5 Steps for a Healthy Selfie

Deux to Due: Beating My Contractions Anxiety

Almost there. Two days to my due date. It seems like it was only yesterday when I was sweating on the elliptical watching Barry Manilow singing Copaabana on a morning show, crying my eyes out because “I never knew how horribly sad the lyrics were”, or when I was frantically struggling to remove my nail polish for 30 minutes only to realize I was using rubbing alcohol rather than nail polish remover. Ach, the revelations of early pregnancy…

Almost there…although…  I’m still really enjoying the pregnancy. I’m still physically comfortable and absolutely relish in euphorically bonding with my baby girl via our belly games. I’m not even close to the “Get this baby out of me already” sensations. Combine that with my initial anxiety (on the verge of phobia) related to labor and delivery pain (AKA the Unknown) and realize the ridiculousness… (at least my ridiculousness is consistent). Now, how do I get from point A (not ready) to point B (ready)?

I’ve done it all…yoga, mastered breathing techniques, Lamaze class, auto-suggestion…you name it. I find it fascinating that logic hasn't been working too well as a preparation tool. I mean I've been fantasizing incessantly about the magical moment when I’ll be meeting my Lulu; feeling her against my skin, holding her, our beautiful creation, instantly discovering new definitions of marvel and love. And yet, I still find myself obsessing over the physical pain. It didn't help me to call it intense pressure/discomfort/waves of sensation. All I've been able to imagine is excruciating pain that my body wouldn't be able to handle. Yes, I know, of course my body can handle it, but remember? I’m consistently ridiculous.

But….something happened to me. A new thought came to me today while daydreaming about the gift we’re about to receive, infusing me with a confidently warm invitation to the most intense contractions- welcome, my dears! Come on in!

It was simple math (I’m pretty sure it’s actually physics or some other science, but please allow my preggo brain to use “simple math”): 

Do I want to meet her? Yes is a pathetic understatement.

How eager am I to reach that enchanted moment of becoming a mother? As eager as can be.

How many times have I envisioned those first moments? Countless! First moments of welcoming her into our world in almost disbelief that the same baby I’ve been growing, loving, feeding and getting to know inside my belly for all these months, that baby is now comforted on the outside of my belly. I can touch her, smell her, feel her and look at her. She’s here!

Well, not yet. She’s not here yet. Where was I? Simple math. Sorry, I got carried away…

My new thought was that each contraction is actually going to provide me with another step closer to meeting Lulu. Simple! Yes! Does she want to come out? Yes! Do I want to meet her? Yes! Well, then, all I have to do whenever I feel a contraction is remember that the pain is simply a reassuring sign that I am creating more room for Lulu to make her grand entrance!

I am now thrilled to welcome you, brilliant contractions! Join me in bringing Lulu into our world! Come on in! Create her path out to me, to us, to her new life!

Now………..let’s hope I maintain this bravery 
in 2…3…7 days, or whenever I’m introduced to my new allies, who from now on I decided to call… Contractors.

My First Pregnancy: Life, Art & the Art of Life

July 2012. I get cast in Dovid Meyer, a feature film, playing Elisheva, a woman whose world falls apart due to unbearable loss, but the new life growing inside her, among other miracles, leads her to new heights of happiness.

August 1st, 2012. One week before I pack my suitcases to go upstate New York and shoot that feature, I am feeling strange cramps and so I call my gynecologist. She urges me to take a pregnancy test as soon as possible….

My first chance to take a pregnancy test that day was at Greg’s office, where we were meeting in the evening to go see a show. Thank God we bought the 3 pack, as I ruined one test by peeing all over the stick (I still don’t quite know how to do it right, but we won’t get into that).  
A few minutes into exploring the intricacies of a pregnancy test, we found out that I….we….were PREGNANT!  What a marvelous moment…., finding out that our love had created a tiny seed of life that was going to become a person in just a few months. Pure magic! ("This, from sex?!!”, I heard myself screaming at the doctor during our first ultrasound). At the same time, we didn't expect it to happen so soon after deciding to start a family….and I was about to travel upstate to shoot a movie playing a PREGNANT woman! Craaazy!

I decided not to disclose my pregnancy on set…., which was quite challenging, but I didn't want the extra attention. I regretted it at times, especially every time I had to put on my fake pregnancy belly after a heavy lunch, but I kept my mouth shut. On day 7, morning sickness kicked in. Fun times, personally defined more like “All-Day-Except-for-Morning-Sickness”.  Please note that my not-morning sickness had a quite impressive work ethic: On my days off, I was rolling in bed, trying hard to read about early pregnancy symptoms, nauseous beyond belief, grossed out by most food (except for Friendship 2% cottage cheese, which was nowhere to be found in the area, but my knight in shining armor would appear in my hotel room every weekend with special deliveries from NYC.  I have the most amazing husband). On work days, I would be up and running, prepared for 5 am call times and very long days with no sign of nausea or exhaustion. Magic.

On December 9th my world fell apart. My dad passed away. Daddy’s girl lost her daddy. There were no tools for me to deal with the unbearable pain. I could not imagine a world without my Aba, without our special bond, our unique language that no one quite understood. I could not imagine a world where my kids, especially the one growing inside me, didn’t know their one-of-a-kind Saba. I could not contain the grief. It was the most traumatizing and agonizing experience of my life and at the same time, the most magical time of creating a life inside me. The polarity was indigestible. There were no answers to my questions. I was sad and angry. I refused to accept the loss of my dad and slowly I moved to what I call “half denial”: When sadness took over and the tears didn’t stop, I would tell myself that it didn’t really happen. I know it’s my defense mechanism, protecting myself because I’m pregnant, but it was the only way for me to cope through my pregnancy.
I was still in awe of my growing belly and the life inside me, but the magical euphoria of creation I was experiencing prior to December 9th was nowhere to be found. It was scary to feel like a different person. I couldn't find the inspired, naturally positive half-glass-full Liat, even though my incredibly supportive friends and family kept reminding me that she was still in there.

She indeed was. I rediscovered her once Lulu’s pronounced movements took over (Lulu=temporary name for our baby girl). I couldn’t help it. Every time I felt her gracefully dancing inside my belly, I found myself laughing with joy, overwhelmed by a warm wave of bliss. I became absolutely addicted to touching my belly, trying to recognize feet, legs, hands, knees…I saw the sun again, and I let it in. I’ve been letting it in ever since. There has been no other way.

It’s my dad’s birthday today, first birthday without him, and I’m almost 39 weeks pregnant. Our baby girl will be ready to come out any day now. She is the reason why I can smile today. She is the reason why my tears of sadness can easily turn to tears of joy. While shooting Dovid Meyer, I was so entertained by the coincidence of playing a pregnant woman while being very newly pregnant, but I could not imagine that months later, I would share a lot more than pregnancy with Elisheva, a woman whose world falls apart due to unbearable loss, but the new life growing inside her, among other miracles, leads her to new heights of happiness.

Can’t wait to meet my Lulu, our miracle of life! 

Northeast Road Trip- A Feast for Our Senses

I've always known that New England insects love me. They still do, but that didn't have any negative effect on our outstandingly pleasurable road trip, which ended very appropriately last night, with 4th of July fireworks. Greg claims that there was a circle of flying  buzz around me throughout our hiking excursions this past week. Despite his constant attempts to swat them away, they managed to make frequent contact with my skin...Nevertheless, I'm at peace with it: They're only doing their job, I refuse to use DEET, and the one time we used the very natural Buzz Away Extreme, I was nauseated to the core to the point that being bitten sounded like the attractive alternative. 

So I've been bitten, so what? (not Greg, just me!) I'll say it's a very small price to pay for a magical road trip. I mean it.

  I've been taking a lot of pictures lately, so it's only natural that I'm going to share our incredible experience using more than just words.... 

Hugging a tree right into Lake Champlain with hair sticking to my freshly sunscreened face. Always wear sunscreen :-)

A closer look into the tree to my left in previous photo.

Gorgeous Mushroom by the Lake. Can't stop staring. Is it just me or are the mushrooms staring back?

Lake Placid blew me away. Yes, first time. Will be back soon!

More breathtaking Lake Placid View

Flowers.

This delightful flower is everywhere!

My favorite color is purple. Craving my favorite coffee (naturally flavored & organic), we bump into a purple coffee house (!), serving Jim's Hazelnut Organic Coffee!!!! And that's not it! Inside you feel like you're on another planet. Loved the green attitude (pasta stir straws- yes!), loved the gallery upstairs, loved reading quietly, sipping excellent coffee and sampling their yummy dishes. 

I told you....

Trees, mountains and clouds in perfect harmony


Mirror Lake, Lake Placid. Serenity Now.


Dreamy bridge on the way to Vermont


Entering Vermont. They look like people to me.



This is the view from the dining room window of The Rabbit Hill Inn, as we sit down for our incredible dinner experience. It has just started to rain, which takes the candlelit dinner to an even higher level of romantic and cozy. Did I say romantic? Rabbit Hill Inn is possibly the most romantic place on earth and is like no other inn. 
Dinner was beyond delicious and everything about it involved at least 3 senses...

 
Beets can be magical, yes.



I want to find a way to make this soup. There's cucumber, there's melon, there's watermelon, and I've never tasted anything like it.



You'd think it's just a salad, but oh, no, it's not. Harvest Hill Farms Head Lettuces & Early summer Vegetables tossed in lemon vinaigrette. Yummy local produce.

Rare-Seared Hawaiian Kampachi with broccoli rabe and mushrooms. Where can I find this fish in NYC??? I'm still trying to describe its unique mouth-watering flavor. Like buttah! 

Not reading coffee grounds, just staring into tea

Soooooo good!! Peach Tart Caprese

peach-basil tart, fresh mozzarella ice cream, cherry tomato jam.

YES! This one is soooo delicious! The flavors keeps surprising you while you chew!  

Mayan Chocolate Shortcake spiced chocolate biscuit filled with strawberries and lime, white chocolate crema, and mint

Sewing Kit in the room. Did I mention the inn was established in 1795?

The more you walk around, the more you discover...

We found a nest by the inn's pond!

And flowers.

More.

Did I mention purple is my favorite?

Heading south, we found this at the Littleton, NH Co-Op. Open and sip?

Trying to figure out if this is the first dam I've ever seen in the flesh. Either way, it's captivating. Waterford, VT.

What a feeling, to be the only car on the road! That happened a lot on the road trip. 


Time to head home.

One more thing. Hanover, home of Dartmouth, is a cute little town, highly recommended if you're in the area. We made a perfect little stop there, with a memorable visit to Left Bank Books, where you can find used, out of print and rare books. I lost track of time once I discovered a fascinating theater gem....

Downstairs you can't miss and shouldn't miss The Dirty Cowboy Cafe. They have the BEST single serve coffee collection I've ever seen (yes, I went for flavored). Their bagels are BETTER than H&H (and I'm a big H&H fan), and if you want fresh veggie juice, you'll find great combinations! (I recommend my mix of organic carrot, beet & ginger). Very inviting atmosphere too.

Happy Belated 4th!!!! Here's to metaphorical year-round fireworks!!

That was my first attempt at photoblogging. Hope you enjoyed. 

I'll be back soon, with or without pictures....

Life Force, Gratitude, Hope and Love - Post Nursing Home Visit

(For my Hero)

They wait for him. He is the highlight and the sunlight of their day. Some cannot see him, but his voice, energy and words manage to clear out existential blurriness and sprinkle laughter over their achy bodies and souls. His spark warmly strokes their hearts, sending my mind directly to Henry V…

Oh, that unforgettable 4^th act prologue. 

I see overwhelming suffering everywhere I look. The air is soaked in stomach turning smells. I hear dulled unbearable pain. I almost can’t breathe. I am surrounded by expressionless expressions, marginal or evasive consciousness, and my heightened compassion is battling with my acute urge to run out and never come back. Hope. Where is the hope. Where do they go from here. What do they know, want to know, able to know, refuse to know. Life keeps them going. Life force makes me ponder its meaning, and oh so typically…the meaning of life.

Entering a room, his voice instantly softens the gloomiest despair, and you can almost see the warmest wave taking over the space. He smiles and they smile. He tells a joke and they laugh. He offers them a special brand of hope; he customizes compliments and fills their eyes, those mirrors of their souls, with comforting glee and cheerful memories.

How does he do it? His strength, energy, presence, humor and unique conduct radiate healing powers.  Everyone here is so profoundly touched by him; I see it in the glowing smiles on staff and patients’ faces as they greet him in the long somber corridors. You can almost touch the atmosphere change that he brings about. 

I walk next to him, filled to the brim with admiration, gratitude and love. I am proud, oh so proud.  My man. MY man.

I look at him attentively while I hold his hand tighter, subconsciously attempting to transfuse him with energetic fuel, just in case. And we walk out to the rarely sunny and warm winter day.

One Week till GUTS is OUT!

"I can feel it. I can touch it... I'm here!"
Though this is a quote from GUTS, it also describes how I am feeling today, exactly one week before the vision of GUTS materializes.
Yes, I am here. A couple of years back (and forgive me for the cheesy moment....) I read 4 lines from my diary to my mentor, Gregory Simmons, and he said "You must create a play out of this!"....
"What?! Who? Where? How?.....No way! That's a crazy thought!", I responded... Plus, it's my personal "stuff"! 
Mr. Simmons insisted that there is something very universal in my messages, he urged me to keep writing, he urged me to get out of my comfort zone, he urged me to develop a play because what I had to say was bigger than me...
I resisted. I resisted A LOT....But what kept me going (other than Mr. Simmons' incessant support and faith in this project) was that deep inside I knew that GUTS could make a difference. At first I didn't know exactly what kind of "difference", but I'm more clear about it these days. 
The name GUTS came to me one day, not too long ago, after quite a while of working on a nameless play. It immediately felt like "the one". Made so much sense to me. I had somehow known that the name would come when it's ready to come, and it did... All the associations of the word GUTS exist in this play, though the word is not used even once. 


Cut to where we are now.....


That diary, which I always liked personalizing (I tend to personalize things....), became Mr. Diary; fiction was added; Middle Eastern dance, an agent in telling the story of Hellthy, was added; multimedia was added; many drafts were created over and over...And then I found my superwoman director/producer, Shoshona Currier, and she put together an incredible team, gifted award-winning designers, passionate artists, who amaze me every day. I couldn't have asked for more. 
GUTS, my surreal dramdey, my multi-media fantasia, is going to hit the stage in one week! What began as a personal story of triumph, something a private person like me did NOT want to share with the world, is about to materialize as a theatrical piece. Now, that alone seems surreal to me....But like my mentor said, it's a lot bigger than me, and I am beyond honored to be the GUTS' vessel.


Here's a lil something from yesterday's costume fitting (Sydney Maresca, our costume designer, is a wizard...):

GUTS Film Shoot Blew Me Away

Even though today was a long day of shooting footage for GUTS, including, but not limited to, a lot of dancing (you'll see it on stage and on screen when you come see it...), which resulted in sore muscles and (sweet) exhaustion, I had to stop by here and say how amazing today was. We shot most of what will end up becoming the "multimedia fantasia" aspect of GUTS, all done brilliantly by our incredible video designer- Kaz Phillips Safer. Can't wait to see the footage!

Gotta say, I was blown away today by her ideas, creativity and imagination, not to mention by the strong wind, provided by New York City. I don't care that I had to cut my nails (for the first time! I love my long nails) for the role of Hellthy, and I don't care that I had to wear summer clothes while the cold wind was trying to fly me away. Because it's worth it. My GUTS experience these days is a dream come true. I couldn't have asked for a more talented, inspired and passionate team. So much dedicated work is put into GUTS, and to think that it's a solo show....

My body needs to rest now.....until tomorrow's rehearsal. 

We open in 2 weeks!!! 

GUTS.

My GUTS...coming out....soon...

PS. I leave you with a photo taken on set today, with our edible props...

Da News is OUT!

I like warm weather, just like Hellthy, my character in GUTS. Had to layer up this morning for rehearsal, since we're in that time of year, when city heat isn't on yet, though it should be.....Even though I constantly move on stage, I am still cold....

BUT, may I say, I am now super warm, and not because the heat at home is on (it's not...), but because our FIRST announcement is out! GUTS is OUT! We open 4 weeks from today!!! Yay! It's amazing that even though the apartment is cold, I am feeling soooo warm inside and out! Cheerz!!
Read:

http://broadwayworld.com/article/Liat-Rons-GUTS-Begins-Performances-113-20111006

My GUTS

I don't quite understand why I've been so neglectful of my blog. It's rude. Please forgive me, Mr. Blog.  I may have been focusing too much on developing a play (GUTS) based on my Diary, and so Blog didn't have much room to grow....

Now, just to be clear, GUTS is NOT my diary! It's actually a fictionalized version of my story...But its original seed was a diary that was written during a very pivotal time of my life, not too long ago. 

So here I am, trying to make peace with you, Mr. Blog, asking for your forgiveness. I didn't mean to desert you. I am back now! I am back now, straight from our first rehearsal of GUTS.  

It's so incredibly exhilarating, hard to put it in words....

Opening night is November 3rd! (and yes, there WILL BE belly dancing...). Sooo pumped! We have the most talented team on earth! (Yes, on earth!) and I have to pinch myself to believe that this is finally happening. GUTS.

I'm leaving you with a glimpse from last weekend, which was designed for memorizing all of Hellthy's lines (that's my character's name, and it's not a spelling mistake) somewhere......in Massachusetts....Enjoy! I will see you back here, VERY soon! Oh, and thank you for not giving up on me...I'll totally make it up to you, I promise!

Shana Tova, Blog (and my Jewish readers too.....)

Quick Brilliance to Brighten Up Your Day

Just to show how silly can be genius. I don't know how it's physically possible, but no matter how many times I watch this 16 seconds clip, I laugh out loud (snorting including, for those who know me....). Keep it at arm's length, and use as needed:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhJQp-q1Y1s

(Oh, yes, and this is my little homage to 40 Years of Monty Python, who's been magically crossing generations and cultures, and I'm sure will keep doing so for a long long time!)

My King-dom for High Rating: Musings on Last Night’s Interview with Ahmadinejad

“Thank you, Mr. President. Always good to see you”, was how Larry King ended his hollow hour-long interview with Ahmadinejad last night.

You seemed so timid, Larry, so meek, that I’m not sure you had such a good time with Mr. “Allow Me”, after all. But oh my, Mr. King, did you indeed “allow” him....and then some. Is it out of fear? I mean, I promise he would have not thrown a nuclear bomb at you had you dared to challenge him (he might actually come closer to doing that if he’s NOT challenged, but that’s another story…)

And speaking of challenging an interviewee, can you please refresh my memory and tell me how many decades of experience you have...? Isn't it 50 years? Something like that? Now, I do understand that you are most comfortable interviewing about the real issues, like reality TV and beauty pageant controversies. But cut us some slack, Larry, you had an opportunity last night, to sit face to face with someone who is one of the world’s major threats, who wants to make our future a very very dark place. And instead of telling this overwhelmingly dangerous man “all of your answers are absolute lies and allow ME now to confront you with some truth”, you sit there and every 120 seconds, on the dot, you say “we gotta go to break”.

Yesssss, commercial breaks is really what you needed last night, to fill 75% of a crucial interview. Not to mention you needed a break to squirm in your seat without the world watching (the president of Iran saw it though, I wonder if he offered you some xanax). But commercials mean money, and apparently money is what you needed to provide last night, more than anything else, to your excellent reputable Network.

Has anyone prepared you for this interview? Do you understand how important this interview was? How come you were more prepared for your John Gosslin interview?!
Why would you let this man go on and on about the wonderful democracy that is Iran, where it’s so sad that people just don’t seem to know how to honorably lose an election? Would it have been so hard to articulate some facts for Mr. Allow Me?!

And one more thing, Larry: When somebody tells you how it’s so unfair that people maliciously ostracize him simply because he goes against “common opinion” about the Holocaust, you ask him if he ever heard of the Final Solution, and then you talk to him about facts, and if it’s necessary, you explain to him, very slowly, the difference between Opinions and Facts. Okay?

You can also ask him if he’d like to see for himself any of those pretend showers that instead of water, poured Zyklon B gas on millions of people, in order to systematically mass slaughter and annihilate a whole nation.

I only wish, Larry, that you mentioned the gas chambers, the crematoriums, and the extermination camps. And more than that, I wish you offered to take him on a tour.

If Larry King represents the current attitude of a world seeking a peaceful future (or a future at all, for that matter), all I have to say now is:

We Need to Wake Up!

And on that note, I will also say “Gmar Chatima Tova”, to those of us who observe Yom Kippur. As a Jew, this is one of the most important days of my year.
...And while at it, Shana Tova: Happy New Jewish Year!

A Tribute to Billy: September 2001- May 26, 2009

I received a sad message this morning from my ex. Our cat Billy, Bill, Billbillon, Billbilloni, passed away a couple of days ago from a kidney disease.

He was a lot more than a cat. He was a rare creature that brought endless joy and laughter to anyone who knew him.

I read the message over and over again, and my brain knew what it meant, but all I could do was to write back a “be strong” reply, delete the message like it never existed, and continue my day.

Early this evening, sitting with my eyes closed in the beginning of my yoga class, when you “set your intention” for the next 90 minutes, tears started streaming out. When I opened my eyes, my face was wet. Billy. Billy is dead.

It wasn’t love at first site. Not at all. I’m a dog person, always have been. Actually only German shepherds. Never cats. Frankly, pre-Billy, cats used to scare the hell out of me, partially because when I was seven I was haunted to read this scary story about how they had nine souls.
When I fell in love with a guy who had a cat, I had to adjust, but I didn’t know how to handle Billy’s presence, so I simply tried to ignore him whenever I visited the boyfriend up in Maine.

But every time I slept over he would come to bed in the middle of the night and sleep on my face. Now, if you know me, you know that no one in this whole world is allowed to wake me up, ever (!), unless asked, let alone a skinny little orange cat, a peculiar cross-breeding of a chirping bird and a fierce tiger (not to mention that the nine souls trauma didn’t work well with this particular way of being woken up…).

I didn’t know what to do. I was in love, and had to somehow come to terms with Billy’s existence. We had a couple of bonding experiences, here and there, especially when the ex left us alone for a few hours, but that was about it. Deep inside I was hoping that befriending him would make him stop sitting on top of my head every night at 3 am.

A couple of months have passed, and we decided to move in together. There was no way Billy was coming to New York City, I thought. Living with me under one roof was not an option.
I knew the boyfriend would not be happy about it, but there was no way I was going to live with a cat, doesn’t matter what cat!! (quite naïve I was, wasn’t I…?)

Needless to say, after one short fiery conversation, I learned that Billy was here to stay. Billy was not going anywhere. Well, he was, actually. He was moving to New York! And was going to live with me! Despite the million conditions I laid out (for instance: I don’t take care of him, his poop, his anything), I wasn’t happy about the situation.

And then we fell in love…..Billy and I. I was, without a doubt, his new mommy.
He became the most gorgeous cat in the whole wide world. He was irresistible. And I was proud to have him and to show him off.

Billy. Billy loved to talk (or chirp), and we used to have lively discussions for hours.

Billy knew how to play fetch better than any dog I knew.

Billy was obsessed with my banana bread. I can still see him now, attacking it right as it comes out of the oven, acting like a sneaky panther, chirping like there’s no tomorrow.
And…passionately eating brown rice out of Chinese takeout. And…my biscotti. And pooping. He really liked to poop.

He didn’t like our fights. Fighting when Billy was around was tough. He would come between us and then it was hard not to laugh.

Billy made me laugh at times when no one else could.

When we broke up Billy went back to Maine. It tore my heart, I wanted to keep him, but that’s how it works: even though I became his mommy, he belonged to my ex first.
I would get updates about him once in while.
Now there will be no more updates. Billy is gone.
But he will always remain in my heart, and my happy memories of him will never go away.

The Pow(d)er of Love

I have my own private powder of love. Cinnamon- kee-naa-mon in Hebrew. Keee.Naa.Mon.
It’s sweet but it has this kinda sneaky quality….cunning. Scratch that. Don’t mean to give it a negative connotation. My point is that cinnamon is sophisticated and rich. You know? It doesn’t only represent one pure and simple flavor, or essence. It’s not like when you think of sweet- you think honey. Cinnamon is definitely not a second name for sweetness. No. It’s actually a spice. Now, you think spice, you think of something exotic. Even semi mysterious. Spice. Spices.

Being a spice means you must be creative. It’s not like you’ve all of a sudden emerged in this world. No. Somebody actually thought of you in advance, and decided that you must be here. Somebody consciously and meaningfully cultivated you.

With all due respect, what is honey? God wanted to show us what sweetness meant, so he brought us honey, you know? Simply to illustrate a point. That’s all. Then people started giving it all those medicinal qualities because they felt bad, because it didn’t look very appetizing …… you know, like this gross sticky sap you find on trees.

But cinnamon? Oh, No! It has class. Status. It’s deliciously fascinating. You wanna have a conversation with it. It takes you to places far far away, but it also elegantly and effortlessly brings you back home once it’s done with you. Grounds you right back into your center. You’re safe with it. It enters your soul majestically, just as it enters your stomach. It allows you to truly celebrate, but nothing too crazy or wild. I mean… no one is gonna think something is wrong with you. Because it’s ok!! It’s ok with cinnamon! You can be lusciously stimulated by it to your very core and still maintain your sense of normalcy. It’s the wackiest you can go within the realms of sanity. You will never be hospitalized because of cinnamon. Or be sent to jail.

When cinnamon is in the picture, you know that delightful spirits are coming your way. Thrill and pleasure. It’s crystal clear to you from the start that it’s going to be a profound and positive experience. And even though it’s so very predictable, it’s also always so very new. Because it comes to you with a different message each time you meet. It depends on where it catches you in your day (or night), what your state of mind is and what happened prior to that.

My cinnamon…. My kee-naa-mon. My cinnamon inspires me. And it makes my stomach smile.
It always appears exactly when I need it. And once it joins forces with my food or drink, I know there can be no evil in this world. It’s the taste of vitality and balanced confidence.

My cinnamon stops by and says hello to all of my senses, and while at it, it tells us (me and all my senses) that everything is going to be just fine.
Vigor. Courage. Elation. Fearlessness.
Peaceful and secure.

I am sprinkling my magic powder all over my soul and am as ready as can be to go swallow the whole world, one flavor at a time.

Yummy.

(for those who celebrate it, and for those who would like to...):
Happy Passover- Wishing you the deepest experience of liberation, from all negative forces, inside and out, and the most delectable immersion in Spring!!!

I Have Fingers or Winter Wonderland

On my way to the gym I realize that I forgot my gloves at home. Oh, well. I’m wearing enough layers and gym is only five blocks away.

Walking out of the gym, in my post workout smiley-high, I have a strong urge to go food shopping. Not just an urge. Refrigerator is also in desperate need of replenishment.

Ok, supermarket is pretty close, 5 minutes and I’m there, then 5-10 more minutes of outside endurance and I’m back in my boiling hot apartment. Deal. It’s been like 8 or 9 New York winters for me already… I should be plenty toughened-up by now. Hands should certainly survive the… what….15-20 degrees (that's Fahrenheit, for you Celsius speakers..)? For sure! My fingers should be well immune to mere ten naked minutes. Am NOT gonna run home just to get gloves. Decision made.

Coming out of the supermarket. Jolly. Each hand holding two relatively light shopping bags. No biggie at all. Will be home in no time.

Ooooooooo-Kayyyyyy. 60 seconds into my walk home and fingers are beginning to go on strike, i.e. freeze. Horrified I realize that on my way to the supermarket, hands were in pockets, but now it’s an impossibility since carrying groceries… Ooops.

Major tactical error.

But I’m soooo close to home. I can do this. Cab please?

One more block and I do not feel my fingers anymore. No fucking cabs. Koos Emeck!! (ask someone else what that means…).

Bursting into following mantra: “I have fingers. I have fingers. I have fingers”. I am forcing myself to come to a meditative state: “…have fingers….have fingers”.

It’s not helping. But the only choice I have right now is to continue walking. CANNOT stop! MUST NOT stop!

Walk. Walk. Walk. But I can’t. I can’t anymore. No more fingers. They froze to death. Bags feeling really really heavy all of a sudden.

%^&*####@@@%#######......

That unbearably painful second when I felt the bags were about to pull away from me and drop down, taking bloody disintegrated fingers and messy flesh with them on their way to the ground (frozen blood, wonder what that looks like), I found myself standing outside my building. I was ecstatic to see a neighbor opening the door, What a relief! Now I don't have to deal with the excruciating struggle of searching for my keys in coat pockets. But she can’t see me. I am 5 feet behind her. She can’t see me!! Where is my voice?!!!!! Up to two minutes ago I was singing out loud that I still have my fingers, but now…what happened to my voice?!!!

The door closed behind neighbor, and my salvation evaporated. I’m outside. Bags on the ground. But I CANNOT help my agonized screaming fingers travel into my coat pockets in order to get my keys! God please help me! I am praying for another neighbor to come.

No one. No one walked in. No one walked out. Miraculously I managed to pull out my keys, and I will save you the boring description of how long it took me to bring those light shopping bags into the building, through the lobby, to the elevator and into my apartment….

Cut to- I’m home!! On the verge of unconsciousness. Fingers glued to loving radiator. I make my way to the sink, letting hot water caress my hands and bring them to life again. What an enchanted sensation. Color back to fingers, I am starting to feel them again.

Frozen versus frozen, I pull out a popsicle from the freezer and crash on the couch.

You can never forget your gloves at home, says my mom’s voice from deep inside my head, and adds: I hope you’ve learned your lesson, young lady.

I have.

Happy Channuka!

Merry Christmas!

If I Could Turn Back Time

I am back in my homeland for the Holidays, my very special time of year. Soaking in all the family time and love that I can, acknowledging my sweet inhalations of what I always miss between visits, constantly reminding myself what a sentimental freak I am….

Last night was a special party night, as the clock went back one hour at 2 am, bestowing upon the working people that delicious extra hour of sleep (FYI- Sunday is a working day here in Israel).

After sampling a few hot spots and enjoying what Tel Aviv has to offer at night (a lot!), including a few sips (which is all my mutant system needs to make me think that I'm trashed drunk...) of my favorite alcohol (that I can NEVER find in NY- Arak- can somebody help me import it pleeeez??), I crash at my dear friend Karin’s place. Her cat Gandolfini (James, she has a crush) is the sweetest snugilicious kitten ever- among the ugly cats, that is (although she truly believes he’s the most beautiful cat in the world).

Karin forgot her cell in the car. I convinced her not to walk drunk the five blocks to her car, and instead- to use my own Israeli cell to wake us up in time to drop off a Gandolfini’s gift to the world at the vet’s office and make it to (her) work on time, after dropping me off.

Karin got all kooky OCD on me, and checked the time on my phone twelve hundred times, cuz she didn’t trust me when I assured her again and again that in the States the cell phones change the times automatically.
It didn’t cross my intoxicated mind for one second that we’re actually IN ISREAL and this is an ISRAELI PHONE, and here you have to change the clock manually…. What’s so much more incredible is how I managed to convince HER that my cell clock was magically showing the new time….. But when you’re drunk and tired, it all makes sense (after testing the alarm 300 times).

Cut to….

10:15 am: Am waiting half asleep for Karin in the car, when she storms in, yelling:
“I can’t believe these f---ing potheads! They are supposed to open at 10!!!!!!!!!. What am I gonna do?”. Not waiting for my response (not that I had one), she storms out of the car, looking like a crazy woman about to vandalize anything that stands in her way to figure out what’s wrong with Gandol’s poop.

10:20 am: She’s not back. Now I’M getting worried I’m gonna miss my 12 noon appointment. If we don’t leave NOW, I’m not going to be able to stop by home first to change! I call home, in an effort to tailor a contingency plan. My dad answers the phone, and when I finally let him plug in a word, I hear it : “But it’s only 9:20, re-lax!”. Noooooo.

9:21 am. I call Karin, right before she breaks vet’s office door. I tell her the real time. She screams and then threatens to kill me. She comes back to the car, and after describing how she’s gonna kill me (strangulation), I hear: “You’re gonna pay for this. You’re gonna pay BIG time. I want at least 2 hours of sleep from you. From your OWN stock!!!”. She’s very serious. So I agree. I will give her two extra hours, taken directly from my personal quota, even three. Only then do we finally calm down and stop screaming at each other. And we both take responsibility. And then laugh hysterically.

It happened this morning, I swear, but I’m still not quite sure that it did. Regardless, instead of letting it be an embarrassing occurrence that should be kept between the two of us (and my dad, who’s still laughing at his ditzididoo offspring), I am telling the world. I am owning my absurdities and accepting them. I highly recommend it to you all!!!

Happy and Sweet New Jewish Year!

I am beyond exhausted, which leads to more typos here than real words (Word is my co-writer tonight. Many thanks!). It’s been a long day and I am crashing.

Goodnight! Sleep well, and sweet dreams, wherever you are!

(Gandolfini’s poop is spotless, thanks for asking)