Well, allright, it’s actually my second. The randmwedding blog being the honorary first. It’s so liberating to type in a diary-type setting while in the back of your mind, you know the whole world could read what you’ve written if you allowed them to.

Right.

Only permission is lacking. And permission is just one click away.

But trespassing can be a real trip, and writing something you know will be read is totally different from what you’d write in a personal, hand-written journal.

So crossing the genre lines has been tough for me, but here I am. Typing for myself and one day maybe the world. It reminds me of the guy at university in my creative writing major who used to tell people, “keep my emails for the day when I’m a famous writer and everyone wants records of my private life and copies of my love emails.” Pretentious? Yes. But also exactly what lurks in the back of every writer’s mind–especially one who dreams of publishing a best-selling novel one day. So far, that hasn’t happened for him. But I admit, I too thought about the record this leaves of a life–famous writer or not.

The blog will focus on Life in Israel and will never run out of topics. Nor of notable paradoxes. Every time I walk out of the house–even if I’m in my pajamas just walking the dog–things surprise me. It’s one never-ending surprise to be a foreigner–especially in Israel.

This morning, for instance, as I was standing in line at the bank, an elderly woman with a check nearly got into a fist fight with the bank’s manager. It was a sight to behold. She on her short heels digging in as her long, white braid flew around and he screaming at her within an inch of her face. A total invastion of the box. Which happens a lot here.

I sometimes only get bits and pieces of the conversation because the Hebrew evades me. At those time, I have to make up the ‘real’ story myself. This is an endless source of entertainment.

I think she was trying to cash a check in someone else’s name, and the fact that she was pulling a stolen grocery store chariot full of old clothes and dusty books probably didn’t help her case. Anyway, it seems the bank manager refused her.

But in my head, the words I lost grew larger and evolved into random explanations. I imagined her saying, “my children kicked me out of the house this morning for going too many days without a shower and I need to cash this check to eat breakfast. It’s all I could steal before being thrown out, and it belongs to one of my nasty offspring, so can’t you make an exception on the name rule and cash it for me?”

I’m sure she said nothing of the sort, but it made me snicker as I waited in line. And yes, the neighbors in line did ask me what’s so funny.

I didn’t answer them.