Having grown up in a house containing thousands of books, with a family addicted to the written word, and with full access to a good education, I have pretty much always taken literacy for granted. When you hear about someone in the US being illiterate, your mind automatically jumps to the conclusion that they must be immigrants from some third-world country or something like that. To me, illiteracy was always a faraway problem.
Fast forward to my adult life and my next door neighbor, a very old Yemenite woman who just lost her husband. She comes from a very respected, intelligent family - her father was a big rabbi in Yemen. She married a big rabbi in Yemen, and two of her sons have gone on to become rabbis here in Israel. And yet, as I recently discovered, my neighbor has never learned to read or write.
I suppose this shouldn't surprise me, considering her background. I'm sure that Yemenite women in the first half of the last century weren't exactly offered equal opportunities for education and betterment. Heck, chances are they still aren't. But coming from 2012, where people make an effort to make literacy a common thing in even the most remote or 'backwards' countries, it seems a little strange to me.
What must it be like to not be able to read your own mail? To not even know if it's addressed to you or not? Now that she lives alone, if she didn't have a son who lives 10 minutes away, what would she do to get through life? I mean, think about it - a simple thing like grocery shopping can suddenly turn into a very big deal if you're not familiar with a product. If you always buy exactly the same things then I suppose you don't need to worry, but what if you want to branch out? How can you tell the difference between the five types of flour on the store shelf? How do you know if something is cottage cheese or white cheese, when the containers are identical?
One part of me feels sorry for her and wonders what she does with her free time, but another part of me can't feel sorry for her because she doesn't feel sorry for herself. She was always content having her husband manage things that required literacy; she was always content learning from him instead of searching it out for herself. Illiterate or not, she is a super-independent woman who has somehow managed to get herself through the literate world without being able to read her own name.
As much as I think it's terrible to find illiterate people where there are resources for teaching them, apparently not all of them want to be taught. Something to think about.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Friends no more
Sometimes life throws tough decisions at you, and you have to learn how to live with it - whether you decide right or wrong, one thing or another, you have to live with your decision.
I find that I actually have a harder time making small decisions than big ones. It takes me longer to decide what to eat for lunch than it did for me to decide to move to Israel. I think that part of that is because the little decisions don't really matter and you can change them anytime without a problem. The big decisions, though, can cause you to lose a lot of sleep and it's better to just lay out all of the pros and cons and make a swift choice so that you aren't stuck wrestling with yourself forever.
One of my hardest decisions, though, was to cut someone out of my life. I had a friend who I liked very much, but I felt that she was being a bad influence on me. Not bad in terms of drugs, alcohol, illegal activity, etc. Just bad in terms of negativity and questioning my relationship with my husband.
I don't have so many friends that losing one doesn't hurt. Even now, nearly a year later, there are times when I consider picking up the phone and just calling her, just to say hi and chat and see how things are going. But I know that I have gone down the road in another direction, and going back won't bring me anything good.
It's not often that I actively decide whether to keep a friend or not. Sometimes people sort of drift in and out of your life - or just drift out - and it's called moving on. People fall in and out of friends all the time. I guess what hurts is that it wasn't a natural progression of events; it was a targeted move on my part for us to be separate. A friend becomes a little part of you, and to surgically remove that part isn't always so easy.
I find that I actually have a harder time making small decisions than big ones. It takes me longer to decide what to eat for lunch than it did for me to decide to move to Israel. I think that part of that is because the little decisions don't really matter and you can change them anytime without a problem. The big decisions, though, can cause you to lose a lot of sleep and it's better to just lay out all of the pros and cons and make a swift choice so that you aren't stuck wrestling with yourself forever.
One of my hardest decisions, though, was to cut someone out of my life. I had a friend who I liked very much, but I felt that she was being a bad influence on me. Not bad in terms of drugs, alcohol, illegal activity, etc. Just bad in terms of negativity and questioning my relationship with my husband.
I don't have so many friends that losing one doesn't hurt. Even now, nearly a year later, there are times when I consider picking up the phone and just calling her, just to say hi and chat and see how things are going. But I know that I have gone down the road in another direction, and going back won't bring me anything good.
It's not often that I actively decide whether to keep a friend or not. Sometimes people sort of drift in and out of your life - or just drift out - and it's called moving on. People fall in and out of friends all the time. I guess what hurts is that it wasn't a natural progression of events; it was a targeted move on my part for us to be separate. A friend becomes a little part of you, and to surgically remove that part isn't always so easy.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The lost year
Within the past week I had my birthday on both the Hebrew and English calendars. What's sad is that I didn't remember about my English birthday until my bank called me to say Happy Birthday (okay, and my brother, sister-in-law, and her family stopped by and took us out to dinner). I didn't remember about my Hebrew one until everyone on Facebook was wishing me Happy Birthday (I set my Facebook date to the Hebrew calendar).
And you know what the saddest part of all of that was? I had to do the math to figure out how old I was. Several times.
I know that when people are really busy and thinking about a million other things, personal matters like birthdays and how old you are can fall by the wayside. But that's really only a small part of my problem. You see, in my mind, there's actually a missing year of my life.
We got married barely two weeks before my birthday, and six weeks later found out we were expecting. The sickness hit almost as soon as we knew, and then the next eight months until our beautiful little girl came into this world were just one long, never-ending nightmare. For many months I was living hour to hour, and on my worst days I just tried to get through one minute at a time. Do you have any idea how long it takes for a day to pass when you are living like that? Each new day was an eternity that I just wanted to forget.
The human mind is a wonderful thing. They say that women forget how difficult childbirth is, and that's why they have more children. For me the birth was a breeze and something that I spent many months looking forward to - it's the pregnancy that needs to be forgotten. Seriously, I would happily give birth 10 times as long as someone else carries the baby to term.
So that was my lost year. The first two months were just trying to get into a routine after the wedding, learning to live with my new husband and how to have a happy marriage. Then there were eight months of darkness and despair (and no, I'm not exaggerating). Then the remaining two months I had a newborn and was trying to regain my health and strength while also taking classes to finish my university degree. In my mind, it's like that year of my life never happened. I was never 22 years old.
On the other hand, it was the most difficult and the longest year of my life - and I don't remember a lot of it. As I said, the human brain is a wonderful thing. You forget things like pregnancy and childbirth so that you do stupid things like have more. Children are wonderful and all, and I now find myself in a position that I am willing to try for another one (I'm still not sure why I'm so willing). I am making sure to remember enough of what I went through so that I can be prepared for the future and so that I don't underestimate how sick I can get and get proper treatment at the first sign of a problem.
So happy birthday, Devorah...however old you are this year.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Ode to N.'s tea
Okay, so not quite an ode. But seriously, N. makes the most delicious tea. Whenever I make tea it turns out okay, but if you're sick and you want a really fantastic cup of tea N. is the man to make it. He gets the balance between the sugar/honey and the lemon just right.
Then again, my former roommate (A.) also used to make me really good tea when I was sick. She bought limes and if I remember correctly, the tea was just hot water, fresh squeezed lime juice, and sugar or honey. I actually did feel a big improvement after drinking her tea.
The bottom line is, if you want a good cup of tea - don't come to me. I was sick and actually waited all day for my husband to come home before I drank tea, just because I knew that his was so much better. Yay for husbands who make tea. :)
Then again, my former roommate (A.) also used to make me really good tea when I was sick. She bought limes and if I remember correctly, the tea was just hot water, fresh squeezed lime juice, and sugar or honey. I actually did feel a big improvement after drinking her tea.
The bottom line is, if you want a good cup of tea - don't come to me. I was sick and actually waited all day for my husband to come home before I drank tea, just because I knew that his was so much better. Yay for husbands who make tea. :)
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Book Review: Just One More Swim by Caroline Pitcher and Jenny Jones
This book is another gem that my sister sent to me. While the story line is just fine (two polar bear cubs learning about their environment, gaining confidence, and becoming free spirits), the real beauty of this book is in its illustrations.
Each page is filled with a canvas painting with gorgeous hues and soft, flowing lines. My favorite part, I think, is the fish that mama bear catches after digging a hole through the ice. It is painted in a whole different color scheme from the rest of the page, and stands out in joyful contrast. You can almost imagine the little creature wriggling in her paws, trying to get free. Sometimes I pick up the book and just look at the pictures because they are so wonderful.
Ima rating: four out of five for the story, six out of five for the illustrations.
L.H. rating: three or four out of five. She got this book at the same time as Spoon, which she is completely obsessed with, so it's hard to tell what she really thinks of it.
Each page is filled with a canvas painting with gorgeous hues and soft, flowing lines. My favorite part, I think, is the fish that mama bear catches after digging a hole through the ice. It is painted in a whole different color scheme from the rest of the page, and stands out in joyful contrast. You can almost imagine the little creature wriggling in her paws, trying to get free. Sometimes I pick up the book and just look at the pictures because they are so wonderful.
Ima rating: four out of five for the story, six out of five for the illustrations.
L.H. rating: three or four out of five. She got this book at the same time as Spoon, which she is completely obsessed with, so it's hard to tell what she really thinks of it.
Book Review: Sesame Street's Lots of Opposites
This book was a gift from N.'s aunt, and L.H. immediately fell in love with it. I was surprised at first (actually, I still am) because it seems like it is aimed at an older crowd, like 2-3 years. Even so, it is one of her favorites so I won't argue with her.
The book teaches all sorts of opposites, using dialogue between the beloved Sesame Street characters. I wish I was better at voices so that I could actually make each character unique, but again - L.H. couldn't care less. I think that some of the pages are quite complicated, but overall they do a good job of portraying some difficult concepts on little board book pages.
Ima rating: four out of five, for a slightly older child
L.H. rating: definitely five out of five
The book teaches all sorts of opposites, using dialogue between the beloved Sesame Street characters. I wish I was better at voices so that I could actually make each character unique, but again - L.H. couldn't care less. I think that some of the pages are quite complicated, but overall they do a good job of portraying some difficult concepts on little board book pages.
Ima rating: four out of five, for a slightly older child
L.H. rating: definitely five out of five
Being thankful
There are a lot of things to be thankful about how things turned out in the end after my terrifying pregnancy, but I feel that I need to mention the seemingly simple acts of two friends in particular.
At some point during my first trimester, I developed a fever. I didn't have any medicine in the house that was safe for pregnancy with which to lower my fever, but I felt that I had to get it down. So I called up my faithful friend I. who had Tylenol and who lived a 10-15 minute walk away. Even though it was already pretty late at night and she had to be up early the next morning, she came over with the medicine and sat with me for a little while before going back home to bed. From her side it was such a simple thing to do, and yet to me it meant so much that I had a friend whom I could call upon when needed and who would help me out, even though it was inconvenient. I am so thankful for that.
My other friend who bears mentioning is D., along with her husband O. On a Wednesday I had gone in for IV hydration, but I still wasn't doing well. As in, by noon on Thursday I was thinking that we should go back in again. I wanted to wait it out a little bit and see. D. came over that evening with her husband and a pot of orange soup that he had made for me that day. It was the best present ever. I don't know how, but by some amazing miracle I was able to eat all of the soup and it all stayed in without a fuss. It gave me enough liquid that I was able to skip the hospital visit that evening, and I was put back onto a good track (well, a good track for a woman with HG...).
They say that soup has healing powers, and it's true. Not only did I feel the warmth of friendship; it actually physically made me better. So to I. for her Tylenol and friendship, and to D. and O. for their soup and visit, I am eternally grateful. You have no idea how much that meant to me at a very dark time of life.
At some point during my first trimester, I developed a fever. I didn't have any medicine in the house that was safe for pregnancy with which to lower my fever, but I felt that I had to get it down. So I called up my faithful friend I. who had Tylenol and who lived a 10-15 minute walk away. Even though it was already pretty late at night and she had to be up early the next morning, she came over with the medicine and sat with me for a little while before going back home to bed. From her side it was such a simple thing to do, and yet to me it meant so much that I had a friend whom I could call upon when needed and who would help me out, even though it was inconvenient. I am so thankful for that.
My other friend who bears mentioning is D., along with her husband O. On a Wednesday I had gone in for IV hydration, but I still wasn't doing well. As in, by noon on Thursday I was thinking that we should go back in again. I wanted to wait it out a little bit and see. D. came over that evening with her husband and a pot of orange soup that he had made for me that day. It was the best present ever. I don't know how, but by some amazing miracle I was able to eat all of the soup and it all stayed in without a fuss. It gave me enough liquid that I was able to skip the hospital visit that evening, and I was put back onto a good track (well, a good track for a woman with HG...).
They say that soup has healing powers, and it's true. Not only did I feel the warmth of friendship; it actually physically made me better. So to I. for her Tylenol and friendship, and to D. and O. for their soup and visit, I am eternally grateful. You have no idea how much that meant to me at a very dark time of life.
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