Week 12 prompt 61 A. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover!

I remember how I set the receiver in its place (real phone with a round dial) and even though I said I’ll come, I knew that I had already left.

Over thirty years have gone since and we never saw each other again.

I feel sorry now (it’s true).

I can visualize him sitting in his room, waiting, looking at the phone, poking at it, walking around the room again and again while the realization of the situation hits him.

When I picture it it’s in black and white, maybe sepia.

***

Today it will be different,

The first thing will be to change my relationships’ status on Facebook.

Then if I am really kind I’ll send him an SMS

 I might even go the extra mile and send an e-mail saying “It’s not you it’s me,”

Today it will be in color.

Week 12: taking risks--humor, exaggeration, juxtaposition

One day, last fall, when things were calming down I said to my husband:

“Let’s get a power boat and experience firsthand what seems to be a way of life for so many people around here.”

He looked at me like I was out of my mind but when he realized I was serious, tried to shake me off with all kind of excuses.

“I don’t like water,” was the first and obvious one. And I pushed it aside with ease.

“How do you know? It’s been years since you spent any time on a boat.”

I was referring to our short and almost disastrous attempt to rent a small motor boat on one of the lakes in British Colombia.  The boat had a leak we detected while already in the middle of the lake.  The day was grey with obvious hints of a looming storm, and we ‘ran’ back to shore feeling we got out of harm’s way in the neck of time.

”I know nothing about power boats, never owned one or even sailed in one, I wouldn’t know what to do,” was his second line of defense.

“Come on,” I said “You are so technically oriented, you can learn anything you put your mind to, look, you run a motel, you never did that before.” The blatant smooth talk did earn me a smile but not much more.

“I’ll tell you what,” I came few days later with a winning idea. “We will get the boat and start by docking it in the town marina; we’ll just sit in it and enjoy the sea breeze and the company of other boat owners.”

Truth be told, a short investigation on my side revealed that the idea as bizarre as it might sound is a rather common phenomenon. Quite a few people told me that the boat they own, and equipped with all type of luxuries, never left the dock.

“You mean like a houseboat or a floating condo?” I could see how the idea was catching on.

“And we will never move it?”

 “Only if you really feel up to it,” I felt a need to keep a narrow window open for unforeseen surprises.

***

It took us several months to find it. In the process we were excited to learn about different types of boats and their pro and cones.  We even adopted a whole new seamen’s vocabulary. Words like hull, depth finder, cuddy cabin, buoys, head, chart, current, outboard, stern, and so many more became part of our daily exchange. Also words like even keel, wake, and water line. Unfortunately while immersing ourselves in this new world we were also introduced to; take in water, stranded, life vest, righting and the big one capsize.

For awhile we stuck to the original plan, staying next to the dock, enjoying the light breeze, eating our lunch on the deck, peeking into our neighbors boats, and watching them pull in and out  of their docking spots sailing fearlessly into the open water.

It was just a matter of time before my husband became anxious to dare the ocean.

 Breaking our original plan turned out to be a huge mistake. With him at the helm and me frozen to my seat we were both watching horrified, in the depth finder, how we barely pass over the ominous rocks underneath or scarcely avoiding bumping into the marker buoys and the ledges.

The slight, almost soothing rocking movement of the boat, while docked and secured was replaced by much more violent movements while on the open water.

Only few attempts to get it out of the dock and it became painfully obvious to us. We were afraid, deathly afraid of the lurking dangers hiding in the icy cold water of the Union River Bay.

***

So one day, this fall, when things were calming down again, as they do every year when the last of the leaves falls to the ground, I said to my husband.

“I think we should sell it.”

By now the boat was idling in our backyard for months.

I could see from the spark in his eyes that he knew immediately what I was referring to and that he was not going to make it easy on me.

“You're sure you are not going to miss it? After all it was your idea, remember, floating condo, sea breeze, utter tranquility and the company of other seamen.”

“We should have stuck to the original plan,” I muttered gloomily but knew he was right.

 ***

It’s a beautiful boat, 23ft long, with a red and white cabin, a small sink and a table, even a toilet. It is docked in our parking lot, wrapped tight in white plastic against the winter.

 It’s yours if you want it.

Week 12: taking risks--humor, exaggeration, juxtaposition

The other day I discovered, the hard way, that a cyber family, much like a real one, develops over time and acquires unique lifelike qualities. It happened when I found in my inbox letters from people suggesting that I will update, fix, resolve duplicates and respond to birthdays. I don’t know them, I don’t believe we ever met in real life or otherwise. My carful and polite inquiries as to our relationship did not produce satisfying results, and then it dawned on me. 

It happened when so and so (whose name is completely unfamiliar) wanted to merge with me…merging with a complete stranger would seem rather hasty, and quite peculiar, to every normal person except those surfing on Geni (an online family tree creator). And so without further ado I ‘approved’ the procedure which granted me access to his tree with hundreds of new relatives.

So far so good until I noticed, few months into it, that these people I opened my heart and family tree to, are inching, ever so slowly, into my nicely organized creation contaminating it with their inaccurate information and endless requests . Franticly I tried to unmerge and almost like in real life, found that merged tree cannot be severed without destroying the whole tree.  

***

The whole thing started more than three years ago when one night, on a wild impulse, I keyed- in my name into the Google search box, pressed enter and came up with nothing.

It was a terrifying moment I do not care to relive.

I can still sense the cold chill, the feeling of deep limitless emptiness, being overcome with the pressing need to send my hand and reach out, call aloud, anything to relieve the panic.

  It was the first time I really understood the phrase ‘if you are not on the internet you do not exist’. I cursed myself for giving up to the cheap temptation, seeking fake reassurance of myself in the huge limitless cyber space, but it was already too late.

And so about three years ago, in the middle of the night, I did the only thing I could do to alleviate the situation and ‘created’ myself.

I was not as difficult as I originally feared.

All I had to do was to let go of the old notion that the mere fact that I breathe, sleep, eat, and see my reflection in the mirror, and other people eyes, is a sufficient proof of my existence. Instead I pressed on the empty rectangle box in the center of the computer screen and typed my name in –

 Ariela Levia Bilitzer Zucker, born – and for all we know still alive.

I kept typing and inserting other names; my parents, my husband, my children, and in front of my eyes like some sort of magic, my family, with me in the center, was coming alive.

Blue rectangles for the men, pink rectangles for the women (what else) many lines running horizontally and vertically connecting them all to one elaborate net, growing and growing and filling the screen.

The sense of relief was immediate and so rewarding.

When I last checked, my family tree (on Geni) had 543 people; out of which 355 blood relatives (the computer never lie) 18 ancestors and 5 decedents.

 I passed my eyes over the elaborate constellation, created mostly by me. I looked at names most of which are fourth cousins twice, trice or even four times removed. People I don’t know, will never know, and frankly don’t even care to meet.

Still in the middle of the night when the quiet disturbs my sleep and all by myself I surf, I am surrounded by my cyber family, I exist. 

Week 11 Prompts - 52

Uncle Henry’s – animals

This is my favorite  section in the booklet ,I like leafing through it trying to imagine how one day I will build myself a small petting zoo, completely for free, just by answering all the ads. In the meantime I satisfy myself savoring them, enjoying the funny ones, slightly tearing over the bitter sweet ones and every once in awhile getting mad at peoples’ stupidity and  lack of caring.

****

Here are some samples from the past week.

****

“Baby rats for sale! Born on February 29th will be ready around April   4th.”

  Ready for what I can feel the tension mounting,

“ I have 16 of them with three different kind of markings. I have Berkshire, Hooded, and I'm pretty sure all white ones. Their markings have already stared showing and soon they will be getting hair. Pets Only! not for food please.”

I hear myself exhaling with relief, not for food.

****

“FREE- We have 7 Rhode-Island Red roosters (2 are 3 years old; 5 are about 1 year old); we are planning to get rid of them next week sometime...”

Planning to get rid of them?  How?

****

“This is a Taz! I rescued him from a bad situation. When he came to me we was flea ridden and 80% of his hair missing on his back. He is allergic to fleas. He has since then made a full recovery! Everything test under the sun was performed at my vets and everything came back with flying colors. Will provide docs from vets.”

So a classic story of a Good Samaritan, but wait…

“ He is a 7 year old Maine Coon,

Good things come to good people, a real Maine Coon, but no, wait!

“ Will be best in a home with a family that has older children: 13+. But perfer single couple or older. He is a great cat, extremely loving,”

 Soon to become homeless but he has high demands,

“… and very high maintaince.”

I knew it!!!

“ Pm me if you'd like more info. Adoption Fee Applies.”

Not such a Good Samaritan after all.

****

“Central Maine Pigs. Find us on facebook! Our spring and June piglet reservation list is full. We are starting the reservation list for fall piglets.  December weaners would be perfect if you participate in farmers markets and would like to sell fresh pork as they should make butcher weight by late April. “

Ah Babe…not every pig story has a happy ending like yours.

*****

“Category: Free For The Taking

Hi my name is Madison. I'm lab/rottie/chow mixed. I'm looking for a new home cause my owners can't keep me an longer. I'm 10 years old. I love to go for rides, walks, playing with other dogs, kids, and cats. I'm a good watch dog.”

Now, here is where I get teary, the poor dog 10 years old.

 And then I get mad,

After 10 years you ditch him? What the matter with you people?

“If you have a room in your heart would you please give my owners a call.”

If I have a room in my heart….

****

And last but not least,

“I have a bunch of young Convict Cichlids. We need to rehome them. Would like $1 each and would do a package price for several. Can send pictures and will consider delivering if it's not too far. Call or email for more info. Thanks “

This one really gets me, convicts…needs to rehome.

Sure, I will rehome some convicts if they will be delivered as a package.

Week 11:54

Green and beige, there was nothing outstanding about this handbag we got as a free promotion, few years prior. There were hundreds exactly alike which must be the explanation why an anonymous traveler in Heathrow airport took it on his way to Ireland, and left us his.

Sure that the misunderstanding will be resolved in no time we left his bag in the lost and found desk and boarded our planned flight to Boston.

I believe the key word here was ‘planned,’

We landed in Boston late on September 10^th 2001 and drove to Chucks’ parents’ home in Connecticut. Pleased that the long flight, following the long-drawn-out weeks of closing our house after more than twenty years, had came to an end, we were set and eager to start the next chapter of our journey.

And then we woke up the next morning to September 11^th.

I am ashamed to say that the first immediate thought in my mind, through all that chaos, was “we’ll never see that bag again.”

But life must go on and we continued with our plans.

We purchased a car and the provisions needed for the long trip ahead, left instructions to send the bag after us, and left.

Traveling across the US, heading west – was our one and only plan.

It was exciting, every day welcomed us with new places and new faces and every evening we called to find out about the whereabouts of the lost bag just to learn that it did not show up and that no one knows when, and if, it will.

Somewhat frustrated we engaged ourselves in a new game called “and what was in the bag?”

Surprisingly each one of us remembered different items; I remembered my hiking boots and some pictures,  my husband was sure he packed some valuable papers and his hat and Keren missed one of her teddy bears. Only Tal, whom we picked already in the US, was completely indifferent to the missing bag saga and thought there were other things, more significant, to deal with, like where are we going to spend the winter, already breathing down our necks.

One week, two weeks, three, we crossed the vast plains of the Dakotas, the badlands, climbed into the high plains of Montana and still no sign of where we’re heading, where we’re going to spend our new life.

Our thoughts about embarking blindly into journeys and leaving our predictable and  well known life in Israel behind, inevitably ended with contemplating how the lost bag is going to find us if we ourselves don’t know where we’re heading?

By the end of October, one late afternoon (still no bag in sight) we stood at the Fourth of July Pass, overlooking the town of Coeur d’Alene. It could have been pure exhaustion or the fact that the setting sun illuminated the lake with its last rays that we finally saw, with new clarity that we have arrived.

It took few more months and then one day ‘out of the blue’ a green and beige bag landed on our front door. By then we had exhausted the “what’s in the bag “guessing game and got immersed in our new life.

We looked at the bag, now dusty looking and slightly torn, pulled at the many tags and stickers marking its long journey trying to follow us and felt a tug of homesickness. Will it be the hiking boots; the supposedly vital documents a smiling teddy bear? For some reason now that the moment had come, it was not important at all.

Week 11:54. Pick a prompt

He drank across the vertical stripes of his glass.

The way I see it there are basically two types of people; those who break the Passover matzo in total disrespect to its shape and then continue to attempt and spread the uneven pieces with their favorite spread cursing their brittle, fragile consistency.

Others, like me, look at these rectangles, cardboard like culinary creations, and recognize the challenge. How one can spend long satisfying hours practicing (on whole pieces of matzo) chewing carefully along the imbedded dotted lines, meticulously progressing from line to line without spraying crumbs and broken pieces all around.

So what is it going to be?

Week 11 Theme--when words mean something beyond themselves

Standing behind the elongated stained wood surface she is counting quietly as her hands move swiftly; sorting, collecting, and tossing out. The stains, all different forms and colors, are like elaborate Rorschach inkblots smudged one into the other. The heavy stench of bear adds the last piece to the surreal vision.

I stand in front of her my eyes trying to follow her flying hands, distracted by her tattoos covered arms. Several different shaped hearts, one name scribbled in between abstract colored shapes. I never thought it was going to be a woman, never pictured it like that, so business like and task oriented, but now as I watch the process it makes a lot of sense and  its’ efficiency and quick pace have some bizarre beauty.

It feels as if it is not about me at all. I am only a bystander, a pale background. It’s about the heap of tin, plastic and glass being sorted so quickly. Nothing hidden, it is all right there on the open surface naked and fully exposed.

A moving production line, my mind registers a note; I couldn’t have sketched out a better picture of the final moments. Left or right, to heaven or to hell, the mixture of anticipation and excitement heavy in the frozen air, almost touchable, like my breath, a thin white swirl.

 Fifteen cans of coke, ten cans of iced tea, few bottles of red wine, some odds and ends shaped bottles tossed to the side, misfits yet redeemable.

Four dollars and fifteen cents, she hands me the bills and with a quick movement sweeps them all into a big box.