She is heavy and slow, every movement is an effort and yet nothing much is accomplished. “I’m so beat”, she sighs, while I try and contemplate what is going on in her head. She is sad, almost broken and empty from the separation. It is not sure when they will meet again but she continues talking to him for hours on end. I see no point to this, and I tell her. Try and break free, but she is so fragile. I try to protect her in this weary state not knowing when and what to say to soothe her pain. He has disappointed her and let her go and now she is my responsibility. His motives are unclear to all, even to himself. I assume the worst, his fear of commitment and settling down have gotten the best of him. But I doubt he would commit had she stayed. My husband says it’s over. “Just get it over with” he tells her, almost yelling and she is appalled even at the notion.
She is sluggish and weighed down with thoughts. She moves like a snail and I remember that her usual pace is slower than mine. She is not focused, reading and not comprehending. She is careless and lazy, doing only as she is told and leaving loose ends open. She is neither me, nor I her but we are oh too similar. She is me 6 years ago, before my husband and I became serious. I am her in the future, or at least I hope. Baby sisters always stay babies, but I wish she would grow and see the world for what it really is. Her movements are limp, her muscles soar, and her joints ache almost as much as her heart.
I try to have fun, passing the time and discussing other people’s problems, always the best remedy. I treat her and pamper her all the while touring one of the most beautiful cities in the world. She is shocked and amazed and is beginning to fall in love, this time with the city. “I can see myself here” she mumbles. “I hope he can too”, she murmurs under her breath just loud enough for herself to hear. “What do people do here that they can live so well?” she asks with the curiosity and innocence of a young girl. “Oh”, I answer, “lots!”, and begin to describe the various high-paying jobs this metropolis caters to. She listens attentively waiting for me to touch on the trade her lover holds. Carefully, I move on to something else, pointing out the old-fashioned horse carriages along the park. It is beginning to settle in, I can see, slowly but surely. Her mind is slower than her body, taking in ideas and concepts one by one and then rehashing their significance at a dawdling pace.
She is young but her spirit old and weak. She is not who I remember but she will soon be. I intend on brining her back to life and this monstrosity of a city will help me do so. We look up and suddenly feel a whir of dizziness when staring at the skyscrapers. Indeed, the landmark has been ruined yet the modern piece is far from frightening. I pray the city’s pace becomes hers and she can walk alongside me instead of lag behind me. I pray we will walk these streets proudly and our feet will lead the way to a brighter and quicker pace. A pace of accomplishment, renewal and LIFE!!!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Blissing in Negril, Jamaica
The wind made its way through my hair, gently stroking strand by strand. The sun hit my face with the strength of a tamed ox. Small drops of water splashed on my arms, creating a refreshing sensation. The scenery was mind-blowing yet extremely calming. The slow Reggae beats entered my body and I began shifting from side to side. I reached over to my husband, gently bringing him closer to me. I wasn't imagining, but we were in paradise.
The Catamaran moved at a perfect pace, slow enough for us to focus on the fabulous seaside hotels and villas, but fast enough to initiate some waves. We were on a two hour cruise to the Pirate Bay Caves. The boat held about 30 people, all couples, inferred from the name of our resort. The barman was also a DJ and an entertainer really. He danced around the boat with the vacationers, passing out rum and coke, and posing for pictures. We accepted an island drink, more alcohol to fuel our bliss…
Arriving at the caves we rush to jump in to the deep turquoise-blue water. My husband and I swim to the caves, awed by the scenery. They are cool but not eerie, embracing our presence as we enter in a group. I'm a bit scared about swimming in such deep waters but I look around me and cannot think of one reason to complain. The water is crystal clear and the sand white, creating a synchronous turquoise-blue with several depths. We almost missed this cruise, doubting the worthiness of a cruise included in the hotel rates. The warm, sweet attendant at the water sports counter convinced us to board, saying it was an experience. Seeing as he was the same guy who took us on the amazing glass-bottomed boat a day earlier, we trusted him. These were the best two hours of our already amazing vacation.
On the way back to the shore, I reminisced on our time here. Fresh baked pastries and ripe tropical fruits were served to us every morning in our terrace, overlooking a lush, tropical garden. Most of our days were spent at the huge beachfront pool, soft reggae emerging from the fully stocked bar smack in the middle of the pool. On the beach, we picked out mattresses and lounge chairs and dragged them to the water placing them halfway within. The waiter immediately came by offering us frozen island drinks; we gave in and ordered a batch. A wavelet breaks and a warm stream of water immerses our bare feet, gently massaging the city scabs. We waded in the warm yet invigorating water, losing track of time and reality while discussing nothing of importance for hours. I began feeling hungry even after a big breakfast and three cocktails. We contemplate our lunch options, the healthier buffet with a salad bar or the beachside grill for fresh off the grill delicacies. We decide on the salad bar figuring we will have a big dinner anyway. Colorful and rich vegetables in the salad bar, several make your own sandwich stations, fresh grilled meats, a selection of warm and healthy sides and finally the desert bar including fresh tropical fruits, make your own ice-cream sundaes and the famous Jamaican rum pudding.
Time for our afternoon nap. Our room is spotless and our sheets drawn. Our mini bar has been refilled with water, soda, tropical juices and a wide selection of alcohol including a bottle of champagne. We chill in our spacious and comfortable room watching American cable on our flat screen. My husband checks his email on his laptop, our only link to reality, and I briefly snap at him.
We awaken from our nap after sunset and start preparing for dinner. Tonight we have reservations at the “Otaheite” restaurant. We were advised in advance that attire is formal and men must wear slacks. My husband, protesting, puts on his big city slacks in this small and beautiful oasis. I’m excited to taste French-Caribbean fusion cuisine. The round windowed room holds only several diners. We are seated at a table with a velvet plush loveseat lit by an exquisite hanging lamp. The ambiance is extremely romantic and we feel as if we have landed somewhere else. The five course meal was delectable and a feast for our eyes. Every course was served in a covered silver tray and revealed to use by the waiter to the sound of “voila”. Perfection at its best!
The Catamaran moved at a perfect pace, slow enough for us to focus on the fabulous seaside hotels and villas, but fast enough to initiate some waves. We were on a two hour cruise to the Pirate Bay Caves. The boat held about 30 people, all couples, inferred from the name of our resort. The barman was also a DJ and an entertainer really. He danced around the boat with the vacationers, passing out rum and coke, and posing for pictures. We accepted an island drink, more alcohol to fuel our bliss…
Arriving at the caves we rush to jump in to the deep turquoise-blue water. My husband and I swim to the caves, awed by the scenery. They are cool but not eerie, embracing our presence as we enter in a group. I'm a bit scared about swimming in such deep waters but I look around me and cannot think of one reason to complain. The water is crystal clear and the sand white, creating a synchronous turquoise-blue with several depths. We almost missed this cruise, doubting the worthiness of a cruise included in the hotel rates. The warm, sweet attendant at the water sports counter convinced us to board, saying it was an experience. Seeing as he was the same guy who took us on the amazing glass-bottomed boat a day earlier, we trusted him. These were the best two hours of our already amazing vacation.
On the way back to the shore, I reminisced on our time here. Fresh baked pastries and ripe tropical fruits were served to us every morning in our terrace, overlooking a lush, tropical garden. Most of our days were spent at the huge beachfront pool, soft reggae emerging from the fully stocked bar smack in the middle of the pool. On the beach, we picked out mattresses and lounge chairs and dragged them to the water placing them halfway within. The waiter immediately came by offering us frozen island drinks; we gave in and ordered a batch. A wavelet breaks and a warm stream of water immerses our bare feet, gently massaging the city scabs. We waded in the warm yet invigorating water, losing track of time and reality while discussing nothing of importance for hours. I began feeling hungry even after a big breakfast and three cocktails. We contemplate our lunch options, the healthier buffet with a salad bar or the beachside grill for fresh off the grill delicacies. We decide on the salad bar figuring we will have a big dinner anyway. Colorful and rich vegetables in the salad bar, several make your own sandwich stations, fresh grilled meats, a selection of warm and healthy sides and finally the desert bar including fresh tropical fruits, make your own ice-cream sundaes and the famous Jamaican rum pudding.
Time for our afternoon nap. Our room is spotless and our sheets drawn. Our mini bar has been refilled with water, soda, tropical juices and a wide selection of alcohol including a bottle of champagne. We chill in our spacious and comfortable room watching American cable on our flat screen. My husband checks his email on his laptop, our only link to reality, and I briefly snap at him.
We awaken from our nap after sunset and start preparing for dinner. Tonight we have reservations at the “Otaheite” restaurant. We were advised in advance that attire is formal and men must wear slacks. My husband, protesting, puts on his big city slacks in this small and beautiful oasis. I’m excited to taste French-Caribbean fusion cuisine. The round windowed room holds only several diners. We are seated at a table with a velvet plush loveseat lit by an exquisite hanging lamp. The ambiance is extremely romantic and we feel as if we have landed somewhere else. The five course meal was delectable and a feast for our eyes. Every course was served in a covered silver tray and revealed to use by the waiter to the sound of “voila”. Perfection at its best!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Central Park Transformed
I live only a block away from paradise. Only a block away from my sanctuary.
I try and come here every day to admire God’s creations. The different kinds of trees, tall and short, the trimmed yet wild grass, the massive bodies of water, and most of all, the people. People of all walks of life come here. They, like me, are looking for salvation, some sanity in this mad city of New York. A man tries to fish unsuccessfully, a tourist stops to strike a pose, a native peacefully reads a book on a bench and an adventurous dog skips on, treating a squirrel like dinner. People are at their best, enjoying the sun, and the green leaves melted together with wildlife. I look around me, taking it all in and notice the trees trying to hide the tall buildings on the outskirts, but nothing gets in the way of overpriced real estate.
We arrive late afternoon in a group. I try to shake off an eerie feeling; I sense the madness resides here in my sanctuary. Teens jump up and down to the electronic beats, adults sway to the strobe lights and the stage is filled with life. If God was a DJ, this would be his favorite place to perform. Out in the open air people are determined to keep jumping. They drink beers in plastic cups and puff on cigarettes, nodding their heads in agreement with the beat. They solicit others for magic medicine, trying to seek comfort in an understanding face. They unfold the white paper and press it to their tongues, all the while trying to be unseen though they can’t even concentrate long enough to contemplate getting caught. The drugs are what fuel them on, causing their hearts to race and pupils to dilate into a stork-like stare.
The crowd jumps, all at once, lifted by the constant ups and downs of the machine generated umps. Bzzz,bzzz,ump,ump,ump, the DJ continues…The music takes the path of a volatile stock, taking the people with it. Up and down, down and back up. This is where nature and technology meet. Though this place is a product of man, it has long been controlled by God. The music, on the other hand, is all human synthesized. The craziness is present and is thick as the hot August air. I try and focus on people but they won’t stand still long enough for my eyes. The adrenaline from the audience starts rubbing off and I reluctantly give in to it, jumping up and down. I embrace the tunes trying to make them familiar until I am brought down by an ending song.
The sun begins to set and darkness becomes the park. The crowd is ecstatic as the massive LCD screens on stage come to life. They try and match colors to music, shapes to sounds. “Woohooo, wooohoooo”, they chant, louder and louder. I am swept up in the excitement, happily chanting along. I feel euphoric, almost high and jump higher. Though I have never seen Central Park in the dark, I feel secure. A sense of togetherness wraps around me, sealing in the atmosphere. This is truly a unique experience, one I will cherish forever. It’s not every day you get to see the acclaimed DJ Paul Van Dyk perform in Central Park, New York City.
I try and come here every day to admire God’s creations. The different kinds of trees, tall and short, the trimmed yet wild grass, the massive bodies of water, and most of all, the people. People of all walks of life come here. They, like me, are looking for salvation, some sanity in this mad city of New York. A man tries to fish unsuccessfully, a tourist stops to strike a pose, a native peacefully reads a book on a bench and an adventurous dog skips on, treating a squirrel like dinner. People are at their best, enjoying the sun, and the green leaves melted together with wildlife. I look around me, taking it all in and notice the trees trying to hide the tall buildings on the outskirts, but nothing gets in the way of overpriced real estate.
We arrive late afternoon in a group. I try to shake off an eerie feeling; I sense the madness resides here in my sanctuary. Teens jump up and down to the electronic beats, adults sway to the strobe lights and the stage is filled with life. If God was a DJ, this would be his favorite place to perform. Out in the open air people are determined to keep jumping. They drink beers in plastic cups and puff on cigarettes, nodding their heads in agreement with the beat. They solicit others for magic medicine, trying to seek comfort in an understanding face. They unfold the white paper and press it to their tongues, all the while trying to be unseen though they can’t even concentrate long enough to contemplate getting caught. The drugs are what fuel them on, causing their hearts to race and pupils to dilate into a stork-like stare.
The crowd jumps, all at once, lifted by the constant ups and downs of the machine generated umps. Bzzz,bzzz,ump,ump,ump, the DJ continues…The music takes the path of a volatile stock, taking the people with it. Up and down, down and back up. This is where nature and technology meet. Though this place is a product of man, it has long been controlled by God. The music, on the other hand, is all human synthesized. The craziness is present and is thick as the hot August air. I try and focus on people but they won’t stand still long enough for my eyes. The adrenaline from the audience starts rubbing off and I reluctantly give in to it, jumping up and down. I embrace the tunes trying to make them familiar until I am brought down by an ending song.
The sun begins to set and darkness becomes the park. The crowd is ecstatic as the massive LCD screens on stage come to life. They try and match colors to music, shapes to sounds. “Woohooo, wooohoooo”, they chant, louder and louder. I am swept up in the excitement, happily chanting along. I feel euphoric, almost high and jump higher. Though I have never seen Central Park in the dark, I feel secure. A sense of togetherness wraps around me, sealing in the atmosphere. This is truly a unique experience, one I will cherish forever. It’s not every day you get to see the acclaimed DJ Paul Van Dyk perform in Central Park, New York City.
Sarah Scissorhands
“Ok honey, all set, now my hairs are just waiting to be chopped off”, he called out from the kitchen. His voice was as annoying as a baby squealing two minutes after you’ve put him down. Be calm, she thought to herself. I can give the jerk a haircut without poking his eye out or accidentally scarring his eyebrow forever. She took a moment to collect herself, looking in the mirror as if to verify her anger and hurt weren’t plastered on her forehead. “In a minute dear, I’m just looking for the sharper pair”. Rummaging through the bathroom drawers and pushing things around she noticed the shiny pair of scissors she had been scared to use on David until now. She yanked them out and marched down the hallway towards the kitchen.
“Oh wow, you sure those are safe?” Of course they are you moron. “Yes honey I’ve used them on you before you just don’t remember”. “I’m sure you’re right I never remember anything”, he said.
Sarah started snipping away at his head, starting from the back and working her way up to the front. Her hands stroked his hair with care and affection that had developed over the past three years. She reminisced over their first meeting at a friend’s home, sitting across each other at a Shabbat dinner. He seemed nice, but definitely too nerdy to be her type. Now she was about to lose him to someone else. Someone she knew nothing about. If I do this, I will just be proving him right, proving there is a reason for him to look elsewhere than his stay-at-home wacko wife. She continued contemplating whether to injure him, even just a bit in order to make him pay. Snip, snippety, snip. “Honey those scissors seem awfully sharp”, he said as she abruptly jerked his head to the other direction. “Don’t worry David I know what I’m doing”. Well, she thought, he is being super annoying; maybe he deserves a little scratch inflicted by yours truly.
“Ouch!” he cried. “Sarah! I’m bleeding; you cut me with those damned scissors.” Oh my god, what have I done! She took two steps back and stared at the wound on the left side of his neck. Blood started gushing out of it like a chocolate fountain at a wedding. There was so much blood everywhere she looked. She yanked up a glob of paper towels from the kitchen counter and tried to make it stop. Stop! Please stop! Oh no, what have I done! “Sarah, take me to the hospital now, we have no time for you to try playing doctor”. She froze, her feet digging in to the marble floors beneath her. The world swirled around her like a hurricane. Her legs felt faint, her arms heavy and her head thick. Down she went.
David picked up the banana shaped telephone Sarah had so carefully picked out on their wedding registry. “This will be perfect for our new kitchen David”. He agreed to the stupid looking bright yellow phone only to appease her, as he had agreed to several things since then. “911? There’s been an accident, my wife and I are both hurt, please send an ambulance stat”. He dropped the phone as his knees began to shake. I must be losing lots of blood, I better sit, he thought. He fell smack on the cold marble floors of their new and remodeled contemporary California kitchen.
The cops kicked the beautifully carved wooden door down after no one answered their rigorous knocks. They stormed into the house and heard a baby’s cry from the nursery. Ethan had been rudely awakened by their forceful entry. They would deal with him later. They scrambled towards the center of the house where the kitchen was situated. Sarah always wanted it to be the center of their home, where everyone would be gathered for most of the day.
Sarah lay sprawled on the floor like a dead scarecrow, her legs spread and eyes closed. Her preppy navy cardigan and top set was wrinkled and full of sticky blond David hairs. Her pearl necklace lay out of form and her shoes seemed less trendy in this position. David, on the other hand, looked peaceful though surrounded by stains of blood on both sides of him. His button down shirt frazzled and out of his slacks and his moccasins slipping off. His belt was open though not yet removed from his pants and it suited his usual sloppy demeanor. He did have a great haircut though; she had managed to give him a really nice haircut before jabbing the scissors into his neck. Sarah fainted when she realized what she’d done. She was in a deep sleep now, far away from suffering the repercussions of her actions. Those shiny stainless steel scissors stuck out from her waistline where she had neatly tucked them before. “Wa, Waaaaaaa”, Ethan cried out from the baby-blue nursery decorated with airplanes and butterflies. One of the lady cops ran towards his cry, trying to think of how she would comfort him when he was old enough to realize what had happened to his folks.
“Oh wow, you sure those are safe?” Of course they are you moron. “Yes honey I’ve used them on you before you just don’t remember”. “I’m sure you’re right I never remember anything”, he said.
Sarah started snipping away at his head, starting from the back and working her way up to the front. Her hands stroked his hair with care and affection that had developed over the past three years. She reminisced over their first meeting at a friend’s home, sitting across each other at a Shabbat dinner. He seemed nice, but definitely too nerdy to be her type. Now she was about to lose him to someone else. Someone she knew nothing about. If I do this, I will just be proving him right, proving there is a reason for him to look elsewhere than his stay-at-home wacko wife. She continued contemplating whether to injure him, even just a bit in order to make him pay. Snip, snippety, snip. “Honey those scissors seem awfully sharp”, he said as she abruptly jerked his head to the other direction. “Don’t worry David I know what I’m doing”. Well, she thought, he is being super annoying; maybe he deserves a little scratch inflicted by yours truly.
“Ouch!” he cried. “Sarah! I’m bleeding; you cut me with those damned scissors.” Oh my god, what have I done! She took two steps back and stared at the wound on the left side of his neck. Blood started gushing out of it like a chocolate fountain at a wedding. There was so much blood everywhere she looked. She yanked up a glob of paper towels from the kitchen counter and tried to make it stop. Stop! Please stop! Oh no, what have I done! “Sarah, take me to the hospital now, we have no time for you to try playing doctor”. She froze, her feet digging in to the marble floors beneath her. The world swirled around her like a hurricane. Her legs felt faint, her arms heavy and her head thick. Down she went.
David picked up the banana shaped telephone Sarah had so carefully picked out on their wedding registry. “This will be perfect for our new kitchen David”. He agreed to the stupid looking bright yellow phone only to appease her, as he had agreed to several things since then. “911? There’s been an accident, my wife and I are both hurt, please send an ambulance stat”. He dropped the phone as his knees began to shake. I must be losing lots of blood, I better sit, he thought. He fell smack on the cold marble floors of their new and remodeled contemporary California kitchen.
The cops kicked the beautifully carved wooden door down after no one answered their rigorous knocks. They stormed into the house and heard a baby’s cry from the nursery. Ethan had been rudely awakened by their forceful entry. They would deal with him later. They scrambled towards the center of the house where the kitchen was situated. Sarah always wanted it to be the center of their home, where everyone would be gathered for most of the day.
Sarah lay sprawled on the floor like a dead scarecrow, her legs spread and eyes closed. Her preppy navy cardigan and top set was wrinkled and full of sticky blond David hairs. Her pearl necklace lay out of form and her shoes seemed less trendy in this position. David, on the other hand, looked peaceful though surrounded by stains of blood on both sides of him. His button down shirt frazzled and out of his slacks and his moccasins slipping off. His belt was open though not yet removed from his pants and it suited his usual sloppy demeanor. He did have a great haircut though; she had managed to give him a really nice haircut before jabbing the scissors into his neck. Sarah fainted when she realized what she’d done. She was in a deep sleep now, far away from suffering the repercussions of her actions. Those shiny stainless steel scissors stuck out from her waistline where she had neatly tucked them before. “Wa, Waaaaaaa”, Ethan cried out from the baby-blue nursery decorated with airplanes and butterflies. One of the lady cops ran towards his cry, trying to think of how she would comfort him when he was old enough to realize what had happened to his folks.
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