
Ambling in Acco


Shalom, y’all!
My friend suggested we go to a bird sanctuary. I’m not certain what makes these birds more special than the ones found in America, but I’m open to find out! Maybe I’ll bond with them since I feel like such a bird-brain right now (still jet-lagged and disoriented).
As we entered the area, it became apparent this is more than just a bird watchers haven. This is a place of wonders, the result of creative and determined people working together with Mother Nature to create a haven a green, abundant beauty.
Until the 1950s large parts of the Hula valley were covered by the Hula Lake and swamps. The project for draining the swamps contributed to settlement in the area and to the addition of large areas of agricultural land. Unfortunately, the soil in the areas surrounding the central lake remained so acidic the crops couldn’t be sustained. Then in the early 1990s one of the areas of the valley became flooded again as the result of heavy rains. Since agriculture efforts had failed in this area, it was decided to leave the flooded area as it was and not try to drain it again. The new site – Agamon Hula – quickly became the second home for thousands of migrating birds that pass through the area in the autumn and spring, as well as the home of many native birds, making it a popular sight for bird-watchers from Israel and abroad.
Agamon Hula has walking paths, observation points, and telescopes for observing the thousands of birds that inhabit the site. Visitors can also go on guided tours that offer explanations about the birds that inhabit the Hula Valley. We decided to hop a ride on the open-air bus that provided one of these tours. Although a brochure was provided for the English speaking tourist, the driver only spoke Hebrew. This placed a bit of a burden on my friend to translate along the way. It became apparent bird and plant names aren’t so easily translated on the spot, but she adapted and worked through the challenge with impressive ease.
Water is extremely abundant in the valley as it drains from the surrounding mountains into the valley to fill the already abundant lakes, rivers and swamps. The area is green and flowering, a pure miracle of nature. The animal life is vibrant, and playful. We paused to watch their play and enjoy their antics, and took a leisurely walk along the paths before heading out. A light dinner followed by some lounging time in the hot-tub on the deck of our room was on our agenda.
The Bible notes this area as the place where Joshua defeated the Canaanites as they entered the “Promised Land”. As I reflect on the day, I can’t help but think again how it remains a promise. The area is so green, lush and rich with natural resources.
I was curious how such amazing agriculture actually impacted their import/export business, so I did a quick search. It was remarkable to learn Israel produces 95% of their food requirement and depend on imports for only 5%. The independence and ingenuity of the Israeli people can be seen throughout the land. I understand their pride. It’s amazing!
Only an hour in the hot tub and I’m caving into the jet lag once again. I understand it can be expected to take as many days to recover from a bad bought of jet lag as hours in the time difference. There’s no way I’m dealing with this for 7 days. I’m going to sleep this off!
I have jet lag. Extreme jet lag.
I never should have bragged that I hadn’t experienced real jet lag. I doomed myself to a miserable first few days in the land of milk and honey.
It started with puking on the flight attendant as I exited the plan, continued when I discovered my luggage did not arrive, and finally kicked me when I fell asleep on the drive from Herzliya to the north where I would be sharing passover with my host family. I missed the sights, and some much needed chatter with my friend. I missed myself, since as it turns out, jet lag is an out-of-body experience.
We arrived in Metula at the Lebanon border, a quiet village built on the ridge of hills overlooking Mt. Hermon, the Eion & Hula valleys, and the Galillee landscape. My knowledge of the area was limited to Bible history. Metula was located between the cities of Dan & Abel Be Maacah, mentioned several times in the old testament, but perhaps most known from the story of Joab. As I would quickly learn, the history of the land is rich in history beyond the Bible.
Metula was founded in 1896 by Baron Edmond de Rothschild as a moshava, a semi-cooperative agricultural community. After Israel’s War of Independence, a few more neighborhoods were added to the moshava, which grew into a rural town. Most of Metula’s early settlers earned their livelihood from agriculture. Even now, along the winding roads there are peach, plum, and nectarine orchards.
We passed The Good Fence at the Lebanon border as we headed for the host house. Seeing it was a reminder of the conflicts that plague this beautiful country, of the necessity of this military zone, and yet it managed to meld into the landscape rather than mar it.
We had time to shower and change before the planned passover meal. This was my first experience at a Jewish Pesach Seder. The weight of interpretation and explanation fell on the shoulders of my friend. She was quite amazing.
I’ve only known her a year, but during our travels outside Israel I’ve only heard her speaking English with perhaps a few words in Hebrew when asked. She has an exceptional mastery of the English language, barely an accent to suggest she’s not an American. Surrounded by friends and family in her native land, I was a bit shocked and amazed to hear her so easily speak Hebrew, to witness her animation and passion that matched the others at the table. Everyone was welcoming, boisterous and ready to celebrate. Even though very little English was spoken, the hospitality was palpable.
A tent with a u-shape table set-up was constructed outside the home. There were to be about 15-20 people at the dinner. At each place setting was a Passover Haggadah, a book that includes the story of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt, as well as the prayers, songs and rituals. It was written in Hebrew so my participation was limited until I managed to pull the English version from the internet. From the haroset to the gefilte fish to the matzo ball soup, I partook of each course and attempted to perform the rituals. Sadly, this resulted in me spilling my red wine all over the place. The American Idiot flails at seder.
It was funny to note that hunger speeds up ritual dinners in any country. I laughed with them as they rushed things along, but couldn’t stop myself from comparing the rituals of the evening to what I knew of the original passover meals outlined in the Old Testament. I asked questions, enjoyed the responses, and even managed to answer some on my own. My friend teased I was a better Jew than her. Honestly, I’m just very interested in the beginnings of these traditions and how these beliefs are incorporated into today’s religious structures and society.
With each course and each prayer, as what I knew from books became a real experience for me, I could only appreciate the richness of the culture and heritage of this chosen people . So many of my childhood memories are tied to the story of Moses and the children of Israel. My spiritual heritage is built on this story, on Jesus honoring this tradition at the last supper as he took the rituals and traditions into a new covenant, a new understanding. I’m not from Israel. I am not Jewish, but I have been adopted into this lineage.
There’s something magical about Passover in Israel. Even as the meal has taken a more modern feel, adapted through the ages and taking on the personality of the hosts, the truths and heritage remain. This is a people brought out of slavery in Egypt to become a chosen nation. This is a land blessed. This is an experience beyond the senses, but of the soul.
I felt honored to be included, to be a part.
In spite of the thrills of the evening, I was beat by the end of the meal. I wanted to savor the emotions, the sensations. My body had other ideas.
Jet lag stinks.
On my way to Israel…
I’m flying British Airways, and wouldn’t you know the computers have gone down and they are giving manual boarding passes. Slow process. Tedious. Not a good sign.
The good news is I received an upgrade to First Class! No more complaints. 🙂
It was a rough night for food.
Granted, we were already frustrated after our first restaurant choice could not seat us and the second was closed, but that just meant by the time we reached the Dolphin Reef in Tybee Island, Savannah, Georgia, we were hungry enough for even the basic food to pass the taste test. There was also the thrill of this being a new experience since we had never been here.
It was disconcerting when we were directed to the second floor bar due to a private party, but this is business and who really minds eating at the bar? Especially when it overlooks the ocean under the light of a full moon.
We quickly discovered we would be one of three tables being served. Now, this could go either way. We could have the best service or the worst.
You’ve probably guessed. It wasn’t good.
We ordered the salmon, grouper (both on the fresh catch of the day menu) and steak (medium rare). No substitutions or special challenges. We did ask for a side of hush puppies for an addition, but nothing challenging here.
It took 35 minutes to see the waitress again. She came bearing fish. Lukewarm fish with a fruit coctail topping they proclaimed magically tranformed the fish to “carribean style.” The steak would be out in a minute; they were plating it.
10 minutes later, we got the tepid steak.
Sadly…or fortunately, depending on your take, we never received the hush puppies.
Let me just say, the food wasn’t the worst I’ve had. It tasted like what I could have at many family tables in America. Pull out the frozen fish, open up a can of fruit coctail for garnish, spoon a little prepackaged dirty rice and some crispy green beans on the side and let it sit while you wait for Dad to pull the steak off the grill. Of course, he let’s it sit in the snow as he cleans up and turns off the gas tank. By the time the food is on the table, it all sits for a bit while Sis takes her time hanging up the phone from talking to her boyfriend. Finally you can pray over that food before you dig in!
I don’t pay $65 to sit at this American table. I won’t again.
Food Fail.
At an obscure intersection in the Grant Park area of Atlanta, Georgia is a dilapidated building that would be completely overlooked were it not for the urban graffiti-esque art covering the exterior and the smell of smoked beef that permeates the air. It’s Daddy D’z BBQ Joynt, voted Atlanta’s best barbeque by Creative Loafing and featured on the Food Network.
It’s not a fancy place. The furniture is used and well worn, the building is in ill-repair, and the HVAC runs on a “spit and a prayer.” What it lacks in ambiance by most standards, it makes up for in friendly hospitaliity and quality food.
It was early evening when we arrived, but the place was already busy. The menu is printed on laminated 11×17 sheets and includes sandwiches, soups, Brunswick stew, appetizers and dinner plates. The barbeque sauces come in mild or hot.
I’m rather picky about my barbeque, so I was ready to be critical. They made it difficult.
The pork is tender and flavorful, the brisket melts in your mouth, and the pork ribs will leave you sucking the bones. The mild sauce is tomato-based with a sweet burst of flavor, whereas the hot sauce is vinegar based with an initial
sweetness followed by a burst of tangy heat.
The cole slaw had the perfect texture, not too watery but not too creamy; it highlighted the cabbage and not the flavors of the sauce. The baked beans were thick and tangy, the fried zucchini lightly battered, and the collard greens had a hint pepper vinegar that cut the bitterness of the greens without overpowering. There was absolutely nothing to fault with any of our dishes.
The service was excellent. Our waitresses were not only patient and friendly, but ready to answer questions and enthusiastic about the options. They dressed for comfort and personality, and did they have personality! If they weren’t laughing they were telling a story.
Our fellow patrons were relaxed and ready to chat with everyone who offered a smile. It was an eclectic group, united by good food, good music and fun. We could have easily been mistaken for the extras in a 1970s independent B movie.
We were there for a friend’s birthday. As the waitress brought out the blackberry cobbler (a light dessert leaving the berries untainted by an abundance of sweet), we broke into the birthday song. We might as well have been howling at the moon as singing on key. The table behind us clapped and explained they were celebrating a birthday, too. We howled for them, this time at least finding a key. The entire restaurant applauded.
This is a blues venue, so several nights a week blues bands will play and transform this hole-in-the-wall to an old south jook joint. Blues musicians and local African-American celebrities are celebrated in the artwork on the wall, and the overall feel echoes back to an era long past.
We lingered, enjoying our time and experiencing none of the impatience to “get them in and get them out” that is so often the attitude in restaurants today. We were part of a community, a family. That was never more clear than when a fellow patron came to the table, asked to shake the hand of the birthday boy and left a $20 bill in his palm. Strangers become friends at Daddy D’z, and they do it in the traditional southern way…over good food.
Daddy D’z proudly proclaims “We ain’t pretty but we’re good.” I’d have to say pretty is as pretty does, and they do it very good!
It’s Valentine’s Day! A day for expressions of love and romance. A reminder to couples everywhere to tell their partners they are special. Because clearly it’s only important one day a year. It’s not a fundamental need in relationships.
But Valentine’s Day is also a time when the spotlight shines on what is missing in the life of a single. Oh, some will disregard it, recognizing it as a silly holiday. Others will attempt to remain busy, desperately trying not to notice what happens around them so as not to be reminded of their lack. And then some will simply fall into a depressed state crying out to the universe at the unfairness of it all.
Ironically, for a single person it’s just another day. Another day for someone to tell them what they are doing wrong, what they can improve or change that will miraculously bring them the love they desire. To say it’s a frustrating diatribe would be to minimize the despicable message hidden beneath a sheath of care and concern.
I wonder if people even think before they speak. Do these do-gooders and would-be relationship psychics pause to remember a single is a person with feelings and a history? Do they even consider the damaging message they are perpetuating?
It starts when you’re young, during your first crush when you’re reminded you’re too young to love. Ok, there’s a lot of truth to that. It’s certainly not wrong, and yet there are probably better ways to reign in the hormones and angst of youth. Then it becomes statements about you’re just too focused on school, or partying depending on your bend. Then you don’t really know what you’re looking for, followed by you’re too picky. As the years pass it becomes more personal. You’re too fat; you’re too thin. Your acne is a deterrent; your hair isn’t right. You’re not dressing feminine enough, or you dress too revealing. You’re too strong and intimidating, or you’re too shy and withdrawn. You don’t go out enough; you’re going out to the wrong places. You’re not letting people know you; you’re sharing too much too soon. You’re not really trying; you’re trying too hard and should just let it happen naturally. Finally, when you’re just so tired of being told all the reason why you are incapable of attracting love, it’s because you’re sending out bad energy and repelling people.
My question is: When did love become something you had to earn through such perfection? Isn’t love supposed to be the precious unmerited gift? The validation that who you are – right now – is special.
How many people have found love when they have acne, are overweight, have a successful job, or dress inappropriately? How many found love when they weren’t looking, or found it when they did? How many found love when they were at their lowest point and ready for depression meds?
There is no evidence to prove any of the advice given will result in the wind of love blowing into your life. There is a lot of compelling evidence to show demeaning people results in a lot of unnecessary pain and heartache.
Life isn’t fair. There isn’t a justifiable reason why people who long for a relationship are still alone. It’s just a fact of life, another mystery in an individual’s universe. Shaming singles won’t change the situation, but it will change the circumstance by making it unbearable.
So for Valentine’s Day I’d like to give the single people out there a gift of truth. You are more than worthy of love… right now, as you are. You have great value as a person on a challenging journey with an ever changing path. You are enough. You are deserving, and you always will be.
I like to attend local festivals.
Most of the time they are named after an idea or emblem common and representative of the area, such as The Dogwood Festival or The Yellow Daisy Festival. Sometimes they just echo the theme: The Jazz Festival or The Blues Festival. Generally they are centered around arts, crafts and music (with a sprinkling of local cuisine thrown into the mix). But occasionally there can be found an aberrant festival, one that steps outside the norm and doesn’t simply host the traditional ideas, but embraces a reclusive, and often bizarre, interest with passion and enthusiasm. These are the festivals that provide the most fascinating glimpses into the human psyche and segmented sociology. They are also surprisingly fun!
Today I went to the Jugglers Festival.
There wasn’t much advertising surrounding the event. I wouldn’t have even known it was being sponsored if I hadn’t heard about it from a friend. He is a member of the Seed & Feed March Abominable Band. They are known for their surprise blitzes Atlanta throughout where they show up in crazy costumes to interrupt every day moments with their song and dance. They are a kind of marching band flash mob, bringing laughter to the mundane. The band would be opening at the Jugglers Festival at the Shriner’s Temple.
The whole idea is something out of the Twilight Zone. Imagine my surprise to find hundreds of people packing the place. I could barely find a parking spot! I couldn’t believe so many people were looking to find interesting ways to keep their balls in the air.
It turns out the festival celebrates the art of juggling. They offer performances by professionals and competitions for amateurs. They offer mini-workshops to teach the basics and more advanced for those who want to improve their skills to perhaps catch items on their back and head while balancing on a ball. Of course, there are tables set up from supply vendors offering balls, pins, swords, specialty gloves and even costumes for jugglers. It’s quite a structured and enthusiastic event.
As I moved around the room, I noted the crowd was not made up of the strange and unusual. These were everyday people, in everyday clothes, enjoying an unusual hobby to the point of obsession. What’s more? They were happy. They weren’t self-conscious or embarrassed; they were just enjoying the moment. I liked them immediately.
This was certainly a trip through the looking-glass into a realm some would call freaky (you know, the people who lack the balls to live a little and just laugh). This was a place where people broke with expectations, propriety and “common interests to passionately pursue what they love. And if you chose to arch a brow or cast a frown, you might just get pulled into the show as a means to break through those walls! After all, it’s hard to judge when you’re juggling.
Maybe there’s a lesson here. If we all took the time to pursue something out of the ordinary and embraced it with such fervor, our burdens wouldn’t feel so heavy with so much joy in the air.
Sustainability is by far the most common and on-going trend in Facilities Management.
Oh, how we love such buzz words!
Simply put, “sustainability” is the goal of meeting our current needs without compromising the abilities of future generations to meet their own needs. It’s all about environmental science in the workplace: energy, waste and water management against environmental impact. To stand out in the industry, a facilities manager must be committed to environmental stewardship and incorporating sustainable practices into day-to-day operations through programs such as recycling, energy efficiency measures, green landscaping, custodial services, clean energy and transportation to name a few.
Most Facilities Management teams have always focused on this because let’s face it, the financial gains as well as the health and safety benefits of pursuing green space cannot be denied. Over the last few years, it’s become mainstream. When something becomes mainstream, it results in yet another certification to acquire for credibility and proof that you know how to do your job.
LEED is an internationally recognized green building program. Participation in the voluntary LEED process demonstrates leadership, innovation, environmental stewardship and social responsibility.
What came first The FacMan or the LEED?
There had to be people already implementing measurable programs for the consensus-based program to become market-driven. Then the market demands a third-party verification standard for an “unbiased” evaluation, and BAM! Facilities Managers have a necessity for more letters connected to their names.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not minimizing the importance of LEED programs or criticizing the certification credentials. Such certifications have given much needed attention and credibility to a career field often under-valued, if even recognized. But do they really confirm or deny the knowledge, efforts or initiatives currently in place for many Facilities Managers? Not always.
The project certifications however, provide benefits beyond personal career goals and objectives in the form of tax credits, zoning allowances and other government initiatives. Project certifications and professional credentials go hand-in-hand. This being the case, those letters have become a symbol of the trend…
Facilities Managers LEED the way to sustainability.
For more information on obtaining LEED certifications and credentials: http://new.usgbc.org/leed
I remember when I first got into Facilities Management.
Well, I’d been in the field for years, but they called it “support services.” It wasn’t until I was actually managing the support staff and engineers that I found myself under the official umbrella. It didn’t bring much prestige. Most people seemed to think the facilities managers were the people in charge of Christmas decorations. Ironically, that was true.
It was the fall when I took on the position, and ultimately the task of refreshing the ancient decorations on a shoe string budget. I found myself in a large conference room stripping all of the wreaths down to the twisted wood vines and creating the new look. For several days, I clothed styrofoam balls, created bows and painted bells…and stood amazed that I was making such a fine salary off such a job.
That was before the drama started. It was before the awakening.
People still don’t immediately understand the role of Facilities Management. Wikipedia describes it as: an interdisciplinary field devoted to the coordination of space, infrastructure, people and organisation, often associated with business services functions, such as offices, arenas, schools, convention centers, shopping complexes, hospitals, hotels, etc. as well as non-core functions and activities related to the business.
*Crickets Chirping*
What does that mean?
To put it in more simple terms, Facilities Management is the field dedicated to creating and ensuring a functional environment, which includes people, place, process and technology.
I usually still get blank stares at this explanation, to which I quickly respond. “When you have a complaint and don’t know who to call, whether it be a clogged toilet, a leaky Liebert, a blown circuit, your phone is down or the vending machine doesn’t stock Nutty Bars, Facilities Management is the group you need to call.
That usually satisfies the basic question, but it doesn’t really express the insanity of the job. Anyone in the field can toss around terms like sustainability, risk management and efficiency control, and then explain construction projects, infrastructure design, support services and operating budgets are often their core functions, but the most time-consuming task for a facilities manager is simply dealing with people.
Facilities Managers are either the most grumpy and rude people you’ll ever meet, or they are the ones most likely to be laughing and dancing through the cubicle maze. Either way, they are rarely bored because there is no such thing as mundane in this job. If you are one who feels a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day when you see you’ve marked through the tasks on your checklist, this would not be the job for you.
Good intentions are paved with checklists.
A facilities manager will start the day off with 10-20 priority tasks that will become secondary to the black light bulb over reception or the foul smell on the executive floor…or the employee who’s colostomy bag burst in front of the mail room. We are jugglers of the unexpected, the disgusting, the novel and the senseless.
And for the most part, I love my job.