Pass the Pretzels

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I moved from suburbia to the city so that I would have things to do when I was alone. 


So, when I was feeling restless one hot summer night and I decided that an adorable Miniature French Poodle is as good a conversation starter as any, I put on my casual best, cleaned my dog's butt, and decided to take her for a walk in what passes for the center of activity around here. 


After driving in concentric circles for 20 minutes looking for a parking spot, I was beginning to regret the effort I made to go out, when I could have been splayed braless on a sofa watching reruns of Friends. 


If I hadn't found a parking spot I would have cancelled my date with myself. An all time humiliating low. I would have relegated the "all dressed up" part of my evening to a practice run for getting dressed for work in the morning. 


But reminded that I was armed with a Poodle, I persevered into the streets teeming with couples. 


As it turns out, a Poodle is a great guy magnet for gay men, and octogenarian Russian immigrants. 


Convinced that this was not going to be a Prince Charming evening, I, Poodle in leash, determined that this was the perfect time to try out my fantasy of going to a pub by myself. 


My dissociative plan involved posing as a business woman from America just getting some fresh evening air.


As my dog stopped to sniff urine on a street lamp, I realized that I didn't know any normal business women who travelled abroad with their dogs. 


Plan A aborted, initiate Plan B: I went to a pub with an outside patio and tried not to think of Looking For Mr. Goodbar. 


The whole experience was pretty painless. No one really cared that I was alone, and I was grateful for a cold beer and pretzels instead of yet another cup of coffee. In any case, the elderly woman with the pill box hat, taffeta fucshia cocktail dress and cleavage out to there was getting all of the glances.


Anyone know where I can get a more macho dog?


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Behind Every Great Woman

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It's official. I can't have it all. I'm not sure what the proverbial "all" includes, but I'm pretty darn sure I don't have it. 


I used to think that I could do it all, but as it turns out, that's not true either.


For the better part of my adult life I juggled house, career, kids, husbands, ex husbands, pets, orthodontists, psychologists, teachers, doctors, neighbors, beaurocrats, lawyers, idiots, rocket fire, gas masks, police, friends, enemies, family, ex family, clergy, mechanics, banks, and more; and not necessarily in that order; and oh yes, all in the middle east and all in another language. 


During the years, there were episodes when trouble seeped in slowly, yet sometimes it came in tidal waves. Either way, I clawed out of the debris ridden muck on my own. 


I have been making my way through life on my own for the last ten years. It doesn't mean I'm always alone or always lonely. It just means that no matter what happens, there is no one to blame but myself, no one to take credit but myself, no one to depend on but myself (trusting my siblings and mother will allow me a little poetic license this once).  


The good news is that there is suddenly a little strength left over for myself.



And in that residual strength, survival mode gave way to creativity. Reaction gave way to action. And amazing things began to happen. 


Among them, and not in this order:

• I ran a book club.
• I started a women's networking group.
• I turned 50 something.
• I bought an apartment.
• I started writing a blog.
• I started an online shop selling Israeli gifts outside of Israel. 

It is ten months and a week since heartbreak and my first blog entry. The experience of this thus far has been cathartic at least, and a joyous discovery of creativity at most.


So here we are today. No man to run home to. But I am too flooded with ideas to notice. 


I may have noticed that there is nothing to eat in the fridge, but I ordered pizza while optimizing my blog and shop for search engines.


I may have a load of laundry to do, but I'll do it as soon as I write this letter to a potential supplier.


I maybe should go to the gym, but I'll stop over at friends and show them how to add paypal to their shop. 


I maybe should go to bed because I have an early meeting, but I'll just add this one more item to my shop, it's too pretty to wait until tomorrow. 


Is it coincidental that when no men were around a few kind words of encouragement became the wind beneath my wings? Is it coincidental that the multi faceted generosity of a few good friends slash mentors unlocked an entrepeneurship that I thought beloged only to brave others? 


I am finally ready to combine my creative worlds on the front page of this blog. 


In my world of my shop, Carmel Gifts, I don't go on dates, but I make business calls. I don't write love letters, but I send emails to potential suppliers and customers.


Like absolutely everything else in my life, no, like life itself, the shop is a work in progress. 


So at the risk of self indulgence, I invite you to come in and shop around. Everything is made in Israel and everything is an expression of someone's creativity. 


You'll find amulets, Judaica, jewelry, weaving, soaps, silk, and more and more and soon to come more.


So you know that old expression "behind every great man there is a woman"? 


I'd suggest that behind every great woman there is no man.  


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