I'm lucky to have the friends I do: people who have great sensitivity and insight. Patri, whose husband is in the military and about to deploy for six months, knocked my socks off yesterday when she wrote an email saying:

I guess there are no secrets when you are on your own. I think we are going to be coming up against a situation that will need us to step up and get the bullshit off &mdash where you have to be open and naked and uncomfortable in order for other people to keep knowing who you are.

Exactly. It's actually something I've been thinking a lot about lately. For a really long time I've been able to get away with a lot of fence-sitting, a lot of passivity, a lot of covering up. But lately I've been realizing that it's okay, even good, to get my hands dirty, to make mistakes, to be uncomfortable.

In fact, it's necessary to do so, not only (as Patri says) to meaningfully keep connected with people far away, but just to survive. Cause, you know, as much as I'd like to spend my entire life poking around in my living room, I can't really get away with that. Case in point: I might get hooked up with a job as a bartender at a place down the street (with, um, no questions asked about a work permit). I figure I'll make some much-needed pocket cash, learn a good life skill, and practice my Hebrew. Take that, fence!

: : : : : : :



In other news, yesterday I finally(!) had the attention span to finish some embroidery on the lapel of a shirt I made just before we left the States. I'm glad to get it off the bookshelf and in the closet. I'm not so sure about the open feathers, but I don't think I'll have the stamina to fill them in anytime soon. Maybe some afternoon when all my chores and studying are done. Yeah, okay, maybe never.