If I haven't blogged in a couple weeks, it's because I've been busy riding camels. Oh yeah, and floating in the Dead Sea, hiking Masada, sleeping in a Kibbutz and discovering that hummus isn't just a food, but a lifestyle.
Yup, I'm back from an incredible, life-changing two weeks in Israel, and I'll write more about that once my jet lag subsides. Right now, I'm still not thinking straight. As if the 20-hour trip home wasn't grueling enough, Delta Airlines initially cancelled our midnight flight from Tel Aviv without warning, leaving 400 angry, tired and confused passengers to frantically scramble about Ben Gurion Airport searching for replacement flights. My travel companion and I went about 48 hours with little food or sleep before I finally crawled home at 2am Saturday morning.
No wonder my brain feels like it's been through a swimsuit spinner.
But barring incompetent airlines, Israel was an amazing experience. It is, by far, the most diverse, beautiful, and fascinating country I've ever had the pleasure to visit. Still, it's good to be home. After two non-stop weeks I missed my peeps. My morning latte. My bed. The Big Bang Theory. And yes, Olivia.
Because no matter how scenic the sights, engaging the people and fabulous the food, there's nothing that compares with the pure and simple joy of holding my sweet pup. Which might explain why I returned home knowing just two words in Hebrew: Todah for "thank you."
And Kelev. For dog.
Recently, I had the pleasure of dog-sitting my neighbor's Chihuahua, Mandy for one week.
I say "pleasure" because Mandy is quite possibly the most polite dog I've ever met. A tad needy, perhaps (now I know why they call them LAP dogs), but overall, she's adorable and a joy to be around.
As for Olivia, she pretty much just tolerates Mandy, but I really do enjoy having the little lambchop as my guest.
And I'm happy to say that the feeling must be mutual, because, as this picture will attest, Mandy made herself quite at home.
Quite. At. Home.
It would seem that the New Year is off to an ominous start, given this nasty chest bug I've been battling for ten days now. But I'm getting better and besides, it's almost been worth it to experience what happened with Olivia.
I was dozing on my bed when, even through my NyQuil-induced coma, I felt like I was being watched. Sure enough, I cracked open a heavy lid and saw Olivia standing at the foot of my bed, just staring at me. All I could see were her eyes and --as my friend Sue calls them-- "big ass ears." Olivia looked so darned cute I snapped a quick shot with my iPhone and then resumed my nap.
But minutes later my eyes flew open when my 70-pound girl took a flying leap and joined me on the bed. Now bear in mind, this was significant because Olivia doesn't sleep on my bed. Oh, I invite her all the time, but she's made it perfectly clear that she prefers her pillow. Her nice, cushy, stinky, stained-with-god-knows-what pillow. Okay, fine.
Today was different, though. Today, her canine intuition told her that I wasn't feeling well and it seemed she wanted to comfort me. And so, planting her Oatmeal shampoo-scented body alongside mine, Olivia snuggled up against my chest and tucked her knobby little head under my chin, indeed comforting me in a way that resonated deep within my hacking, cough-ridden soul.
Again, I used my trusty iPhone to capture the moment. And then, with my arm embracing my sweet girl, we both took a nice, long nap.
On second thought, maybe the New Year isn't off to such a bad start after all.
It happened at a Barry Manilow concert.
Yeah, you read right. 70s crooner Barry Manilow. Not someone I'd normally fork out dollars to see, but my good friend Mark is a DJ who often gets free concert tickets, the operative word being free. More enticing was the thought of spending catch-up time with Mark, whom I first met when we were high school freshmen back in '73. He is, in the most literal sense, my oldest friend and one of my dearest.
But when the concert date rolled around, I wasn't really in the mood. I hadn't realized that the event fell on my mother's birthday, a day that leaves me melancholy. It's been three years and I still miss my mother--my best friend, coach, counselor, and confidant--more than words can describe. At first, I kept waiting for the pain to subside, the hole in my heart to heal, but now I realize that it never will. As my BFF Pam explained, having lost her own beloved father years earlier, a loss of this magnitude simply becomes a part of your DNA. You learn to live with it.
And so I've been living with it, never feeling quite like my old self but accepting this as the new normal. Okay, fine.
That's why I kept our date and went to the concert with Mark. We were in the nosebleed section (because the seats were comped and hey, beggars can't be choosers), which rendered Manilow the size of a flea. Not only that, we were so far to the right of the stage that we could only see the singer's famous profile, missing all the entertainment taking place in back that the rest of the arena was enthusiastically responding to.
But it didn't matter because the nosebleed section was having a party of its own. Several DJs from Mark's station were sitting near us and a fun bunch they were. We fed off each other's energy, standing at every song, waving our glow sticks in the air and singing at the top of our lungs, "Oh Mandy, you came and you gave without taking..."
To my surprise, I was genuinely having a good time, feeling a lightness in my heart that's been absent since the day my mother died. That's when, out of the blue, in the middle of a random song, it hit me. An epiphany so dazzling and bright, it was no less blinding than if someone had beamed a flashlight directly into my eyes.
In that packed arena of roughly 10,000 Barry Manilow fans chanting, "Copa, Copacabana!" I felt my mother's presence as intimately as if she was sitting right next to me, shoulder-to-shoulder. And like a cartoon bolt of lightening aimed toward my head, it struck me that it pained her to see me sad, heavyhearted, trudging through a life colored in shades of gray. This wasn't what my mother wanted for the daughter in whose birthday card she once wrote, "Every day I thank God for giving me a daughter like you."
On this lively evening, watching me wiggle and jiggle to ""Bandstand Boogie," I felt it -- my mother's joy at my delight. I saw it--the ear-splitting smile on her face. And I realized that on this day, her birthday, I had given her the greatest gift of all: my happiness.
Wow.
Since then, the lightness in my heart, that inkling of joy, has remained. Lingering like a soft, gentle light. Because ultimately, her gift was mine, too.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
I love this story that ran in Leah Garchik's column from today's San Francisco Chronicle...it's a beautiful example of embracing and celebrating all faiths, instead of trying to dilute them to the point of oblivion.
"Jon Levinson of San Carlos, who is Jewish, says that every winter, he and his wife host neighbors, most of them not Jewish, at a Hanukkah party. They serve traditional Jewish foods, light a menorah, play with dreidels. (Note to lovers of English: My spellcheck suggested that "druids" would be a good substitute for "dreidels.") This year, when one set of neighbors couldn't be there, the Levinsons sent them a plate of traditional jelly doughnuts and Hanukkah "gelt" (foil-wrapped chocolate).
The next day, the neighbors' 14-year-old son, Mark Bechtel, brought the treats to his religion class - where there's a daily prayer - at Sacred Heart High School. For that day's prayer, his teacher had the class recite the Hanukkah candle-lighting blessings in English."
Amen to that, with a Merry Christmas and chag sameach!
So there we were, me and Olivia, on a misty Sunday morning at Leo Ryan Park in Foster City, near a scenic lagoon to have our pictures taken.
Oh trust me, on this chilly winter day I would have much rather been at home, snuggled up on the sofa, reading the Sunday Chronicle and enjoying my morning latte. But I needed pictures of my girl, not just for future Pet Tales columns, but also for my annual Christmas card. When my manager Sharon, who happens to be a brilliant photographer, agreed to take pictures, I jumped at the opportunity.
But Olivia had other plans. She was excited, curious, a little nervous and extremely frisky. She had no interest in posing for pictures. How could a dog be expected to stand still when there were geese on the lawn, ducks in the lagoon and birds in the sky! Not to mention flirty squirrels, giggling children, ambitious joggers, and even two Standard Poodles, one black, the other white, both sporting hot-pink painted toenails.
And I expected Olivia to pose for pictures? What was I thinking?
Sharon's camera whirred nonstop, capturing Olivia's every move as she wiggled and squiggled, anxious to play, sniff and explore. This was so not the "catwalk" my girl had in mind. After two hours, Sharon and I agreed we'd probably gotten all we could from Olivia--in these foreign surroundings my playful pup was just too distracted to stand still for the camera. And so, we shrugged and called it a day.
But it turned out that amidst the hundreds of photos that Sharon took, there were several that captured Olivia. Her spunky spirit, affectionate nature, and--the pictures most meaningful to me--the bond that we share. Because that bond didn't come easy. It was a rocky road and initially I had my doubts, but today?
The proof is in the pudding--or in this case, pictures. I wouldn't trade my girl for the world.
