It’s 1:00am, I can’t sleep. A memory ran through my head of me saying to the waitress, “We’re old, but he’s older”, and how you laughed.

Almost two years later, it should be easier, in many ways it is, in some ways it’s not. I miss your laugh and your smile. I miss my friend, so much sometimes it hurts.

I was chatting with somebody today about why I’ve been out of the game for so long, Why I did something stupid like go out with a 29-year-old., and the only thing that came to mind, because I cannot handle another heartbreak.

When you told me you couldn’t even meet for coffee and just talk, I knew I’d lost one of my best friends. I sunk into the deepest depression of my life. For the last 4 months I had to take an anti-depressant that almost killed me, literally.

I’m not blaming you AT ALL, I blame myself. The situation was complicated, and I knew that from the get-go. However, you made me believe you loved me deeply, and I believe you did, regardless of things that were said later. You don’t come running to hold somebody crying when they’ve had a bad day because you don’t care.

I still love you, and I think you know, I always will. I’ve been trying to move on, but you are always in my thoughts. Even when I was in the hospital, I thought of you. You have been so important to me. I am so thankful I met you, and the lessons you taught me. You set the bar for all other relationships.

So where is this going, I see you on FB all the time now. Something I haven’t seen happen in a long time. My only thought is please G-d, don’t let him being doing this to somebody else, because somebody else will have a lot less respect.

I really hope, my love, you are taking your issues seriously. I only want you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted.

I am wishing you a wonderful August wherever you are off to…., much love, peace and joy. Just know, I want my friend back, I know it won’t happen, but I miss you madly. Please don’t hurt anybody else.

I love you always, and see you in the next life……with all my heart.



I’ve been off for the last few months. Some of it has been about working for somebody that has no respect for you. Well that, and Zoloft almost killed me.

Today my boss sent me one of the nastiest emails he’s ever sent. He was fired a few weeks ago, the other product manager left, and today I have a hearing about my job (not like it’s going to help).

I’ve been ripped down, yelled out, and been treated as his secretary since he took over as my boss. Professionally, he went out of his way to make me feel bad. That’s his style. Beat you down, rather than build you up.

I managed eight people as team leader, I went out of my way, and on my own budget to make them feel good about their jobs. Isn’t that what a boss or team leader does? You want your staff to respond positively. You want them to know you will always have their back. LOL, not here, you’re gone have to fight to get a version of Visio.

In some ways, I am much relieved to leave here. The TW has never had support, which is why the previous writer left. However, I hate failing. I had high hopes. I wanted to make an e-learning center and inter-active help. None of which was supported. I don’t want to go home with my head between my legs, but that’s how I feel.

Nobody can succeed if they’re not supported, I learned this from my marriage. If nobody has your back, to quote Robert Deniro, “forget about it”.

The people here are wonderful, it just seems like they don’t get what I do. Which makes it really really hard. How can you expect respect if nobody cares.

At any rate, I’m tired. A summer with my kids will be good for me. Really, there is no replacement for sitting by the pool and watching your ninjas swim.

There are very few memories I have of my childhood. There is one that is very clear. Sitting on the board they’d pull out to pack your groceries at QFC (before they remodeled it) in Normandy Park (across from John Knox). My Bubbie looked at me and said, “you only think you want to grow up, you’ll be sorry when you’re an adult you didn’t enjoy your childhood.

LOL like there was very much to enjoy about my childhood. My mother ignored me, and my father abused me. This isn’t a poor me, pity me party, it’s just fact, and there are millions of kids with my same childhood. So I tried to make lemonade. I got educated, I got a good job, and I made a life.

I got really lucky and had two beautiful baby boys, one is a charmer and the other is Einstein. I got exactly what I asked for with them. Best thing I ever did, full stop. There is nothing in my life that made me worthy of them.

We all are haunted by our lives, some of us more than others. Some of us just can’t seem to sweep the cobwebs away from our minds. Some of us, seem to make the bad choices because we believe we don’t deserve the good things. Some of us, seem to go through periods where we drink too much, and other periods where we don’t drink at all. Some of us, go through life just wanting to survive, thinking we don’t deserve more. Some of us, overcompensate trying to make amends for things that aren’t our sins, by giving everything away to the wrong people. Some of us lose hope.

I am so tired of fighting. My entire life I fought dragons and trolls. I’m not my mom, my energy is not endless, and I’ve had enough. That’s not to say I want to leave my children, it only means I’ve had enough of whatever Karma seems to be handing out. I don’t want to fight with creditors anymore, I don’t wan’t to fight with my ex anymore, I don’t want to feel demeaned by my boss anymore, I don’t want to listen to the testing guy talk down to me, I don’t want to feel like I’ve failed in every arena (well except Arena’s arena).

Death doesn’t scare me, it seems to me to be a release. No more pain, no more hurt, no more trying to fight the tide. That’s why when I meet with the doctor, if he gives me a treatment plan with chemicals and pain, I’m going to refuse.

Everybody will reach a point where the fight doesn’t seem worth it. I’m there. I can’t take anymore pain. I have loved Yoni and Eitan, the PJ, even Oren, my mom and sister, I’m deeply sorry, but I can’t do this any longer. If the doctor says this is the end, I’m too tired to fight. I will refuse treatment.

The last few months I want to spend on the beach, in the water, in the sun, and in laughter. I will not spend it in a hospital room with poisons in my blood, getting sick or waiting for a liver that won’t come. I want to sit and watch my children run up and down the beach, I want to jump waves with them. I want to smile and laugh.

I want them to remember us on Frishman.

I miss my mom so much, it hurts.

Last night I howled like I haven’t howled since my mom died. A year ago I learned my dad died, it didn’t hurt like this does. People don’t get it when you tell them you’re alone. I’m alone, and it sucks massive oranges. Big assed, huge oranges. I miss laying down next to my mom and sleeping. I miss having somebody in this world that misses and loves me.

How did my life get so f’ed up, I don’t even reconginize it. I’m just being stupid, maybe it’s 40 or maybe it’s raising kids by myself, or maybe it’s wanting my mom back. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, ok I am, but it’s really about the longing. It’s about fighting with my mom and not knowing how much it was going to hurt when she was gone. It’s about not knowing that I would lie on my bed and shake.

To be honest, we had a hate/love relationship. She/I loved me/her more than we hated each other. She kind of forced me into my first boyfriend. I think I loved him because she wanted me to.  He was a decent bloke, but I could have done better. I moved to Israel  because she wanted me to live here.

At any rate, it was what it was. So yeah, 22 years on we look back in wonder about what could have been. But what could have been doesn’t count. The only thing that that matters is what is. Yoni and Eitan are, and they’re the only thing that matters. Full stop. Best thing I ever did.

Happy Birthday Mommy


Yeah, I’m back, it’s been a while.  Love left me unable to concentrate (but I had a few bars of chocolate) for a while.  Good to be 80 days in and back on track.

My mother loved Roald Dahl.

My mother used to say we were poor.  But the term is relative. We were poor in Normandy Park.  Poor in Normandy Park meant you grew up in your Grandmother’s (Bubbie to me) house (ever seen Neil Simon meets Woody Allen)  with a pool membership.  Poor in Normandy Park meant you went without the latest Normandy Rose Jeans or those pants with the ice cream cones.

Later,  it meant you didn’t get the same year’s Guess jean jacket. It meant  your mother was putting herself through the UW to make a better life for you and your sister. All from the comforts of  an extremely upper middle class neighborhood.  Then there was the fact that you were always going to be Judge Borawick’s grand-daughter with all the bad that entailed.

But we lived well. In fact, I remember my mom looking for teaching jobs in Israel (her biggest dream was to make Aliya). She used to  say,  “They just don’t pay enough”.  Sometimes she’d get depressed. Then she would pull out “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”.

It’s the first book I remember her reading to us.  She read it to us in the trailer park off highway 99. My dad left us there like white trash.  Almost until the day my mom died,  she couldn’t go back there.  But we did once,  before she died.  She told me, “Even if you end up here, never forget to look for the golden ticket”.

I don’t think she ever got over living in a trailer. It was her lowest of the lows.
As an adult, I never got over Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  It always gave me hope.  My grandparents were never 4 in a bed (maybe in Lithuania or Podhayce) but not in Normandy Park.  Even now, when I think of how bad things can get, I never think that my kid’s birthday comes down to a chocolate bar.  Somethings change.

The last month has been really hard, money wise. The most basic things Oren was paying  for, he no longer does.  For the second time in my life, I asked others to help me get through the month.

I find myself asking why do the working class (feels like I’ve become the working poor) have to struggle so much.  Why do we have to search for Golden Tickets.

In truth, there are no Golden Tickets, no Willie Wonka, nobody to save us.  We must save ourselves. We must teach our children to save themselves.  But when I lie down at night, next to my two golden tickets, I feel like I’ve failed. But I know if I teach them to shine like gold, nothing can stop them.

“A child that reads,  is a child that can succeed” Janice Borawick (Z”L of loving memory)


The messiah came and y’all almost missed it.

I had two dates in one week. That’s right folks two. Both brought to you by the power of social networking. Some things should stay virtual.

Both sounded promising, one an Architect and the other an Artist.  At least we were leaving the SW engineer realm.  Talk about a giant step….

Date 1 The Architect

So the dude started to chat me up over FB. I could totally tell he was about as lively as Websters. But, I’ve been told of late that I am too picky and need to lose the list. So I figured, it’s a glass of wine how much can it hurt <see iron anvil fall on head>.

The dude shows up in a button down Oxford shirt (long sleeves) and tie, yes a tie, walking like he had the Statue of Liberty’s torch up his backside. You could just tell it’s been about 10 years since the dude has double over laughing.

Shame man, the mate would’ve been a cute if he would’ve smiled. I didn’t know designing buildings zaps your personality. I, apparently, have a lot to learn.

The short version is he was talking nuclear physics and I wanted to go the beach. I actually asked him if he wanted to meet on Frishman, but he doesn’t like the sand.

But hey I tried.

Date 2 The Artist

The Artist wouldn’t chat and he wouldn’t call. The silent type I guess. We exchanged a few messages. He asked if we could meet for lunch, in Atidim. Score, I don’t have to go anywhere, the mountain  was coming to me.

I figured in person he’d be more, um, communicative. So I come out of my office all dolled up  (I had meetings) and can’t figure out where the dude is. Nobody looked like his picture. Then out of my eyes I see him, cut-offs, dirty t-shirt, un-cut hair, flip-flops and unshaven. Really dude.

So we get coffee and sandwiches and sit down. “OK, speak” I’m thinking.  De man no speak. So I start asking him the usual questions and he gives one worded answers. This is so not good.

Finally I just ask him if he talks. Yes I embarrassed him, but even I don’t like doing all the talking. He replied that it’s hard for to think of something to say, and shoved his sandwich back in mouth.

So I faked a meeting, shook his hand, and made for the elevator.

Moral of the Story

Apparently I’m not to be pleased. I’m not happy with the tie and I’m not happy with the dirty shirt. Whatever happened to a happy medium.

Dear l-rd all I want this year is nice Adam Levine meets Adam Sandler meets Lior Ashkenazi meets Bill Gates’s accountant Jewish boy with a job and board. But I’m starting to fear that there may be a second coming before I can find one.


Last night the neighbors were breathing heavy.

What can I say I live in a ghetto. The walls are paper-thin, and you can pretty much hear anything and everything the neighbors do.  Let me tell you on Hatikva street you don’t need to be a snoop to know what the neighbors are doing.

So Friday I was supposed to have a date (I know can you believe it).  What can I say, waiting around for the swimmer wasn’t working out. He’s gone MIA.

When we talked on the phone, he had a really deep nasally voice. So I decided to call him Vador. Just glad he didn’t carry a lightsaber.

Vador looks like your standard SW engineer with surf board and an ex-wife and a couple of kids. Perfect for getting into trouble. Oh, and he’s got a motorcycle (cough, return of the Accessory Man).  So yeah, trouble. But then again, maybe not so much.

So Vador shows up in a long black coat (dude it’s summer in Tel Aviv, are you nuts?), black jeans, a black T-shirt,  and (I’m not kidding) black eyeliner). I’m thinking “seriously dude,  it’s not 1987 and you’re not Boy George”. I was expecting Bermudas and tank top, instead I get the side-show.  “I’m thinking please G-d let the force be with me for this one.  At least the theater will be dark and we won’t have to talk”.

Movie starts and 45 minutes into the movie I hear this deep “HAA” sound over and over. I look at Vadar and he’s gone to sleep jaw wide open repeating “HAA HAA”. It was as weird as the foot guy asking me to scratch his feet.

“Dear L-rd, I don’t ask for much. Hell, I’ve been dateless for 5 months and haven’t bugged you about it. Could you help me out here. What am I suppose to do with Jaba.”

Vador was making so much noise, he was bugging others. I figured maybe if I call him (his phone was on vibrate) he’d feel it and wake up.  I kid you not, when his phone vibrated he moaned and then smiled. This orgasm brought to by Nokia.

Finally somebody threw something at him and he woke up. He was totally embarrassed. We didn’t even go to coffee afterwards, we both wanted to bolt.

Bottom line, I’ll take my neighbors moaning any day over listening to my date moan over his phone.

I’m having hot flashes in Tel Aviv in August.

But I don’t think they’re menopause related, at least I hope not.  It must be that I’m from Seattle, and there is enough Swede in me that I’ll never get acclimated to Tel Aviv summers, ever.

Going outside is like walking into a sauna, even the pool water is too warm to really swim.  The sea is full of  jellyfish that can set your legs on fire. The country feels like it’s a powder keg waiting to go off.  Lieberman, it seems,  is foaming at the mouth for the PA to make trouble in September. It feels like something is about to go KABOOM, so nobody light a match.

My kids are driving me crazy. They’re spending this week in my office. It feels like jail. I’ve locked them in my office with me to avoid the ninjas invading spaces.  I would lay down my life for them boys, but to be honest, I wish they would lay down and go to sleep until Thursday.  The constant sound of them beating the keyboard is driving me nuts. By 21:00,  I totally understand the author of  Go the F*** to Sleep. I swear if they break or drop anything else, I will have reached my flash point.

Not even meditation is helping. It’s to friggen hot to breathe deep and “soham“. Just sitting in my room breathing I start to sweat. We don’t use the air con because then everybody just gets snotty. Then we have hot snotty crabby ninjas as opposed to bored ninjas. Choose your poison I suppose.

Great, literally, as I type this, Eitan just pulled a tooth out. Forget flash point, we’ve officially upgraded to breakdown point.  Somebody please pass me the Xannax.

So I guess this is the point where I need to count my blessings.

Blessing 1: G-d gave us red wine.

Blessing 2: Summer vacation is only once a year. Wait, scratch that, I forgot the High Holy Days, that’s like an another month. 

Blessing 2: G-d gave us chocolate and coffee. Indulgences always help us take the edge off.

Blessing 3: G-d gave us red wine, when all else fails, have another glass of the vino.

But I suppose if I was in Seattle, I’d be bitching about the rain.

“Don’t you want a partner?”

Said the accounts manager to me. As if they’re falling of trees, as if they’re lined up outside the door, as if, ……. a lot of things.

But the truth is I deserve a lot of the blame in my stagnant to non-existent personal life.  I make no effort to meet anybody. I’m too picky, I know what I want, and more importantly what I don’t want.

I could make up a lot of reasons why I don’t make more of an effort, but I know the truth. The truth is that almost a year later and I can’t get beyond the Packet Jedi. How pathetic, but how true. Maybe it’s not even about him, maybe it’s about knowing what’s possible, and not being willing to settle for less.

Dating for the sake of dating feels like waste of time. It takes me about  2 minutes of chatting to know if there is a connection, if they’re pushy, or if they’re a player. I listen to my friends that date, and it’s always the same crap.  I can’t be bothered. Give me the beach and a board any day over coffee and trying to act interested.

There must be something wrong with me. Doesn’t everybody want to find a partner “for life” (as we’re being sentenced).

It’s not that I don’t want to fall head over heels, it just doesn’t seem possible anymore. Some where in the back of my mind there are scenes of summer nights, a beach and laughter. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can see a gentle man and feel his lips. I can feel my hand in his as I smile at him. Yes, I want to feel like that again.

But the aftermath is like having your guts ripped out and thrown to the sharks. Maybe that is the point, I don’t want to survive the fallout again. After a bad marriage, one totally failed relationship, and a relationship that literally changed my life, I’m done.

I’ve run the spectrum, there isn’t anywhere really left to go, well besides back to bed, alone. The good thing about sleeping alone is that you can’t hear yourself snore, nobody hogs the blankets, and you can sleep spread eagle.  Well, until the ninjas invade.

Sometimes you have to move into sloth mode.

Yesterday beside the laundry, dishes, floors, and feeding ninjas, I didn’t do a damn thing. I literally laid in bed, jumped in the shower, checked on ninjas, and repeated the cycle.  I am, to quote Grandma Black, plumb tuckered out.

I’ve spent the last two years running full throttle on adrenaline. I think my endocrine system has finally turned off the instant energy switch. I am completely exhausted.  Given the choice between Hawaii or my bedroom for a 10 day sleep, I would choose the latter.

Even my swim times have decreased. I’ve gone from a kilometer in 21 minutes to 23 minutes. These are not great times. Twenty years ago I could swim a K in 16 minutes. It must be age.

Summer vacation is not helping. Schlepping ninjas on the bus with backpacks can knock the wind out of you. Schlepping fighting ninjas makes you want to throw yourself under the bus. This morning they fought for 25 minutes over who was taking what backpack, literally. Why did I go through 5 years of hormones to get pregnant?

So no joke, this morning a I put on a pair of really nice Eileen Fischer pants I bought about 5 years ago. They were a bit big then.  Always listen to your first instinct, as I was putting them on I said, “these are never going to stay up”.  But of course, I wore them anyway. Sure enough, when I went to pick something up off the floor of the bus, they fell down when I stood put. Mass humiliation, but at least it was comedy for the passengers. UGH, where is my bed.

I haven’t even been to the beach in 3 weeks. I’m jonesing for some waves. At least last summer, I spent more than one Thursday night sitting on the beach. I miss that, but hey they say Jellyfish are at an all time high this year, so that’s the upside.

The great part of being so tired you can’t get out of bed, is that you get to spend a lot of time cuddling ninjas. In spite of sticking to each other because of the heat, when those little arms curl around your neck, you know it’s all worth it.
August will be here in a couple of weeks, and the boys will pack off to Oren for 14 days. I’ll be able to recharge then. There is a reason they call them Dog Days. I think it’s because you want to curl up in a ball and wait for it to start raining again.

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.  ~Russel Baker