Thursday, June 09, 2005
The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions
My trip to Israel is coming to a close. I'm glad I came, even for such a short visit. I've been here enough times that I don't have to make a big to-do anymore everytime I come. I came for a little less than two weeks, so I decided to spend about a week with each side of my family.
I spent the first week with my dad's mom. She's one of those people who has an open home. People come and go as they please, and she believes she needs to feed all of her guests. She'd probably be feeding the whole world, if she could. Gramdmama's got a viscious motivation. She confessed to me she can't say "no," so she cooks and cleans and hosts day after day.
Impressive... but close to 80 years old, I think she's starting to wish for a little less.
But when I arrived I was still shaking off the last bits of school-year stress. I needed my rest, and jet-lag super-sonic sped up my first few nights, so they were too short. But people came and went, and Grandma was up at like 6am daily and she didn't always let me sleep much later than that. She'd wake me up with a huge, delicious breakfast. At first that was a treat, until fantasy quickly reversed into a nightmare.
I couldn't take naps in the afternoons because there were things we needed to do and people we needed to see. The few times I managed to squeeze in a little afternoon napping to complement my short nights, I was awoken with shouts and food. Food, food, food. Our days revolved around three mega-meals and snacks in between. Shouting, not angry shouts. Over stimulation of people, loud voices, newness. Ah la tortura.
It was a recipe for a disaster, and so I wasn't surprised at all once that happened. The last night with Grandma I caught the mother of all flus. Dizziness, nausea, hot and cold sweats, pains all over my body. I couldn't move; I needed my sleep; and with such a bad appetite I couldn't eat without wanting to barf everything.
That put a bit of a halt on this trip, but at least it forced people to let me get a little more of what I needed, sleep and slowing down.
I spent the first week with my dad's mom. She's one of those people who has an open home. People come and go as they please, and she believes she needs to feed all of her guests. She'd probably be feeding the whole world, if she could. Gramdmama's got a viscious motivation. She confessed to me she can't say "no," so she cooks and cleans and hosts day after day.
Impressive... but close to 80 years old, I think she's starting to wish for a little less.
But when I arrived I was still shaking off the last bits of school-year stress. I needed my rest, and jet-lag super-sonic sped up my first few nights, so they were too short. But people came and went, and Grandma was up at like 6am daily and she didn't always let me sleep much later than that. She'd wake me up with a huge, delicious breakfast. At first that was a treat, until fantasy quickly reversed into a nightmare.
I couldn't take naps in the afternoons because there were things we needed to do and people we needed to see. The few times I managed to squeeze in a little afternoon napping to complement my short nights, I was awoken with shouts and food. Food, food, food. Our days revolved around three mega-meals and snacks in between. Shouting, not angry shouts. Over stimulation of people, loud voices, newness. Ah la tortura.
It was a recipe for a disaster, and so I wasn't surprised at all once that happened. The last night with Grandma I caught the mother of all flus. Dizziness, nausea, hot and cold sweats, pains all over my body. I couldn't move; I needed my sleep; and with such a bad appetite I couldn't eat without wanting to barf everything.
That put a bit of a halt on this trip, but at least it forced people to let me get a little more of what I needed, sleep and slowing down.
