About Me

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Haifa, Israel
Divorced and independent and still looking for Mr. Right in the back of the fridge.

Saturday, April 30, 2011


Morning. My eyes are not open yet. I am in that familiar space of "oof, I can't believe I didn't close the shades last night." My eastern facing bedroom has once again betrayed me on a Saturday morning. 

I stay still, hoping that if I don't move, the birds will stop their obnoxious chirping. 

Eyes still shut, I ooze into semi-consciousness. 

I tally the situation: No dog on my bed + no noise from the living room equals alone again on Shabbat. 

I hear distant thunder. Rain at the end of April is unheard of here, but to me the thunder is  like the voice of the governor offering me a stay of execution. I have the perfect excuse to guiltlessly stay in bed. 

 Eyes still shut. Still not moving. And then it starts.... The voice of my evil twin disturbs the potential calm.  "Big deal. Another Shabbat with no plans and no fun reason to stay in bed. Face it. You are the only spoon in this drawer." 

My evil twin does her routine head check of who is not next to me, who didn't call me, who "ruined my life". 

But today I don't listen. Maybe time really does heal all wounds, or maybe the meds have kicked in. Either way, being alone on a Shabbat, again, is more welcome than usual. 

I will watch a few episodes of whatever, drink an extra cup of coffee, and go for a swim.
I will check out the wireless connections in a new cafe, while hoping against all hope that the cute waiter didn't notice that I have no less than 5 dating sites open on my laptop. 
I will call my kids, as I count my blessings. 

Eyes still closed. I listen to the birds chirping so sweetly.... Just give me one more hour...

Friday, April 22, 2011

Where Do I Buy a Drawing Board?


I met someone nice and the butterflies flapped around my stomach for a few days. But for whatever reasons, yesterday the fluttering was ordered into a holding pattern. Forever getting back in the saddle, within a few hours I already had a rebound date for the next morning for coffee.

Up early to meticulously put together my not trying too hard outfit, I received a text from my rebound that he was re-thinking.

So, without a thought for how my butt looked, I quickly changed back into my uber-comfy jeans and my ugly sneakers and was grateful for the opportunity to run my errands without having to be charming between 10 and 10:30 am.

Always the optimist, I was duly impressed that this guy was considerate enough to cancel instead of stand me up. At least today I wasn't the poster girl for "all dressed up and no place to go." Today I was merely having a one step forward and two steps back kind of day. 

I've had them before, those yucky days. Nothing over the top. Nothing depressive. Just yucky. They are not fun. But they pass. It's just that I've had so many of them lately!

I'll get through this day, just like the others. But still, I'm fairly sure that some time during my errands I audibly sighed as I resigned myself to a trip back to the proverbial drawing board.


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

A Manageable Limbo


I use the word abyss alot when describing parts of my life. Surely not in my happiest moments, but nonetheless... 

In the course of facing that vast emptiness that I have referred to from time to time, however, I have managed to harness a certain creativity that lingered nebulously in that space.

In that process, I have understood just a touch better why memorable songs are so depressing, why the most beautiful paintings so tortured and why the best humor so bittersweet.  

But what will happen if the abyss becomes less abysmal, if uncertainty changes to hope and if the glass is half full? Will I run out of things to ponder? Will I become different than who I am today? Will I be too happy to need to soul search online?

Today (and I mean literally TODAY, Tuesday,  not TODAY as in this day and age) the abyss is less like a free-fall and more like a holding pattern. A manageable limbo. And this, despite receiving a phone call from the source of my recent angst (yeah me!).

Spring is in the air and maybe, just for today, my life is not a Burt Bacharach song, or a Bergman movie, or drawn in sepia tones.

I don't know what is waiting for me around the bend on the proverbial path of life, but as long as I still get butterflies from the journey itself, I figure I'm still in the game.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Shining Armor

I'm convinced that online dating sites are a long way away from providing the services they need to provide. They need to come up with better representations of the true experience. No more of these stupid hearts, arrows and cupids everywhere. How about an entrails laden broken arrow, dangling from the cavity that once held my heart?

I browse and browse until I lay eyes on the man of my dreams. All the blinking lights tell me he's online and I can chat with him NOW. I'll pass on that option. I'll click on the envelope and write him a note. After all, he's online. He'll see it right away. I painstakingly word my message so that it sounds off the cuff. Five minutes later and I STILL haven't heard from him. Maybe he hasn't seen my note....

So quick, I go to the outbox... Crap. There it is. The proof that he's read my mail: Bulging eyes peering over an open envelope, ridiculing me once again.

But what comfort do these sites offer when your letter has been read AND ignored?? What icons could possibly symbolize another momentary dashed dream? Ahh, yes. All the momentary dreams. The dream that this tall, dog-hugging, 50 year old Masters in Art History, lover of life, books and cuddling, might recognize that I am the "intelligent, down to earth woman who loves the beach at sunset" that he has been waiting for his entire life.

It's high time these sites add post trauma support to their services...

I propose that for every letter read and unanswered, the dating sites should replace gaping sorrowful eyes, with pieces of armor.
 And not just pictures of armor. Actual armor.
Their offices should be filled with people following our mails and scurrying around:

"Oh, quick, get that gauntlet in the mail... another one didn't respond to Rosa...."
"But we sent Rosa a gauntlet yesterday."
"OK send her a breastplate..."

And so on and so forth, until we are equipped with a complete set of medieval armor. For what else can possibly protect us against the onslaught of cyber silence? What, other than armor, can protect our hearts, our egos and our overall well being from the daggers of silent rejections that are part and parcel of online dating?

The dating sites just bring us to the front lines and leave us to fend for ourselves. They show us the way to the battle field, but don't tell us what color the enemy is wearing. They leave us exposed, vulnerable and alone to lick our wounds. How many rejections, how many false starts, how many dashed hopes, until the players abandon the game, until the soldiers go AWOL?

So in lieu of armor, we grow thicker skin, bigger egos, more effective justifications and more elaborate excuses why we still feel OK.

And we still wake up every morning with a renewed strength to face the enemy again, ready to lose another battle with an eye on winning the war.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

The Other Side

I went swimming on Saturday. I went out in the rain, drove to the pool, donned my flippers and goggles and claimed a lane. With the grace of an Olympian, I quickly found my groove. I summoned my swimmer-self, and to a cheering crowd (in my head) I counted 30 laps.

After 30 laps, the crowd got bored and my mind wandered. I don't know how many laps I did, but I experienced an hallucinatory awakening. I saw the other side. And guess what? Women and men are not so different....

"Wow. I am so into swimming. This feels great. I'm going to do this every day."
(Of course I want to meet the woman of my dreams and be in a loving, long term relationship.)

"I can't wait to come back to the pool tomorrow."
(Definitely we will meet for dinner this weekend. I'll call you tomorrow to finalize.)

"I have SO found my rhythm. I can't believe I haven't been doing this every day."
(Where have you been all my life?)

"Just because I always buy health club memberships that I never use doesn't mean I won't use it now. This swimming feels so great."
(The only reason I am 50 and a bachelor is because I haven't met the right woman. But all that has changed, now that I met you.)

"Exercise is so important to my health. I can't believe I have not incorporated sport into my life."
(A man shouldn't be alone. Having a relationship is a top priority for me).

"I'm going to swim next to that woman. Her butt is bigger than mine."
(You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. No one cares about a few extra pounds at our age)....

Surprise surprise... 5 days later, my bathing suit is dry as a bone, and my hair does not reek of chlorine. But I REALLY enjoy swimming and really INTEND to do it every day.

Maybe BOTH  men and women pave the road to hell with good intentions.

And even if I don't swim every day,  I am still one step closer to understanding why men act the way they do.