Police which was busy investigating the lawyer's clients, the ex- husband and the possibility of some romantic connections. Well, this is where our retired gym teacher and her obedient dog came in. She found the murder weapon - a knife with traces of blood on it. It was the dog's wild barking near a deserted trash bin in a bush not far from her house that drew her to the spot. She lifted the lid , saw a red- stained knife , and went to call the Police. She actually did the job for them; without the murder weapon they would probably never have solved the crime as they were completely in the wrong direction.

Quite a woman! I only hope that by inviting me in to see the stuff, she just wanted to show off and not convey some indirect message that with her 'heroic background' she's the Queen of the alley and will do whatever she pleases there , including dog training.

Lara and Zara embracing Adagio

A few days ago, Phillip, a fellow blogger and british gentleman (Chronicle of a Croydon Boy} wrote an enthusiastic post about the belgian singer Lara Fabian, in which he expressed his love and admiration for the way she performed the song 'Caruso'.

Well, I had noticed her long before Phillip . It was after watching some videos with her performance of the song based on 'Adagio' by Tomaso Albinoni.

'Adagio' is a well known , fine classical piece of music. Dramatic lyrics have been attached to it to enable also vocalists to perform this gem. If you look it up in YouTube you'll see that italian young singers got hold of it and won't let it go. They appear with it in some sort of talent TV contest named "Amici di Maria de Filippi (friends of Maria....) , with a jury and an audience which consists of young people, friends of the contestants.

Watching the young singers on "Amici ...." perform 'Adagio' can be frustrating; their voice is not ripe enough to handle such an intricate musical piece , and they lack confidence on the stage .
( Very nice try , though, of the finalists of the italian talent TV show Amici of recent years: Rita Comisi, Giulia Ottonello, Nicola Gargaglia ..).

....And then I came upon Lara Fabian. The way she sings and moves in all her live appearances, is hypnotizing. She's got it all: a great voice, a beautiful face, a perfect body, and.. plenty of talent. She's multilingual (french, italian, english) and is considered Star in Europe. There's also Zara, a singer of russian descent - good voice , gracious figure , nice performance. Still , Lara is the Best.