At the gallery

A day in Chelsea

I've been a bad blogger, I know.

I think about writing almost every day and yet…

well, here I am today.

 

Yesterday Ahuva's nanny took the day off for a Muslim holiday. I took the day off too, using one of my uber-corp "floating holidays" before it expired at the end of the calendar year. It was a good way to celebrate Ahuva's birthday a few days early. I asked her what she most wanted to do and she told me she'd really love to visit art galleries in Chelsea. So off we went. Happily, two of the international wives were able to join us. It is very convenient at times like these to have friends who do not work.

It was the right ratio too: 3 adults to one 1-year old. And believe me, all three women were physically involved in changing a diaper and grungy outfit, not to mention active spotting at the playground while we waited for the galleries to open.

 

We opted for the galleries at 526 W 26th St. A good choice on a cold day. We could remove our snow suit and visit a few places. They even had reasonable bathrooms.

 

I'm proud to report that Ahuva has excellent taste in art. She protested in the least appealing galleries, and made her delight clear in the best. One of the best featured very moving sculptures in glass. Unfortunately that meant that Ahuva had to enjoy the work restrained in the arms of her mother. She balked a bit at not being able to crawl around freely, absorbing the industrial dirt as she had in other galleries. But she ooooo'ed and opened her eyes wide when the curator turned on a light that caused light to literally shoot out of the glass sculptures in all directions. We had to race through the gorgeous Chappell Gallery FAST.

Her next favorite gallery had gloriously clean wooden floors, a striking contrast to the grungy grey floors in the other spaces. Ahuva scooted to the middle of the floor, planting herself in front of a large-scale gorgeous computer-inspired, technically interesting, bright and fluid canvas - and promptly began clapping.

Hooray for Ahuva! Hooray for this painting! You can see it (and the beautiful floor too!) here: http://www.clairecorey.com/exhibitions_install_views.html. It's even better in real life.

 

Mommy Brain

I must warn you another downfall of parenthood. Mommy brain. This morning I came to the NYC office, having forgotten my beloved filofax (can barely think wtihout it), my mouse, and headphones. Arfhghghgh. THis sort of thing did not happen to me much before baby. When I set up the pack n' play for Hadassah, I put the sheet on the BACK of the mattress (the hard part that needs to face down, not the soft part that approximates a mattress). How embarassing. And Ahvua's favorite hat has been AWOL since Seattle. Bro points out with glee that these lapses reduce me to the level of everyone else but I don't like it. I like to be ORGANIZED.

 

Candy and Mandy

Ahuva is actually a total angel, so it was fun to dress her as a devil for Halloween. There was a nice little party in the lobby of our building. We visited some of our neighbors, including one famous one who has family in Jerusalem, grown up kids, and a very nice wife.

Give one get one

Tired & overwhelmed today. But this week I did call and order an XO laptop for Ahuva & one for a kid in the developing world. I can't wait to get it, I think it's the cutest thing ever!!See www.laptopgiving.org

Weaning

I have this idea that I'd like to wean Ahuva at 1 year. It seems to me a reasonable amount of time. I knew I wanted to breast feed her for at least 6 mo. but I also think that when she's old enough to ask for it by name, it's too long. So now she's 10 mo. old and it's time-to-start-getting-ready-to think about it.
Why?
Energy. After starting life as an exceptional sleeper, Ahuva is now in the habbit of waking up 3-4 times a night for a feed. Guess who else gets up?
It's also physically demanding, producing all that extra good stuff for her.
Mood. On weekends, I nurse more. I find that I tend to get weepy. All that lacrimone I think.
Freedom. At some point, it would be nice to be able to take a business trip without her or have an entire night away with my husband. Is that crazy?
Why not?
Bonding. It feels good to be able to offer this gift to my daughter. When I'm not dying to do something else, it's time I cherish. I like that it's something she only gets from me.
Health. It's good for her!
Why it can work
Ahuva is now eating tons of "real" food and this week she finally took a bottle of cow's milk from my mother and from the babysitter.

How to do it? This part is tricky. I went to La Leche League for advice. All they say is, "Are you SURE you're ready to stop (even if your kid is in college)? Are you AWARE of all the amazing benefits of breast feeding?" Duh. But enough! Another site I found suggested following a "don't offer, don't refuse" policy. I tried yesterday. I didn't offer the breast as I usually do when I picked her up. She didn't ask for it either. I spent the evening feeling a bit confused and light-headed (milk brain) but I didn't explode.

Advice?

ISSO Potluck Dinner

When I was growing up in Brookline, MA there was a special event my whole family anticipated giddily and a bit gluttonously. It was a potluck dinner for ESL (English as a Second Language) students and their families. Each foreign kid got to invite one native friend and his family. A lot of American kids shunned the foreign students and feared receiving an invite. But my brother and I understood that scoring this invite was a treat. When it came to international potluck, being the token gringo was well worth any cultural awkwardness. Each family brought a traditional dish from their homeland. Lucky for us, many kids came from cultures that still took immense pride in their national dishes. In the best cases, there was a grandmother at home slaving away over delectable dumplings, complicated pastry, or slowly-simmered stews. My mother made chocolate chip cookies, the quintessential American treat. (My aunt took a different approach at such events: she bought a massive bucket of KFC. It was always a hit.) For the price of a few smiles and that plate of chocolate chip cookies, we were rewarded with a plate piled high with some of the world's most delectable dishes.

So it was with great excitement that I accepted the invitation Adi got from the International Student Spouse Organization to their family potluck dinner. I married the foreign friend. I get to be the guest gringo for life!

I decided to make tabule (recipe follows). I find washing and cutting the parsley to be a bit of a pain in the tush but it's cheap, veggie, and was the most representative thing I could think of for Israel.

When we arrived at the sad cafeteria in CU's engineering building, there were only two couples plus two organizers and their children. The organizers had smartly supplemented the pot luck with cheese and crackers, sliced peppers, humus and babaganous, slices of French bread, a fruit salad and cookies. Drinks and paperware were provided. A little girl offered me a piece of cheese which I happily accepted and shared with Ahuva. We were invited to identify our dish using a Sharpie on a big index card and to similarly label ourselves with stick-on name tags.

People began to arrive and the table of offerings got more interesting: spicy chicken and rice from Pakistan, beef and potatoes from Japan, a pork dish from Japan, a Hungarian egg salad, Hungarian pancakes, and a box of some of the best Greek baklava I've tasted. Lovingly prepared, the dishes nevertheless bore a bit of the graduate student strain as opposed to the meticulous hand of a dedicated grandma. But they were still all delicious.

The Pakistani couple had a baby just a few months younger than Ahuva. The girls were naturally drawn to each other, giving their parents an excuse to talk. I got to ask a real Japanese woman the truth about pregnancy and sushi eating. She assured me that pregnant women in Japan do eat sushi, but admitted that she didn't care for the fish here - it isn't fresh enough. And I snagged a babysitter. It went something like this:

Me: So what are you doing here while your husband studies?

Nice Hungarian woman who is admiring my baby: I'm studying English, not working.

Me: And what did you do in Hungary?

Nice woman: I have a law degree and worked in a bank.

Me: I see.

Nice woman: I'd like to find a job, but it's hard without a visa.

Me (thinking: "sucks for you, score for me!): Oh! Yes, it's very hard. Are you interested in babysitting?

Nice woman: Oh, yes!

Me: How about tomorrow night???

 

On the walk home, Adi reflected to me that he'd never had so much contact with anyone from Pakistan before. He wants me to get her chicken recipe and told me that her husband complimented my tabule. How cool is it that we have the chance to have such encounters?

 

RECIPE: Tabule salad according to Ahlass (traditional Druze recipe)

Growing up, I hated what passed for tabule in the US. You know it, that Near East mix in a box. Way too watery tasting, with an emphasis on the bulgur rather than the parsley. Blech. In Israel though I grew to love the refreshing salad. Serve a generous serving as a side dish or appetizer along with other Middle Eastern salads. My friend Ahlass taught me how she makes it.

 

·        2 sprigs parsley

·        juice of 1-2 lemons

·        1 tbsp. bulgur (dry, uncooked)

·        a bit of tomato or red pepper, chopped small

·        ~ 2 tbsp. olive oil

·        salt and pepper to taste

 

1.   Rinse and dry the parsley. Cut off the stems. Chop the leaves.

2.   In a medium bowl, mix the parsley with the remaining ingredients.

3.   Taste and adjust seasonings.

 

Tips:

·        Parsley in the USA tastes different from Israeli parsley. Example: American parsley is pretty tasteless. I bought one sprig of "curly" and one sprig of "Italian" and mixed them. It was OK.

·        You don’t have to totally remove the leaves from the stems. Some stem is OK. It's just more fiber!

·        A mini-chopper can help with the parsley. Otherwise, use a good knife.

·        Ahlass mixes her salad using her hands. She grabs a pinch and ask me to taste it. "More lemon?" I'm touched that she thinks I'm an authority. But in fact we all are. Taste it. Maybe it needs more oil? Salt? Lemon.

·        Note that you don't cook the bulgur, nor use very much. It gets softish from the lemon juice and oil, but it retains some nice crunchiness. Don't be afraid of the crunch.

·        Tastes best after at least an hour but doesn't keep more than 2-3 days.

 

 

Back Online

Whew! Too many technological glitches and hectic times kept me from writing. I'd love to be back on track.

Getting Settled

Almost two weeks now since Ahuva and I arrived in the new country. Adi arrives today. So much has happened. Where to begin?

The Flight

We had a fine send off: going away parties in Haifa with friends (at our house) and family (at my in-laws) both exceeded expectations. Incredible turn out at each and we were showered with what we wanted most: photos to take with us.
Boosted by good feelings from the parties, Ahuva, Koshka and I flew on a Sunday night. Ahuva handled the trip like a pro. After our vacation in Czech Republic (photos), she must think that every week we get on a plane. She had a baby bed and slept for most of her usual night time. In the morning when she got a little bored and fussy, all I had to do was walk her around so she could have new people to smile at. I was pretty brave too. There was a woman in my row who was traveling alone with four children, the youngest a bit smaller than Ahuva. Seeing her I felt I had no reason to complain.
"Wow," I told her, "I'm in awe." She explained that she brought her oldest child (who couldn't have been more than eight years old) because she needed him. He was a big help. Still... this woman remained calm even when her stroller and car seats failed to arrive at baggage claim.
Ahuva fell asleep in the sling at baggage claim. I had a sky cap get a huge cart to help me with my three big bags, big carry-ons, plus cat in cage. Ahuva was still sleeping when we stepped out into the warm and wet NJ air where my parents were eagerly waiting. When she woke and recognized them, she exuded that winning smile that earned her the nickname "Sunny" in Czech Republic.
Bro and his girlfriend swung up to the curb a few minutes later to pick up the cat and kiss us. Ahuva clearly recognized him too and was happy to see him. She enjoyed meeting his girlfriend who hugged her and let her play with her beautiful long black hair.
Then it was off to Grandma's to meet her great grandmother. The stroke has taken a toll, but there was no mistaking her joy. Ahuva was a pure delight there, happy to "stretch her legs" (roll around on Grandma's thick carpet), see Grandma's new bird, and play with great aunt and uncle & the new musical toy Grandma bought her.
Ahuva slept in her luxurious new car seat (a gift from my aunts and uncles) on the long rainy drive back to the lake.

The Lake

My parents' lake house used to be my Grandfather's house. It's actually two bungalows linked together by a long wide porch. My father spent summers here growing up. I visited here almost every summer of my life since I was a baby younger than Ahuva is now.
The house is situated in New York state. It's not that far from the city, yet it remains remarkably cut off from civilization thanks to tough forests and windy roads. It is part of a kibbutz-like community of bungalows. When I was a child, the sense of community here was very strong. There were cocktail parties EVERY NIGHT. The grown ups drank and served "Shirley Temples" and "Roy Rogers" to us kids. These were actually the same drink (ginger ale plus grenadine), gender-coded according to recipient. The good parties included indulgent snacks such as ritz crackers with cheez-whiz. There were parties featuring mellon ball salads served up in the club house (moadon) known as the Copa in honor of the club by that name. My cousins and I spent our days in the lake or dodging poison ivy in the forest. All the grown ups knew who we were. In those days, everyone was Jewish. Most were secular. The political spirit ranged from left to very left.
Today the community is more diverse. The kids are grown up and the parents rather than grandparents own the bungalows here. I'm thrilled to reconnect with two sisters who were my childhood playmates here and have now returned with kids of their own. Their girls are the sources for 95% of Ahuva's fabulous outfits. When we arrived, I found a double dresser full to bursting with a whole new wardrobe and had to spend several days sorting by size and season!
The room I'm writing from sits litterally in the middle of a very green forest. I hear birds.
The best part of the lake is of course the lake. It's the same lake that was featured in one of the last episodes of The Sopranos. Ahuva loves it! Even more than in her swimming classes in Haifa, she takes to the water like a happy fish. Photos.

In the Beginning

In shortly over two months, my little family and I will pack up and move overseas for five years so that my husband can pursue a doctorate in Yiddish Literature. After making Haifa, Israel my home for the last ten years, I will be relocating to the land of my birth, to the island Manhattan. As it happens, A. will be studying at the same university where I earned my undergraduate degree, so we will be returning to familiar turf. As a bonus, my parents now live in the neighborhood too. They are eager to have their new granddaughter close by and have promised to provide frequent babysitting services.
I am fortunate to count many friends and relatives living in NYC who are also awaiting our arrival with excited anticipation and open arms.
My husband was accepted to his dream program and I am utterly thrilled for him.
I too am excited at the idea of being in New York. I can rattle off the attractions:

• Close to parents at this critical time in my baby's life.
• Close to supportive friends and family
• Countless job opportunities
• Serious sushi (at least when I stop breastfeeding)
• Art, good art

And yet, I am anxious thinking about the downsides:

• Expensive, very expensive
• Weather that varies between too hot and too cold
• Sensory overload
• The prospect of living in a cramped, roach-filled, apartment on an air shaft

In short, leaving behind all the comforts of my Haifa home.

New York friends assure me that it will be OK. Israeli friends wonder why we insist that we will ever return. And so, my new blog is born. Here I hope to expose my anxieties about this transition and in so doing, cut them down a little. I want to explore the strangeness of the experience of returning "home" to a culture that is familiar (alt, old), and yet utterly changed (neu, new) from the one I left.

Questions for Exploration

What will it be like to leave THE Promised Land for the land the rest of the world considers to be the promised land? Why does my mother-in-law knowingly exclaim, "Oh, America!" when my hungry baby finally latches on to my breast? What is America? Satisfaction? Frustration? My breast?

Can we manage to keep consumerism at bay in the world's capital of capitalism? How exactly does one pay the rent (even in graduate student housing!) plus have money left over for luxuries such as health insurance, day care, and the occasional bite of food?

Why is it that while people here still dream of a streets paved with gold we are in fact anticipating a significant drop in our standard of living?

What's in a Name?

I've not yet read Herzl's Zionistic utopian novel, Altneuland. In fact, until I looked it up on wikipedia a few minutes ago, I didn't even know it was a novel. But I liked the name, and it fit my idea of going back to my old country which is really the new country... though in fact, my current country of Israel is both older and younger. Anyway, another blogger took the altneuland name (and hasn't done a thing with it, grr!) so I flipped the name.

Also, as I discovered when blogging cookingcholent, it can be nice to have a book theme to come back to and reflect on. So I'm going to read Herzl's book. Maybe it will enlighten me. You can read it online.