Week 16.5 News

The thing about now, is that how I look and how I feel completely depend on what I wear. Like if I wear a shirt with an empire waist and, even better, with a tie that accentuates that between the bust and stomach line, then I feel pregnant and good. But if I wear any other sort of shirt, I just feel fat.

Also my headaches have mostly subsided. I significantly cut back the amount of dairy I was consuming, so it's possible that that's related.

In other news, I finally went to work today. We had a very important "how to lock the doors" orientation that even people who work from home 99% of the time had to attend. Had lunch with Ben and sat next to Netanyahu and his posse, which I don't really care so much about but maybe you do.

Meanwhile, when given the choice today if I am more excited to have our baby or for the weather to get cooler, I opted for choice B. Obviously having a baby is the most exciting thing in the world, but for now, it's a bit abstract, as opposed to a change in weather which is something I'm quite familiar with.

Menachem pointed out that today is the first day that we've both been at work at the same time. That is because a) I rarely go to work, and b) because he used to work American hours, while I worked mostly during the day. But now -- Halleluyah! -- he got a normal job like a normal person and we will get some normal sleep! (If you need a real estate agent, let us know.)

Other things I'm looking forward to: My mother-in-laws arrival, and with her: Peanut Butter South Beach Bars (I like PB again), tennis rackets, and MATERNITY CLOTHES!

A Crazy Thing Happened on the Way to Bed the other Night...

I was getting into pajamas on Friday night. Off came my shirt, first, and I was left in a very tight, stretchy tank top. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and then-- stared. You will simply not believe what went through my head at that moment. It was: "Wow. I love my body." Now, if you know me at all, you know that those words have never crossed my mind, and as you can imagine, they came, therefore, as quite a shock. Menachem walked into the room to find me standing in front of the mirror. I felt slightly guilty, or rather, I felt like I LOOKED slightly guilty and felt the need to say something. So I blurted out, "I was just admiring myself in the mirror." I started crying. It was a very emotional moment, to share with someone this deepest, strangest realization. Off came the rest of my clothes, and I just stood there, shocked. I used to associate "body" with "thighs" because that's all I saw when I looked down at my body. But now, I actually SEE my body. And Menachem, perfect as he is says, "I'm just so happy that you finally see yourself the way I always have." God, I love him.

So am I ALWAYS going to have to be pregnant in order to feel this way about my body? Or will this boost of self-esteem somehow stick, even after the swell of the upper body deflates?

Happy week 15!

The topic of this week is: Headaches. Remember that image of the telephone pole banging against my stomach while I'm up against a brick wall? Well, this is like that, but at my head and not as bad. But still, in the last few days I've had a headache everyday and nothing works except for an ice pack and an Excedrin Migraine which I really shouldn't be taking, even though the doctor said I could. This is the same doctor who prescribed me muscle relaxants for a backache, who, on the phone, never asks what trimester I'm in or if I tried regular tylenol yet or really anything else. (I'm looking for a new doctor if you know of any maccabi doctors in Jerusalem.)

Ok, we're going to the mall and then to play tennis -- one of the last vestiges of my normal semi-active life.

I'M the irresponsible one?

I lost the piece of paper with my next appointment on it and now, THREE weeks in advance I call the doctor's office to find out when my appointment is so I can put it on my calendar. And she's like, "If you don't know when you're appointment is then I can't tell you.": HUH? I'm calling because I don't know when my appointment is...so how can I tell you when my appointment is and then if I did, what exactly would be the point of my question? So I give her my name, but that doesn't help. So she's like, "It's your responsibility to remember when you're appointment is." Okay...so what am I supposed to do? You can make a new appointment? Well, what about my old appointment?

So I made a new appointment, which is just dumb because now I'm going to MISS another one of my appointments sometime around then and the doctor is going to give me attitude. And this was all in broken Hebrew and it was frustrating and now I'm not so in love with Israel right now.

Some body changes

Here's something--my stomach is starting to feel solid! If you've ever touched a pregnant belly, you know what I mean. I doesn't feel like soft, flabby fat, it feels kinda hard, solid, and like there's something in it other than digested food.

Another exciting body change: I'm starting to notice that the bigger my belly gets, the smaller my theighs and butt look--it's an all illusion, of course, but still.

Also, my head is growing. Someone has suggested that maybe my hair is getting thicker (which certainly would be a nice perk), but I'm pretty sure it's my actual skull expanding. I can't tell by looking in the mirror, but scarves and bandanas are starting to give me headaches.

And there you have it--body changes of week 13.

Growing out of my clothes already??

Although I've already seen our baby a number of times on the ultrasound screen while the technician holds the wand up to my uterus, I'm still somewhat convinced that I'm growing our baby in my butt. I always feared this...

I always knew I wasn't going to have one of those gorgeous pregnant bodies where from the back you can't even tell the person is pregnant and from the front, the only thing is this perfectly round belly, but meanwhile arms, legs, and face are virtually unchanged. I always knew that wouldn't be me. I knew that as my belly expanded (and it is, thank god at least for that!) so would the rest of my body. My butt and theighs are enlarging, as well is pretty much every other body part associated with me (except of course, my breasts, are still rather small). Well, it's still early yet.

Happy 12 weeks and 6 days!

Pickles

Scratch everything I said about cravings not really existing. I'm eating pickes out of the can. I feel like such a cliche. But I really wanted pickles. and only pickles. But eating the pickles is kinda making me want hot dogs, which is strange because I've had no meat or chicken for the past month. Yum. Hot dogs and pickles. Maybe also because on the news they were talking about the July 4th eating competition on Coney Island. The winner ate 66 hot dogs in 15 minutes. And strangely, that doesn't repulse me, but rather intrigues me. I could probably eat 66 hot dogs in a day.

Indigestion

I finally understand what indigestion is. I never really experienced before and now I've got it down to a science.

There are 4 different types of burps:

1. Feels good, tastes good -- like after chocolate milk or soda.

2. Feels good, tastes bad -- maybe this category doesn't exist...can't think of an example.

3. Feels bad, tastes good -- like after apples.

4. Feels bad, tastes bad -- like after cheerios, tuna, peanut butter, and pesto.

Which brings me to another interesting pregnancy observation/experience. I despise peanut butter and pesto! Perhaps it is because I know that it provides the nasty aftereffect of burp #4, but also, the smells are simply repulsive and the tastes...well, i'm not going near enough to try them.

And here's the thing about cravings: Everybody has cravings, pregnant or not pregnant, and it's not even that when you're pregnant the cravings are stronger; but rather, it's that the aversions make you unable to eat anything OTHER THAN exactly what you're craving. For example, cheetohs. I love cheetohs and often crave them, but because i'm not repulsed by all other food in the world, I am able to settle on a healthier, also tasty option. Whereas when you are pregnant, when you want the cheetohs and someone (someone else or your very own conscience) says, well, how about some cottage cheese or an apple instead?, the answer is, "absolutely not. I need the cheetohs." And again, it's not because the craving is stronger, but it's because the craving is working together with the aversions which veto all other options. So in essence, the craving IS stronger, but only because strong aversions have kicked in.

That's my theory anyways.

Tomorrow I will be 10 weeks, which is exciting. We've decided to start telling people after my doctor's appointment which takes place on 11 weeks. But maybe we should also wait for those genetic tests to come back. Those freak me out and I try not to think about them....

I should really be working...

Breasts

I think my breasts are growing. It's hard to tell. They're still small. I don't know what I was expecting. It seems unlikely that one would go from a barely-A cup to a C, yet that's what I've been dreaming for....well, it's still early on. 9 weeks, tomorrow.

Can't kick this cold...

...and the problem with that is that I can't tell what's a pregnancy symptom and what's just plain old sick behavior. Let me start by saying that I am not a klutz. I always say that I remind myself of Bridget Jones (or the other way around?) except for the klutziness. I don't generally trip on my own feet, drop things, or forget things (not too often at least). And yet...And yet...in the last week since I started my 6th week of pregnancy AND since I got this nasty cold, I have done all those things multiple times.

For example, I went to take an egg out of the fridge and simply dropped it on the ground. I may have even forgotten that I was holding it. That's how smoothly it dropped from my hand. And then I made a banana bread, and forgot to put bananas in. Though I did go a little crazy with it and add everything else in the pantry -- craisins, flaxseeds, musueli...and I don't even remember what else. And then last night was the clincher: I was getting my pre bed snack (lately I've been too hungry to fall asleep) and I was about to get into bed with my cup of instant grits and my knee landed on my phone which tipped my whole balance and the cup went FLYING, spattering grits all over the sheets, my pillow, the wall, and my nighttable. I burst into a hysterical laughing/crying fit while Menachem patiently changed the sheets. I lose my appetite; I gain it back ten-fold. I eat too much; I get nauseous. I love food; I hate food. I've been queasy.

So, what I want to know is: Is my sudden klutziness and queasiness a symptom of pregnancy? Or is my cold making me lightheaded and unbalanced? I guess the answer is that it's probably both.

COLD, please go away. PLEASE? Please let me enjoy my pregnancy symptoms untainted by silly cold side effects!

Happy Anniversary!

Today Israel and I reach the big 3-0! We have hit our one month together mark and we are truly happy.

Maybe I'll stay...

(only kidding, employers and mom and dad)

Shalom! How are the bones? (That's a common greeting here.) My bones, and the rest of me, our good, actually. (Bli ayin hara poo poo poo.)

Did I ever tell you about the time that Molly and I were stuffed into an overcrowded matatu filled with people and bananas and it was time for our stop and the only way out was through the back window? And that I'm not as bendy as the Africans and so it took a whole crowd of passersby to pull me out from the other side? Good times.

Did I ever tell you about the time that my father got knocked to the ground by a motorcycle? That he was crossing the street and looked both ways, but in the American order? That was funny. (Right, daddy? Even you laughed.)

Did I tell you about the time that a group of men offered to buy me for the price of the cow? But that happens all the time.

But those are all things of the past (except for the offering of the cow-dowry).

This time around, I am a visitor. Not a tourist, mind you--I ride the bodaboda bicycles even like an African woman now, side saddle and all. I even eat the skin of the mango that the kids throw down from the trees. And I'm not even buying souvenirs this time.

I have spent my last week and a half visiting friends all over the region. Since many of you know the people here, I'm going to do a bit of name-dropping, so skip this if they are just names to you:

I have spent about 1/2 my time at Hadassah with my children and a little bit of time on top of the hill reviewing the Passover Hagadah with the older youth. On my way down the hill, I have visited M'zee (old man) Nehemiah, who has a vanilla and coffee plantation (though I'll bet the Ugandans have never though to make a french vanilla cappachino). Further down the hill is Majuma who insisted I come in for tea and boiled eggs. I spent a night in Nasenyi visiting Jacobo and Norah and saw the team of oxen, Mike and Rene, hard at work. I also visited Israel Kilya's family in Nasenyi, but he was in Kampala. I've spent a few nights at the Putti yishuv where I intend on returning for shabbat. I went to Samson's and Dinah's house near town for a quick coke and saw their new baby. I've also visited Naume's new shop a few times. Oh, and of course dinner at Yael's, but unfortunately Yael had to be in town at the hospital with Sarah (not me), so it was cassava with Susan and the other kids. I've been to Namatala twice to visit Buete and Leah, and also Rachel Modundo, Nathan, and Maxwell. And last night Rachel M. and I journeyed to a small village ("This is REALLY a village," says Rachel.) near Namutumba where Mama, Papa, Grandma, and Grandpa Abraham live. I had never met them before and both parties were excited to meet the other--it was a big Abraham-fest (kinda like the Faust-a-thon, but not).

No one understands that I like my tea without sugar. And when I tell them that I like my tea like I like my men--big, black, and strong--they don't get that either. Hmm.

Last shabbat was spent praying and playing. This shabbat will be the same, but I have lots of studying and teaching planned also.

Some high school kids decided they wanted to go to Namutumba to help Pesach clean, so the 2 Israeli volunteers from the top of the hill and I are hiring Samson and his new van to take them there.

From there I will go to Kampala and then Entebbe and Monday morning I depart.

Yesterday evening I prayed in a grove of banana trees, their big leaves shielding me from the drizzling rain. Today I walked across a marshy rice paddy and through fields of millet and sorgum. I ate fresh roasted peanuts and drank tea while my hosts and I discussed the magic of airplanes and tractors. Those things ARE magic, I told them, but so are these things here in Africa--their own means of survival are slim but they are happy. And they have never heard of homelessness. Everyone has a roof and everyone has a family.

And during this visit here, all have made it clear that I am family too. Awww.

Wow. I'm truly in love.

Chag Kasher V'Sameach! Next year in Jerusalem!

Sarah

P.S. To continue reading about my journeys, check out http://sarinthecity.blogspot.com

-----

Back in Africa!

Oh, Uganda!

I took a cab (8 hour bank search instead of just the 4 hour ride--uch.) and as we drove into the African sunrise, I smiled and laughed. The rainy season has just begun and the land was brimming with extraordinary greenness and rich browns. The large maribu storks peered down on me from the tops of the trees; they are magnificently ugly. The women wear their finest clothing as they walk down the dirt road with bundles carried on their heads. The sides of the road were filled with miles and miles of sugar cane, casava, coffee, and corn (c,c,c,c). The windows were down and I became immediately coated with African dust. I was dirty and I was happy.

Time ticked away slowly, as it naturally does here in Africa, as I awaited my cliff. We approached Mbale and: Wanali. Majestic and awesome. She stood in silence, the drop from her peak as straight as the line in my back. The clouds above her, her crown.

By the time I took my second trip back to Mbale (another 4 hours, but this time in a crowded matatu, taxi-van meant for 14, but stuffed with 20), sunrise turned to sunset and then quickly into dark. When there is no moon and no electricity, it becomes obvious that the stars, in all their beauty and utility (light) were created for us. The wide, open sky does not make me feel small, like it used to, but makes me feel great.

I got back to Hadassah School and it was late, but the children were waiting up for me. I got off my boda-boda (motorcycle) and they came rushing towards me. We had tea and shared a cake that I brought from home. We said Shma, sang Hamalach Hagoel (which I taught them, which they still say every night), sang the Mosquito song (pronounced mo-skwee-to--but then again, shouldn't it be that way since there's a Q?). Since Purim just passed, they kept getting Mosquito mixed up with Haman (same tune, so cute). And then, as though not a day had passed, when we were done singing, they all yelled out, "Kiss! Kiss!" (the boys and girls separately), and I went around and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, or leg, or arm, or whatever I could reach before they pretended to be squeamish and shy away.

And today Abraham and I began rekindling our friendship (I slipped him a lollipop). His older sister, Esther, says that he talks about me often.

So, what am I doing here, you ask? Well, I decided last Thursday that I really just wanted to see all my friends in Uganda and realign myself back with the basics. To do a bit of good (I brought matza) and to get a bit of perspective. So I'm hanging out here on the equator, right in the middle of this crazy world, in this very beautiful place, for 2 weeks of vacation.

Mommy made me get a mobile (m,m,m,m) and here's my number: 011-256-78-222-3172. It spells nothing. I'm 7 or 8 hours ahead. I won't be angry if you wake me up. (On the contrary.)

Off to the market I go to buy vegetables for dinner at Yael's.

Love, Sarah

P.S. If you'd like to donate to the Send Sarah to Africa and Still Enable Her to Eat and Pay Rent When She Gets Back Fund (the SSTAASEHTEAPRWSGBF), please send your check or cash to: Sarah Gold 6400 Patterson Ave. Richmond, VA 23226. I am officially about to run out of money.

ooooooh M'zungu?.....it's shopping time!

I keep dreaming of Africa.

I was sitting with a group of friends and little Abraham was sitting on my lap. Mid-conversation, he tugged at my sleeve to get my attention. I leaned down and he whispered in my ear,
"Saalah (rolled "r"s sound like "l"s), where are your wings?"
"My wings?"
"Do you have invisible wings? Aren't you an angel?"

It's funny -- they always thought WE were the angels.

Meanwhile, I requested an order of 50 hand-woven kippot and have just received a sizeable package from the Ugandan Putti community. They are $12 each and come in all colors and sizes. $10 each if you buy 6 or more. For a little sales inspiration, see my entry "M'zungu give me my 500 shillings!" You'll see just how far your $12 can go. What was it -- like 200 avocados per kippa? Something like that.

E-mail me your orders at sarahgold81@yahoo.com, please. Thanks!

Death be not Proud

Sometimes we just need to pull the plug --

I spent yesterday mourning the death of my faithful computer, Daisy. We had spent 4 long years together and I knew her death was coming near. And at 8:33 a.m. yesterday, when I found my ipod uncharged and my computer screen blank, I accepted that the time had finally come. I pushed the power button a few times, just to be sure, but to no avail.

A full day I spent not checking my email! (That sounds jumbled but somehow, I like the ring of it.) I went outside having no idea how hot or cold I would be! (I was cold.) A day of phone calls to spread the word about the deceased and to discuss the prospects of Replacement (GASP! So soon?!).

At about 10:36 p.m. I decided to wrap her up and lay her to rest in a more comfortable spot than the dining room table (dining corner, not really a "room" in the traditional sense of the word). I went to unplug her when -- LO AND BEHOLD! -- she was not even plugged in!

Repeating the words, "I am such an idiot. I am such an idiot.", over and over again, I plugged that life giving cord back into the wall and... WALAH! She came back from the dead! I type on her now. We are closer than ever.

There is a moral to this tale (besides the obvious one of Sarah is dumb). Sometimes in life, we may feel like pulling the plug on something--a task, a friendship, whatever. But usually, the better option is to examine the plug. Maybe instead of pulling the plug, we should try pay more attention to it and just give it a gentle shove back into its warm home in the wall.

Happy New Year!
Love, Sarah

P.S. My cranberry walnut bread ended up hardening into a dense brick. It all ended up in the garbage. Well, I'll bet I can......whistle and snap better than you can! So there! We all have our strengths and weaknesses. (I don't mean to be so didactic...maybe after a brush with death, that's just what happens....)

Sarah can't bake.

I must have been absent that day of Kindergarten math class when they taught us how to measure.

I was just in the kitchen, in the bubble of solo baking, unaware of the fact that time was passing outside of my little 3 X 6 cubicle. (It just took me over an hour to get that cake in the oven.) I was covered with flour and batter, standing over bowls and measuring cups and spoons, laughing and laughing and laughing about how much time I was wasting on this cake which, when the buzzer dings (right, like I use a buzzer), will be gross cake.

Literally. Back in my Cambridge days, Dee (one of my roommates at the time and also one of my very best friends) and I used to make dinner together. We’d pull out our secret weapon, cake mix, and the accessories, egg whites, applesauce, and Splenda (wait, had Splenda been discovered yet?). We’d mix our cake (or cookies) with one goal in mind: fat free. It would be chewy, too sweet, and kinda gross; it would be dinner. We called it Gross Cake/Cookies. “What do you want for dinner tonight? Gross Cookies?” “Sure!”

FAT FREE FAT FREE FAT FREE, the words would haunt me, back in my obsessed with fat free food days (pre low carb revolution—so we must’ve used real sugar rather than Splenda).

So…back to the kitchen. I started out deciding that I would be extra careful with my measuring for this cake. But I just couldn’t give up my substitutions. So I substituted Splenda for sugar (but I measured!), some whole wheat flour for regular (measured!), 1.5 jumbo eggs for 2 large (leaving out part of the second yolk), and, of course, apple sauce for oil. (Those who know anything about dieting will know that I’m mixing diets and mixing diets means canceling out the benefits of both. Y’see, applesauce has the sugar of the sugar I omitted—so I’m mixing low carb (i.e. Splenda) with low fat (i.e. applesauce), and, quite frankly, that’s dumb. And the whole wheat flour in a cake—yuck.)

So I’m following the recipe just as it’s written. (Well, not mixing the dry and wet ingredients separately doesn’t count because we all know that’s just a hoax.) (Oh, cranberries are really hard to chop, so I put them in whole.)

But then it says to pour the batter into tins. Batter (b'lilah raka)? I’ve got thick, thick dough (b'lila avah); it’s practically bread (it's got an entirely different halachic status--I'm taking a whole class on the laws of bread). So I took out some and made scones. And then I added water to the rest to make it into batter. And I added a drop more applesauce. I would’ve added more orange juice, but I had drunk it already. But then this new batter tasted kind of bland, so I added more Splenda (unmeasured).

And now…the cakes! (drumroll please)

The scones are….quite good!

The cake is…well, YOU probably wouldn’t eat it. But as one of the co-founders of Gross Cake, I’m looking forward to my low fat low car treat!

Strawberry Fields Forever

I have the day off because of the transit strike, so after a leisurely morning of Barnes & Noble and Cosi, I decided to do some baking. I stopped at my local grocery store to get ingredients, came home, put on my cooking clothes, and got to work. Not five minutes after changing, I realized that I was missing key ingredient #1: flour. I went back and forth for a while as to whether my cake might be good enough with whole wheat flour before grudgingly changing back into my grocery shopping outfit and braving the cold.

I went outside and scrunched up my nose—yuck, burning rubber. A wave of panic: did I leave my oven or stove on?—no, I haven’t cooked in days. Is there a blanket near the heater in my room?—no, heat hasn’t worked in days. Okay, I thought, I’m safe.

And I was, and I am. But unfortunately, down the street, fire engines were screaming (and still are, as I write this) toward the scene of a smoking building. I saw no flames, yet the sight was still shocking and horribly upsetting. I still do not know how bad the fire was (is still?) or what, if any, the casualties are, but the air around me was filled with smoke. It was very scary.

Refusing to walk closer and gape with the prurient spectators, I continues walking hurriedly back to the supermarket. (I am not so much self-righteous as I am fond of the word “prurient”.) I passed the entrance to the market four times, engrossed in my anxiety as the smoke rose around me. (Flour is on sale for $.99!)

I just turned the news on, but the only reports are on the transit strike—“the illegal, selfish strike of 2005”, as described by Mayor Bloomberg, who must now walk over the Brooklyn Bridge in order to get to work every morning (well, he doesn’t actually have to, but he is anyways, with throngs of people around him, for that New York solidarity that I have now witnessed and love). I know it sucks for New York and for New Yorkers with jobs, families, and busy lives, but it’s given me a jump start on my winter vacation, and I’m a walker anyways.

Amidst all the commotion I am consciously being a (sometimes) disciplined active person. (In other words, for a person who prefers videos, popcorn, and pajamas to getting out and going out, it is taking astute attention and motivation to experience the pretty cool life that New York has to offer.) The opera (Carmen, box seats and dressed to impress)! The museums! The Christmas windows (tomorrow night’s plan)! The bars! I’ve been doing it all! I even got free tickets and went to the season’s finale of The Apprentice (live)! And I went to Strawberry Fields for John Lennon’s memorial! And I joined a Scrabble group!

And I walk about 3 miles a day.

And now I’m going to go bake a cake, either in muffin or bundt form. Cranberry nut, yum yum yum. Wanna come over? I also have hot chocolate…

...but the journey has just begun!

Last night I dreamt I was in Africa. It was the third time this week.

I arrive at the Hadassah School nervous--would they remember me? Or, more specifically, would they remember how much in love we had been with each other?--and the kids emerge from their classrooms and come charging at me with hugs. Let the dancing began! How different this second visit was from the first when their entrance into the dirt courtyard had been so shy and hesitant!

I saw Abraham standing by the doorway (haha, like in this week's parsha!) of the nursery room (oh). He was avoiding my stare; I could tell he was as nervous as I was. I made my way through the crowd, knowing that I would have to make the first move. When I approached him, I picked him up, squeezed him, and twirled him around. He finally looked me in the eye, we paused for a moment, and then we both began to laugh. We laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed till tears were running down all our cheeks and we had to sit down.

Did I ever tell you about Abraham?

Throughout Africa, I tried to include stories of Abraham in my emails. I tried to explain how he had touched my life. But in the end, all the words were deleted. Not only could I not explain this angel of a little boy, but I could not even explain how I could not even explain.

Uch--what has come over me?! I have lost my flair! I've melted into a puddle of moldy sap, getting warm and sticky on my expensive finished, hard-wood floors.

NEW YORK! NEW YORK!
In a land flowing with caffeine, vitamin water, and money, I sit in my $2850/month apartment (not including utilities and cable) and complain about my looks. My black leather boots are too high, the sole on my red suede boots is a bit low. My skirts are too loose and my pants are too tight. My hips are too big, my breasts too small, my eyes are too wide, and my hair too tall. And I'm getting a cold. And I'm getting old. And don't even let me get started about boys...

Well I certainly just killed the mood. I'll write more later.

Ah! To be young again... 

The Last Word

Hello again!

Jew in Putti once wrote, "Like any other Jew, I
should not lose hope [to return to Israel] though life
is difficult. This means that one day my mouth will
be full of laughter, my tongue with joyful songs and
there I will say among other things that 'The Lord has
done great things in my life.' At this moment,
though, I will be like those who sow in tears and thus
reap in joy."

I am so lucky. I am so lucky, I told myself, over and
over again as I flew over the desert from one paradise
to another. I have gone from the pearl of Africa,
where chickens cross the dirt roads more than human
beings do (I've asked myself 'why' on countless
occasions), to the land flowing with milk and honey,
where beauty is trumped only by holiness. I have
cried painful tears over my departure and an equal
number were shed upon arrival in the developed, holy,
land of Israel (especially when I saw--in no
particular order--the washer and dryer, Eden, and the
kitchen).

My last few weeks in Uganda were bittersweet, to say
the least.

A vacation to the relaxing Ssese Islands. There I
went from sleeping on the beach to sleeping in the
grass to sleeping in the hammock to sleeping in the
tent. I read hundreds of pages of book and wrote
pages and pages of journal. There were parrots in the
trees and bilharzia in the lake-one of the many exotic
diseases that were tested during my 3 day hospital
visit upon arrival in Israel (another long, boring
malaria story that I will spare you from).

And then back to the village for the wind down. Did
some work, had some goodbye parties (one in Putti, one
in headquarters), recorded my debut album-Molly and
Sarah's Most Excellent Prayer Adventure-packed my
bags, cried my eyes out, and left.

I have no more exciting stories to tell though my life
has been far from unexciting. I long ago lost my
flare (or interest?) for explaining the funny details
of travel--perhaps they became commonplace. And even
after all this time, I still cannot explain that which
I could never explain. I will never be able to
explain what living in Uganda was actually like for
me. I will not be able to put the stars into words or
let you hear the bleating cries of the goats. You
cannot feel the sun burning my skin through my
clothing and you cannot see the sun's rays as they
inexplicably tear the clouds apart. Hardest of all, I
will never be able to explain the children.

I have now been in Israel for two weeks where I am
experiencing reverse culture shock. Physically, it is
very easy to get used to the fully developed
world--twenty three and a half years of life have been
in this comfortable setting of showers and
televisions. Emotionally and philosophically,
however, the first world is much more complex than the
developing third. Living in Uganda brought me "back
to basics", to the simple, to the clear and obvious,
to the understandable. It is the developed world that
is complex and impossible to understand-easy to
explain, but impossible to understand.

Also, it is strange to be around so many white people.


As far as I am concerned, I am home and my trip is
over. I am back with family, back with friends, and
back to my real life. Before I end, I just want to
thank all of you, dear readers, for your time,
attention, responses, packages, phone calls, and love.


You've been a wonderful audience.

Yours, etc.

P.S. For photos, check out this site periodically:
http://www.snapfish.com/share/p=511101118417718852/l=50454481/otsc=SYE/ot