Computer fiasco
March 24th, 2006
The computer fiasco of March 2006 occurred on Tuesday. I was trying to sleep and Dad work me up. I’d snapped at him a couple of times already, mostly due to unconstrained grumpiness. I couldn’t get to the computer until late that day, so I wrote in a longhand instead.
Some of my Tuesday thoughts:
I guess I must fit in around here because everyone starts speaking to me in Hebrew. But why shouldn’t they? I would be more remarkable if they didn’t. What is remarkable is that when I answer in English, “sorry,” they repeat the question in English! “Where is number 1 Hanania Street?” “How much time can you put on this meter?” “Can I have your phone number?”
When I grumped out of the house on Tuesday, Dad asked, “Where are you going?”
I said, “For a walk.”
“We’re doing [this and that]. When will you be back?”
I said, “I don’t know.”
“Did your laundry dry yet?” I’d done a load the night before and hung things up on the drying rack provided in the unit. There is a washer but no dryer.
“No, not yet.”
“So, we’ll see you back here mid-afternoon?” Dad asked.
“Ok.”
I went and walked. I bought a frozen coffee drink–like a frapuccino, it cost about the same too.
The highlight of the day: a dude on a scooter tried to pick me up. He pulled on to the sidewalk (a shockingly unremarkable event here), and asked me something in Hebrew–presumably directions (it was the second time so far). I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I said, in English, “I’m sorry.” I walked past him, but he started talking to me. I could have ignored him, but I engaged–not sure why. Maybe because he was cute. He said, in English, “You speak English?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a tourist.”
“I’m here for my nephew’s wedding. My brother lives here.”
“For how long?” He asked.
“More than 20 years.”
“You are from New York–your accent…”
“Yes–I live in Washington DC.” I said.
“But you are from New York?”
“I was born there.”
“Ok. I have more questions…” He smiled. So did I.
“You do?”
“Yes. I can have your telephone number?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty busy.”
“But I can call.”
“They have plans–parties for me to go to every night.”
“But maybe one night, later this week–Thursday.”
“I don’t know.”
“You won’t even let me try?”
I smiled, laughed, shrugged.
He looked at me. I walked away. If I weren’t thousands of miles from home, I might have given him my number.
I got back from coffee, after talking to scooter dude, and Dad and Susan were gone–my computer locked in their place. I lay down and tried to rest. I watched some tv. When I decided to go out again, around 2:30 pm, I found a note and a cell phone outside my door. Dad and Susan were at B2’s house and would be there for a while. I needed to be ready to go to the party that night by 7:30pm. Fine. I went for a long walk.
I called Spesh on the cell phone and told him about my encounter. He said, “What kind of scooter? Don’t be so impressed.”
“It wasn’t a Vespa or anything. Just a scooter.”
Spesh said, “He tried pretty hard already. You didn’t need to let him try anymore.”
I said, “Yes, I give him credit for a good effort.”
I wandered around residential Jerusalem neighborhoods. I found a UN vehicle and loads of ferial cats–some where very cute. I am taking pictures of the Jerusalem cats.
On my walk, I wondered if I would get lost. I didn’t have a map. But, somehow, I kept my bearings and found my way home. When I told Dad he said, “I never had any doubt you would get home. You have such a good sense of direction.” I do, don’t I?
In the last post, I said I was grateful for time and stories. What I’m really grateful for is a place to put these stories. I’m grateful that I can share them with you–that I have a place to express myself. Thanks for reading.
Grateful for
: this space.
Some of my Tuesday thoughts:
I guess I must fit in around here because everyone starts speaking to me in Hebrew. But why shouldn’t they? I would be more remarkable if they didn’t. What is remarkable is that when I answer in English, “sorry,” they repeat the question in English! “Where is number 1 Hanania Street?” “How much time can you put on this meter?” “Can I have your phone number?”
When I grumped out of the house on Tuesday, Dad asked, “Where are you going?”
I said, “For a walk.”
“We’re doing [this and that]. When will you be back?”
I said, “I don’t know.”
“Did your laundry dry yet?” I’d done a load the night before and hung things up on the drying rack provided in the unit. There is a washer but no dryer.
“No, not yet.”
“So, we’ll see you back here mid-afternoon?” Dad asked.
“Ok.”
I went and walked. I bought a frozen coffee drink–like a frapuccino, it cost about the same too.
The highlight of the day: a dude on a scooter tried to pick me up. He pulled on to the sidewalk (a shockingly unremarkable event here), and asked me something in Hebrew–presumably directions (it was the second time so far). I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. I said, in English, “I’m sorry.” I walked past him, but he started talking to me. I could have ignored him, but I engaged–not sure why. Maybe because he was cute. He said, in English, “You speak English?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a tourist.”
“I’m here for my nephew’s wedding. My brother lives here.”
“For how long?” He asked.
“More than 20 years.”
“You are from New York–your accent…”
“Yes–I live in Washington DC.” I said.
“But you are from New York?”
“I was born there.”
“Ok. I have more questions…” He smiled. So did I.
“You do?”
“Yes. I can have your telephone number?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty busy.”
“But I can call.”
“They have plans–parties for me to go to every night.”
“But maybe one night, later this week–Thursday.”
“I don’t know.”
“You won’t even let me try?”
I smiled, laughed, shrugged.
He looked at me. I walked away. If I weren’t thousands of miles from home, I might have given him my number.
I got back from coffee, after talking to scooter dude, and Dad and Susan were gone–my computer locked in their place. I lay down and tried to rest. I watched some tv. When I decided to go out again, around 2:30 pm, I found a note and a cell phone outside my door. Dad and Susan were at B2’s house and would be there for a while. I needed to be ready to go to the party that night by 7:30pm. Fine. I went for a long walk.
I called Spesh on the cell phone and told him about my encounter. He said, “What kind of scooter? Don’t be so impressed.”
“It wasn’t a Vespa or anything. Just a scooter.”
Spesh said, “He tried pretty hard already. You didn’t need to let him try anymore.”
I said, “Yes, I give him credit for a good effort.”
I wandered around residential Jerusalem neighborhoods. I found a UN vehicle and loads of ferial cats–some where very cute. I am taking pictures of the Jerusalem cats.
On my walk, I wondered if I would get lost. I didn’t have a map. But, somehow, I kept my bearings and found my way home. When I told Dad he said, “I never had any doubt you would get home. You have such a good sense of direction.” I do, don’t I?
In the last post, I said I was grateful for time and stories. What I’m really grateful for is a place to put these stories. I’m grateful that I can share them with you–that I have a place to express myself. Thanks for reading.
Grateful for
: this space.
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