Eight months after I told my son good bye at the Toronto airport, eight months after moving across the world to Jerusalem, Michael came to visit, or as I've been saying in one of the Hebrew phrases I've mastered, "הבן שלי בא לבקר"I've been anticipating the visit so long, so keenly, that I made myself sick; headache, anxiety, tears, obsessive cleaning. Yet when he came down the walk, smiling, cool as a cucumber, I relaxed completely.
He was completely relaxed, though tired from traveling after a day that would have sent my anxiety meter soaring.
How did I get such a great -- thoughtful, calm, kind, sweet, easy-going -- son? What a blessing!
What else would get me to sit down and "blog"(a practice I dislike)?
Yet my sense of gratitude, of wonder, of love is so great that I must put proverbial pen to paper.
It's 8:45 Friday morning in Jerusalem, and I have not rushed off to the pool and the farmer's market, my usual pre-Shabbat routine. Instead, I sit outside and muse, because Michael's here.
