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

Monday, May 9, 2011


On Sunday morning, as I left the house for work, a massive raven dive-bombed the back of my head.

I can't think of any metaphors for the meaning of that experience in my life. I can't justify it or learn from it. I can't extrapolate anything from it or laugh about it. The municipal vets did not find any fallen baby ravens, nor did they find the raven itself. It was pure meanness.  So much for EVER overcoming my lifelong distaste-slash-fear of birds except cooked in a pot and served with Kneidlach.

The one and only bright side to this story is that my week could only get better.

Yet how do I get around needing to pick up the phone to tell someone something really special - like that I've been attacked by a bird - and having no one to call that would TRULY make me feel better. Oohs and ahhs from my kids and colleagues, just don't add up to a  hug and a foot massage from a partner in life.
So still nursing the bruise on the back of my head and a dent in my skull, I continue my routine, on my own, and do the best I can.

And maybe the next time I have a National Geographic moment, I'll have someone to tell.


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